Next time you go to Hooters, if there is ever such an occasion, please note that there are tiers of, er, Hooters authenticity.
I met some co-workers there for lunch last week, which I hesitate to do, anyway, because. Just because. But they do have good wings, and there's something about a bunch of regular, non-Hooters looking women showing up there that busts up the horndog vibe just a little bit, and I can always appreciate a good buzzkill.
Did that sound genuine? Good.
So I walk through the door, and Jessica Simpson is sitting there. It's like this girl went on that horrifying show I Want a Famous Face and asked to be Jessica Simpson, who I despise. She was probably wearing the whole Dessert Beauty line, at once. (And please note that I cannot be responsible for what happens to you if you hear the music at that link. Apologies, though. Seriously.) Anyway, I ended up in a conversation with the doppelganger, and this is what I learned:
DG: HEY! Welcome to HOOTERS! Can I HELP YOU?
ME: Hi. I'm just waiting for my friends. They should be along any second.
DG: OKAY!!!!!!!! Just HANG OUT!!!!!!!!
ME: Gotcha.
ME, clearly bored: So, do you make a lot of money here?
DG: Well, see, I'm a REAL HOOTERS GIRL. And I just got MY boob job, so I can't carry anything yet and so I have to sit here. But when I go back out on the floor, I'll do SUPER WELL.
ME, ears bleeding: Oh. I see. Wow.
DG: So YEAH. It's GREAT.
ME: I just have one question. Was the boob job mandatory? Because if it was I'll probably have to leave.
DG: Oh NO. I totally WANTED it. I'm EXCITED. This is going to be FUN. You know, once I'm all HEALED.
ME: Well. Yes. Okay.
The door opened at that moment and my friends came through it. So I told them, and had no explanation for why I'd just received the information I was sharing, except for, well, there's that sign I wear that says, "Please, tell me. NO matter how horrifying it is. I desperately want to know."
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