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This article by Richard K. Rein was prepared for the September 25, 2002 edition of U.S. 1 Newspaper. All rights reserved.
For Men Only: Checking Out the Action at Hooters
Before I begin I would like to ask our women readers
to please excuse themselves. For this one column, we men need a few
moments to ourselves.
Thank you, thank you very much.
opened for business at Mercer Mall, across from Joe Canal’s Liquors
and in the space where the old Palace of Asia Indian restaurant used
If you hung out for more than an hour at any bar in town this past
summer, you probably heard talk about Hooters. First it was just a
rumor — who would believe that the staid old Mercer Mall, home
of K-Mart, would ever allow a Hooters? Then it was a reality, subject
of more rumors: Don’t expect to meet any hometown women in that bevy
of beauteous Hooters waitresses — they only hired from out-of-town
— women from across the country whose physical attributes were
already confirmed by Hooters management. In other words, there isn’t
enough silicone in central New Jersey to endow a decent Hooters staff.
And then there was the rip-off factor: The Hooters girls are it, one
guy told me. They serve you a drink, they charge you double, and that’s
all there is to it. You go once, but not twice.
For whatever reason, when I walked into the new Hooters at the Mercer
Mall the other day, I was reminded of a scene from a cable television
documentary on topless dancers. One of the dancers was interviewed
as she sat smoking a cigaret and drinking a soda at her kitchen table.
As she described it, her job — half exotic dancing and half getting
the customers to dig deeper and deeper into their wallets — was
about as exciting as selling lumber at Home Depot. But when asked
if she ever got sexually involved with any of the clientele, she lit
up: "We have a saying in our business," she replied. "All
of our customers get f — — d. But none of them ever get l — d."
So am I about to be had? That feeling is in the near reaches of my
mind as I visit Hooters the other evening. Patting my wallet once
or twice, I make my way past the "greeters" (young women dressed
like gym attendants in shorts and polo shirts) at the front door and
make my way to the bar. A large draft beer at $2.95 and a heart-healthy
pasta salad with fresh tomato at $7.99 hardly feels like a rip-off.
Nursing the drink, I let my eyes make the casual — very casual
— look around: Large screen televisions on every wall, tuned to
professional football at the moment but likely to display NASCAR racing
whenever it comes on; loud classic rock blaring from the speakers;
surprisingly few smokers and a surprisingly efficient ventilation
system; large platters of chicken wings and rolls of paper towels
on the tables; and a sports bar kind of clientele, with a few wives
and girlfriends and even a few kids here and there.
Finally, I let my eyes home in on the wait staff. Dressed in their
tank top shirts, short shorts, and running shoes with bobby sox, most
are in their 20s, all are very trim, and only a few appear to have
surgical enhancements. There’s more variety in shapes and sizes than
there is in the beverage menu — beer and wine only, no liquor.
Walking that thin line between being interested and being interested,
I chat up the waitresses a little. "Is it true," I ask one,
"that you’re not allowed to date any of the customers?"
Not exactly, she replies. "What we do on our own personal time
is our business."
I ask another waitress about the rumor that all the Hooters girls
have been brought in from out of town. In the very beginning that
might have been true, so that all the staff would have the benefit
of the Hooters training program (which I know from an Internet search
includes coaching on how to present menu items and how to treat wives
and girlfriends so they might actually have a decent time). But now
some true "girls next door" are on the staff. One of waitresses
is from Hamilton, worked at a law firm and at a health club, and now
is attending a massage therapy school.
The Hooters girls are there to sell, but in a low-key way. A nearly
empty beer glass quickly brings an offer of a fresh one. One waitress
distributes free raffle tickets, for a drawing to be held an hour
or so (and another beer or two) later. Another waitress sells Hooters
T-shirts: $16 and it would be signed by every Hooters girl on the
floor. Later I hear a different waitress offer a T-shirt for $12.99
to a couple at the next table. Is this a rip-off or a mistake? I suspect
it’s the latter.
As I present my credit card my smiling waitress tells me how much
fun it was talking to me. "I hope you’ll come back some time when
it’s not so busy and I can talk more," she says. Could it be that
this 20-something young woman truly finds a 55-year-old guy interesting,
or is this something out of the Hooters training manual? I know the
answer, of course, but I double the tip just the same.
No, I will not get l — d at Hooters. But I won’t get f — — d
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