Viewpoint: A hooters girl's perspective: The modern day courtesan.
My perspective as a hooters girl, and my take on feminism and the whole notion of the service industry.
Unfortunately, the article is banned from publication even though the content doesn't involve any defamatory remarks. After dealing with numerous threats of being sued, I decided against sending it for formal publication.
A themed restaurant with a name that screams tits, you really can't expect a clientele of white collar workers. I guess proprietors like to think otherwise.
Oh well, I can still celebrate womanhood.
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To begin, I'd like to dispel the myth that all Hooters girls are well endowed and that we're brazen gold diggers who pander to the whims and fancies of lecherous men. I've been working part time at Hooters for 3 years now, earning just enough to get through university, but I continue to do so on weekends after landing myself a full time job upon graduation. I think the essential trait of being a Hooters girl is to have a personality; it was an uphill task learning to deal with difficult customers, whilst increasing sales in the restaurant and to perpetually keep up the 'I look no less than a million dollars' front.
In essence, I see us as modern day courtesans, we serve food, top up beer, shell crabs and prawns, play hula hoops to entertain (a skill nonetheless) and have the occasional witty banter or ditzy small talk to keep the customers happy. All good clean fun in a room full of leering eyes. I guess some of us do this for the attention, but more often than not, it is the monetary rewards that drive us. Perhaps for some, their motivation lies with the possibility of a green card that would take them out of this rut. At the end of the day, reality catches up, there are study loans to pay, aged/sick parents to support, younger siblings to see through school and young babies to bring up. It takes resilience to put up with chauvinistic men who don't respect women and the occasional female diners who come in to flash us accusatory dagger looks because of our potential to lead their men astray.
I used to cry a lot when I first started work, because this was an entirely new ball game. There are plenty of nasty people who come in to mock us, put us down and treat us like meat on legs. However, I wouldn't discount all the angels that we meet on the job to balance the equation.
I endure blatant staring and endless unsuccessful attempts at groping or the accidental arm that slithers from waist up during a picture taking session. Armed in my cleavage bearing tank top and orange hot pants often mistaken for knickers, there is little I can do apart from using this to my advantage and getting out of tight situations by being patronising, and never offensive.
Often, the greatest challenge is to keep all our customers comfortable and happy. There are women who dine in and avoid eye contact at all cost. They end up playing miserably with their utensils while their male friends/colleagues enjoy themselves. We get many enthusiastic participants in our games and limbo rock contests and I don't think any other waitressing job could get as fun get as this.
The hooters girls come from all walks of life, but we share a singular objective: - to do our job well and take difficult situations in our stride, look out for each other and enjoy our shifts while we're at it. Hooters is a fun, tacky American restaurant, and funny as it sounds, there is a Hooters girl protocol. We kick start every evening shift with a uniform song after being inspected by the senior girls to ensure that all is in order for the night.
Whilst many women think it's offensive to be leered at, I still hold on to the cliche that if you have it, flaunt it. And we're not committing any crime or selling ourselves short, we're doing a job, like everyone else. A job is a job, and how you deal with difficult and unpleasant situations defines your character. Working at the restaurant taught me strength, tolerance and resilience- qualities I have developed over time. All the time, we patronise customers by saying things they like to hear, because it doesn't cost us anything to make a dining customer feel good about himself/herself. They call it working smart.
Hanging up my pride before I begin each shift, I am capable of dealing with all sorts of unruly characters that demand to be fed or talked dirty to. Working around the situation without compromising my principles, I earn a bigger tip and laugh a lot more at the ludicrous situations I am capable of enduring. I don't pander to their odd requests nor do I allow them to lay their hands on me, I decline politely and even jokingly to take away any prevailing tension. It's usually the case of not what you say, but how you say it. And over the 3 years, I've learnt to say it right, without being offensive.
We are aware than most men come in to the restaurant for a good time, to celebrate birthdays or have a tame bachelor's party. Others come in with a hope of finding themselves a girlfriend, mistress or enjoy a free grope. All of which rarely happens because we're always on our guard and we never take any comments or insults personally. Granted it's up to every girl's discretion on how to handle such situations, but we're often misunderstood. We're really more than a walking piece of meat, if it sounds any better, we're walking pieces of meat with personalities and individual traits regardless of bra sizes.
I really enjoy working my weekends, because it allows me to meet so many different characters, to decipher their likes, needs and wants. More often than not, customers come back because the environment is relaxed and welcoming. And all the girls have fun at their job, either deliberately playing up stereotypes or blatantly going against them, but never compromising good service.
There have been many strange situations I've dealt with; American sailors coming in to ask for 'extra services' after their buffalo wings, demands to be fed with all the lights turned out. Another time, a middle-aged tourist bought a Chinese costume from the shops downstairs and changed into his outfit at his table. Unfortunately, the drawstring pants were a size too small, so he sat at his table in his tighty whiteys oblivious to the discomfort he was causing the other customers. While I stifled my laughter to address the rather awkward situation, I ended up helping him alter the pants with needle and thread because he refused to put any bottoms on. Instead of reacting negatively in adverse situations, I've learnt to make the best of it, minimising any discomfort it might cause the public.
As for dealing with crass and rude customers, I have equipped myself with swift and steady kung fu moves to avoid the advancing arm that grope breasts or the extra hand that slides over to spank bottoms. Having been spanked a number of times, I turn the situations into circus scenarios that give me the few seconds worth of feeling like the dominatrix reprimanding the beast. During the world cup, I had to endure lecherous gazes of Japanese men who incessantly bugged me about my cup size, cupping their own chest to further physically manifest their filthy thoughts. The answer was 'World cup'. I obviously had a better laugh than they did as they struggled with smatterings of English to order more beer.
Being a hooters girl is fun. It is both financially and psychologically rewarding. This is the window to all the nasty tales you have heard about the seedy establishment and the stereotypical view imposed on all the hooters girls. Like everyone else, we have a job to do and we deal with the 'occupational hazards' that come with it.
I've learnt how to stand up for myself, ironically from a place where girls have to play hula-hoops and wait on men in orange hot pants and a cleavage bearing tank top. I don't think anyone should ever be apologetic about what they have to do to earn a living. There is more than one way to deal with men who put you down and psychologically abuse you. It's about being yourself and finding solutions without compromising what you believe in. Maybe I can call it, subversive feminism.
And that's me, the embodiment of the "subservient asian girl" stereotype peeling prawns for a white man.
