Sunday, September 19, 2010


Disclaimer: Went to dinner with a woman. Now you can’t judge me. Nah nah nah.

There is a high penis-to-hand-to-handle quotient in the men’s bathroom. Most dudes don’t wash their hands. That means when you do … and then you grab the handle to exit, it’s like you’re touching another dude’s junk.

Hooters solves this problem by placing a hand sanitizer station outside the restrooms. Brilliant.

When you’re eating at Hooters, you’re not ordering a fucking salad—you’re eating wings. With your hands. So they’d better be damned clean, because I don’t want dude junk near my mouth.

If you know me, you know I’m vocal about not eating at chain restaurants. So you’re like, you ate at Hooters? Hypocrite! Is the food top quality? No. Obviously not. The chicken probably comes from a Corporate Farm (Big No No) and the seafood is far from fresh. But when you want wings, you gotta throw convention out the damn window. Hooters.

If you live in DC, especially near Georgetown, you might be quick to recommend Wingos. But try eating there in the middle of the afternoon when you’re not drunk. It’s not that good. Actually, it sucks.

Hooters does business right. Now I’ve never worked there (trust meyou don’t want to see me in orange booty shorts) but from what I saw, that place knows how to operate.  

They epitomize 'sex sells.'  You might think that’s wrong. That it objectifies women. The girls are bimbos and they’re being used. I realize that’s the perception most people have—even myself, perhaps—because when I came home with leftovers, I desperately tried to hide the Hooters labeled to-go box as I rode the elevator up with a woman. She probably judged me. But that’s only because she’s never eaten there and doesn’t know what I now know.

These women are far from dumb. Andrea, our server, was educated, well spoken and the exact opposite of the airhead you’ve pictured as a typical Hooters girl. The longer they chat with you, the more their image is boosted and the less you think of them as sexy girls in outfits. Unless, of course, you’re a creepy asshole, of which at Hooters, there are many. If you are a creepy asshole—like the guy who called a server a bitch when she ignored his catcall, I imagine they have a method of removing you from the premises in a frightening way.

If you’re not a creepy asshole, you’ll see an entirely different side of these servers. Hooters succeeds in rebranding these women. Let me be clearthey sit at your table to flirt and drum up sales and tips. But this actually gives you the chance to see that, unless you’re talking about how chicken breasts are delicious, but your servers breasts are even tastier, these girls aren’t just bimbos with nice bodies.

If you’re going there to ogle the hot women—you’re in luck. There are plenty of them.

If you’re going there to be a creep who tries to grab some ass—the server with an IQ higher than yours will sweet talk all that money out of your wallet and (rightfully) into her pocket.

And if you’re going there because you want some wings, then damn, you can’t go wrong.

PROS: Great service. Spotless bathroom. The paper towels ran out and were replaced with the quickness. Food was good for what it was. I wanted wings, not sea bass with a crème fresh gnocchi.

Place was jam packed, which leads me to …

CONS: I did a little digging (Undercover Boss does not count as a legit fact checker). It appears as if there might be some preferential treatment going on. The FOH is often treated well; the BOH might be overlooked. Hooters easily clears fifty grand a night on weekends. Toss a couple extra bucks towards the guys who cook and clean.

If management sucks, it wasn't apparent at the Rockville, MD Hooters.

Finally, an awful lot of families there. Not exactly the sort of place I’d bring a six-year-old for dinner. But that’s a commentary on society and the parents, not the restaurant.

ON OUR MENU: Fried pickles, nacho cheeseburger, crab legs and, of course, 3-mile island wings.

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