Interview at Hooters

I was almost glad to swap my blazer for my cropped top and Hooters-sanctioned “cinnamon-tinted” stockings. It was a sigh of relief get away from the endless, tedious string of interviews where I’d been trying to convince middle managers I could make incredible photocopies.

Tori, our DD, lifetime Hooters hostess, bounced over and said there was a table of eight coming in for a work birthday party.

I went to grab menus from the hutch and looked back to see Tori had already seated the party. After a quick glance I recognized one of the men at the table and spun around so they couldn’t see my face.

“Shit Tori! That’s Neil, the guy who interviewed me today!”

“Which one?”

“The bald one. Ohmygod.OHMYGOD!”

“Whatever! Do your thing! Maybe he won’t recognize you with your ass out,” she giggled and snapped her fingers.

“Am I supposed to just walk the fuck up to him and ask if he wants a Hootersizer with his beer?!”

“Pull it together! Jesus. That’s a table of eight… That’s at least fifty bucks in tips. If you want, I can give it to Stacey.”

I thought about it. But damn, I could use that fifty bucks.

“No, I’ll do it. Oh god.”

“I mean, seriously, they’re just a bunch of old, bored married guys. They’ll totally hire you after checking out your rack.”

That’s Tori. So wise.

I glanced down at my top tucked into my tight, orange booty-shorts.

“Tits? Or no tits?”

“What now?"

“Tits,” I pulled down my shirt exposing a decent amount of cleavage. I was wearing the company-mandated double bra to fool everyone into thinking I was at least a C. “Or no tits.” I pulled my shirt back up to demonstrate.

“Tits,” she said. “Always tits.”

I re-tucked my shirt and turned toward the table with a big, sham of a smile.

As I strutted over, Neil looked up, and his face burst into the most awkward look of surprise.

“Oh!” he said, and threw his hands up in the air like I had startled him, “it’s you!”

“Yep, it’s me!” I lay the menu in front of him.

“Well isn’t that just funny. What are the chances? We’re just celebrating some office birthdays and we really love the wings here so…”

Of course! The wings! They were what drew in all our most respectable customers.

“Ya, for sure, they’re the best. Who’s the lucky birthday boy?” I said to the whole table, deciding whether I should even bring up the interview.

“Well, it’s actually two birthdays. Me, and Scott.”

“Oh! Well. Happy birthday! So sorry you had to be doing interviews on your birthday, that’s a drag!” Well, there it was.

“It’s not too bad,” he chuckled. “It’s always nice to have some young faces in an office full of old fogies like these guys.” The table laughed, like they were all in on some inside joke about being old.

“Oh, you aren’t fogies.” It’s usually so easy to flirt with the customers but instead I was sputtering out strange little humiliation-filled three-word bombs. “You seem fun!”

Ohmygodshutup.

“So what’s a girl like you looking for a job at Strategic Objectives for?” another man, who I think was Scott because he had an “It’s My Birthday!” pin on his shirt, yelled from the other end of the table.

“Oh, well, you know, I’m twenty-two, so, I just graduated university and, it’s time to you know, work in an office and, not wear a uniform, I guess.” I tugged at my shorts. Scott burst into laughter.

“Keep the uniform!” he shouted, as I realized they’d already had a few at another bar.

Neil pursed his lips and held back a smile.

“Well, it seems like a really interesting place to work and I think I’d be lucky to be a part of what you do.” There. That was a good, serious answer.

“Jillian, is that right?” Neil said.

“Well, actually it’s Jo.”

“Oh that’s right. Joanna. D’you think you’d have as much fun with us as you do here?” he joked.

“Exactly, and plus, we’ve got Bruce’s daughter coming in for an interview tomorrow and she’s got an MBA,” Scott blurted. Neil glared at him. Another man, who I could only assume was Bruce, raised his stupid, bushy, proud eyebrows at me.

“I have a marketing specialty and I think I…”

“Sweetheart,” Neil cut me off. “Don’t even worry about it.”

Sweetheart, we all know, along with hun, darling, or kid, translate to: is this application a joke? I’d sooner hire my dog than someone as frivolous as you.

“We’ll give you a call this week and we’ll figure it out.”

Certain my exposed chest was quickly turning red, I tucked my chin down and focused on my order pad.

“Ya. No. Of course. So, does anyone want to start with a Hootersizer?”