August 10: Tornadia Goes to Hooters

Our last softball game of the year, the game that most naturally should be followed by a rousing round of pitchers of the non-human variety, started at 9:20 on a Sunday night. Given the number of parents and complete roster of office workers in the mix, we decided to go out for pre-game beers, a concept I've been encouraging for about six years but which the more competitive members of the team have consistently eschewed. Until now. Until somebody gave our team a pass to free hot wings and sodas. And that somebody? Hooters.
I've never been a fan of the place, you could say, but I've kind of left it alone. In my more solipsistic moments, I can't sort out the who's-exploiting-whom, power-is-in-the-eye-of-the-beholder sort of thing. Having waited tables at a thoroughly benign chain restaurant, where I was required to wear not just long sleeves and long pants but also a necktie, I'm pretty confident in saying the customer-server relationship is always a bit Theater of Power. And pretty people get better tips, no matter what the uniform is.
Nonetheless, Hooters always left me feeling kind of ooked out, so I just stayed away from it. I could always play the "I haven't been there, so I can't really comment" card. But this was the last game of the last year of playing with a bunch of people I've played softball with for a long time, and I wanted to hang out. And besides, if I went, I could say I've been there, and then I have full right to say whatever I think, right? So. Here's what I think: I don't like Hooters.

I don't like Hooters because it is exploitative. Whether or not it's sexist, it definitely reinforces mainstream notions of ideal beauty, and women's worth being tied to their attractiveness, and attractiveness being legs and boobs and hair. And reinforces class notions of service workers being not quite people, really, so much as performers hired to be looked at. Imitation, kind of, like watching little kids play restaurant.

I don't like Hooters because it operates on a segregated business model--men in the kitchen, women on display. Hooters does not have male servers. Period. But men work. They get sweaty and hairy and grumpy and covered in barbecue sauce. Women work, but they mustn't look like they're working.

I don't like Hooters because it's ugly. I hate orange. The restaurant is oddly brightly lit and fake wood-sy.

I don't like Hooters because it takes local money and throws it to some home office somewhere.

I don't like Hooters because I don't eat wings or burgers and they don't have what you'd call an extensive menu.

I don't like Hooters because they try to play like they're a family restaurant ("it's the wings!"), which is odd and disingenuous. And if the wings were that good, they wouldn't need the gimmick.

But mostly I don't like Hooters because it's just weird. Like, they say a lot of business guys have lunch there, which I just do NOT get. If it's blatant untouchable sex you're after, why not go to a real strip club? Because people would think that's offensive. But if eyeballing real "adult shows" is a business no-no, why is ogling pretend ones okay? Where's the line? And what's the point? "We need to meet with the head of the Anderson account? Great! Let's all have a burger, get mildly aroused, and then head back to the office!"

Some people have theorized that it's supposed to be a bonding thing, but that doesn't really hold water. First off, sticking with the business lunch anyway, you're making some pretty huge assumptions about people, and definitely buying into the Mas Macho Manly Man, "I am SO not a homo" school of thought. Or you're one of those guys who flirts with waitresses competitively. Either way: outdated. And you're definitely risking making someone uncomfortable, which is a poor business strategy, I think.

So, Hooters. Not for me. I was only there about 15 minutes, and I didn't even get to sample their fine selection of sodas, so that's really all I have to say. Oh--except this: There's a giant vending machine on the bathroom wall of Hooter's ladies room. Do you know what it sells? Pantyhose. All in suntan, all in sizes B and C. For $4 bucks a pop. In case, I guess, in the course of her shift, a server gets a run in her nylons. Lord knows we wouldn't want a dangerous pantyhose snag to interfere with the serving of food and beverages.

I asked the guys on my team what was available for purchase in the men's room, but no one would answer. But one of them did say that my question made him "uncomfortable." Yes, good lord, by all means. What a tacky question! I do so hate when someone makes me feel all awkward about holding a co-ed team happy hour at a soft-core chain restaurant!


(We won the game, by the way. And the other team said we were "fucking annoying.")