“You know what ‘hooters’ are a euphemism for, right?… Um, yeah, ‘hooters’ isn’t that crude, but you should never say it… It’s kind of hokey and old-fashioned, like ‘melons’ or ‘cans’ or ‘jugs’… No way. He said melons? Ha ha ha. Well I can’t imagine ‘hooters’ it is said amongst men: ‘Look at her hooters.’ That’s creepy.
“So all the waitresses at Hooters wear these low-cut white spandex tank tops… Umm-hmm… Oh, the bigger the better! I think they’re encouraged to pad… It’s funny because the company cultivates this wholesome ‘Hooters Girls’ image. Like, they do charity events and stuff. They have hearts and chests of gold…
“I went to one, once… No, it’s not only men. They have a kid’s menu… oh, it’s horrible. Can you imagine the dumbo fat housewife whose white trash husband takes the family out to Hooters, and she’s feeding the brats while he munches on wings and drinks beer and ogles the waitress? That’s so sad…
“The typical crap. Burgers and wings and mayo-smeared bacon sandwiches with a single leaf of lettuce… I’ve never seen one in Massachusetts. They’re mostly down South. It’s as ubiquitous as McDonalds in Florida… I think they’re in Asia, in Japan and South Korea… no, not China… India, I’d be surprised… Pakistan?!? Ha ha ha! Yeah, it’s called ‘Stoners’…
“No, I could have. In my heyday… Yeah, I know, but the overall package matters more. Nice hair and make-up, and agreeable stupidity… Well, that’s fine, because I wouldn’t want to. And if I was a Hooters Girl, there’s no way you’d be my boyfriend. What would we talk about? World affairs? European cinema? Politics?… Well, that’s France. This is America. For a Hooters waitress to be able to discuss Sartre would be pointless. No one would listen to her anyway. Do you think Hooters customers ever hear the daily special?”
