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Dec. 15th, 2004 09:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sgornyJust got done going out to dinner with the S.O. Wanted to go somewhere where I hadn't gone before... and we ended up at Hooters.
Now, I don't want to knock Hooters. There were mostly military guys (it IS Washington, after all, with McChord AFB & Fort Lewis right near by). The girls are pretty, long-legged (mostly), and very friendly. They pour your beer constantly, which I'm sure racks up beer sales. And the food is basic, but OK.
So the S.O. & I began to talk about working there, and our past. He thought that I wouldn't have been comfortable working there, because when he first met me, I was uncomfortable in my own skin. Now, this isn't uncommon among young girls (under 20), but I took umbrage.
If I'd been 20 or 21, and had a child (or maybe not) like our server, I'd have had no problem working in a place like that. I mean, I dressed like I was "looking for it" when I went out at that age, and if someone was rewarding me with tips? Even better.
At 18 or 19, though, I definitely was uncomfortable in my own skin. I was thin, tan, and young... but felt fat, pasty, and not attractive. My S.O. remembers first seeing me in a History class at Fresno City College. He was sitting to the left and slightly behind me, and loved it when I'd lean forward to take notes, because the loose tops I wore slid forward and gave him a good view of a majority of my breasts. I didn't realize this at the time, of course. I was feeling not-so-pretty, and the loose clothes were to cover up my "unattractiveness". Damn, I was a stupid girl!
He said that another guy, a "military boy" with a camouflage jacket & crew cut, used to sit to the other side of me, and they would exchange glances about their "luck-of-the-draw" in seating. I was oblivious. In fact, I have no memory of him (my S.O.) in that class.
When I was 19, I was unemployed. I applied for 2 jobs... one in a restaurant, the other in a head shop. For those of you that are too young to understand "head shop" - it's a place that sells partying paraphernalia, without saying so. Everything was a tobacco pipe, or an incense pipe. Not a crack pipe or a hash pipe. I got the job at the head shop, and spent exactly one day dusting bongs. Peace sign shaped bongs, skull shaped bongs, ceramic bongs, hookas... you name it, I dusted it. Then I went home. My mother told me that I would have to move out if I continued to work there... and then the restaurant called. The job as hostess was mine, if I wanted it. So I took it.
I started work there, and had a trainer for the first day. Realize, I'd never worked in that type of environment before. I tried hard to learn it well. The second day, the trainer said that someone had quit in the kitchen, so she had to help them out. I was on my own. Now, I tried to be logical. If a party of 2 comes in, and wants dinner... should I sit them at the table for 8 that is up next, or at the next servers table, which is for 2-4? And leave the table for 8 to the next group? If only 2 come in, I can sit them at the bigger table... but if a party of 3+ comes in, the server wins. Now, realize, I'm trying to juggle this between 6 servers. What happens? They all get pissed that some people seem to be getting people seated more that others, and complain to the manager. The outcome?
After 2 weeks, I'm called into the managers office. Told that I'm "not the Aldo's type of person." That I "don't seem to be getting the hang of hostessing." And that "they wouldn't claim that I'd worked there for tax purposes if I didn't."
I told them, "Well, I only had training for 1 day, and then none. My trainer had to work in the kitchen because someone had quit, and I did the best I could, but fine. If you don't want me, I'll leave."
So I left. And I'm still bitter.... a long, long time later. You think I'd get over it... but I guess not.
An interesting aside... my S.O. worked in the kitchen, then. He was the lead cook. He remembers me at the "pretty, uncomfortable girl who wore too much makeup." Yeah, that would be me. So we met both in school and at work (age 19), and I never knew him until we met because his roommate was dating my best friend at age 22. Small world, ain't it?
And thats enough of my history. Bored, anyone?
Now, I don't want to knock Hooters. There were mostly military guys (it IS Washington, after all, with McChord AFB & Fort Lewis right near by). The girls are pretty, long-legged (mostly), and very friendly. They pour your beer constantly, which I'm sure racks up beer sales. And the food is basic, but OK.
So the S.O. & I began to talk about working there, and our past. He thought that I wouldn't have been comfortable working there, because when he first met me, I was uncomfortable in my own skin. Now, this isn't uncommon among young girls (under 20), but I took umbrage.
If I'd been 20 or 21, and had a child (or maybe not) like our server, I'd have had no problem working in a place like that. I mean, I dressed like I was "looking for it" when I went out at that age, and if someone was rewarding me with tips? Even better.
At 18 or 19, though, I definitely was uncomfortable in my own skin. I was thin, tan, and young... but felt fat, pasty, and not attractive. My S.O. remembers first seeing me in a History class at Fresno City College. He was sitting to the left and slightly behind me, and loved it when I'd lean forward to take notes, because the loose tops I wore slid forward and gave him a good view of a majority of my breasts. I didn't realize this at the time, of course. I was feeling not-so-pretty, and the loose clothes were to cover up my "unattractiveness". Damn, I was a stupid girl!
He said that another guy, a "military boy" with a camouflage jacket & crew cut, used to sit to the other side of me, and they would exchange glances about their "luck-of-the-draw" in seating. I was oblivious. In fact, I have no memory of him (my S.O.) in that class.
When I was 19, I was unemployed. I applied for 2 jobs... one in a restaurant, the other in a head shop. For those of you that are too young to understand "head shop" - it's a place that sells partying paraphernalia, without saying so. Everything was a tobacco pipe, or an incense pipe. Not a crack pipe or a hash pipe. I got the job at the head shop, and spent exactly one day dusting bongs. Peace sign shaped bongs, skull shaped bongs, ceramic bongs, hookas... you name it, I dusted it. Then I went home. My mother told me that I would have to move out if I continued to work there... and then the restaurant called. The job as hostess was mine, if I wanted it. So I took it.
I started work there, and had a trainer for the first day. Realize, I'd never worked in that type of environment before. I tried hard to learn it well. The second day, the trainer said that someone had quit in the kitchen, so she had to help them out. I was on my own. Now, I tried to be logical. If a party of 2 comes in, and wants dinner... should I sit them at the table for 8 that is up next, or at the next servers table, which is for 2-4? And leave the table for 8 to the next group? If only 2 come in, I can sit them at the bigger table... but if a party of 3+ comes in, the server wins. Now, realize, I'm trying to juggle this between 6 servers. What happens? They all get pissed that some people seem to be getting people seated more that others, and complain to the manager. The outcome?
After 2 weeks, I'm called into the managers office. Told that I'm "not the Aldo's type of person." That I "don't seem to be getting the hang of hostessing." And that "they wouldn't claim that I'd worked there for tax purposes if I didn't."
I told them, "Well, I only had training for 1 day, and then none. My trainer had to work in the kitchen because someone had quit, and I did the best I could, but fine. If you don't want me, I'll leave."
So I left. And I'm still bitter.... a long, long time later. You think I'd get over it... but I guess not.
An interesting aside... my S.O. worked in the kitchen, then. He was the lead cook. He remembers me at the "pretty, uncomfortable girl who wore too much makeup." Yeah, that would be me. So we met both in school and at work (age 19), and I never knew him until we met because his roommate was dating my best friend at age 22. Small world, ain't it?
And thats enough of my history. Bored, anyone?
