I went to Hooters last night for the first time in my life. As anyone who knows me will concur, I don't belong at Hooters. I knew this before going of course, but it was still nice to have my prejudices against the Hooters type be validated. But no matter how out-of-sorts I felt last night, my gay friend Kerry probably felt that same feeling times ten. I may not be your classic Hooters Man, but at least I like chicks and football.
The decision process went something like this:
Me: I'm hungry.
Kerry: Me too, wanna go to Hooters?
Me: Uh, I've never been to Hooters.
Kerry: Me neither, wanna go?
And then all of a sudden it sounded like a fantastic idea so I said yes.
This naturally begs the question of, "why would a gay man suggest a place like Hooters?" Well you can ask him yourself if you like, but my guess is that he wanted to see if the world would explode when we stepped foot through the door.
We were served by an attractive girl named Raven who was very good at doing what she does, which is to make men in Bud Light t-shirts feel like they have the special attention of a hot chick. But Kerry and I clearly didn't know what to do when confronted with a professional flirter. All meal long she made flirty gestures and suggestive smiles, all in the name of large tips. And with each subsequent visit to our table, our discomfort increased exponentially. We squirmed in our seats and gave terse responses to her questions. I think I may have commented on something being "cute" as in "attractive", which was a great way to sabotage my own heterosexuality.
At the end of the meal, Raven asked if she could get us anything else.
"No thank you," we both replied.
"Are you suuuuure?" she insisted, again with that suggestive smile. We both looked at each other with expressions that asked what is the correct answer to this question?
"Uh no, we're fine. Thanks."
She walked away and Kerry leaned across the table to whisper, "I feel like I'm failing a test."