Viking was in town, so the boys and I decided it would behoove us to partake in the Wednesday ritual of “All You Can Eat Wings” at Hooters. It’s always a glorious event. Throughout the meal, I kept noticing this one particular waitress catching my eye. Now, I try not to be “that guy” who stares at Hooters. I’m being honest; I really do go for the wings. Any poor sap that pays $8 for Hooters’ boobies should be required to check his boys at the door. Anyway, I thought it odd that a Hooters girl would be eyeing me down, but I mentioned it to the guys anyway. I tried without luck to resist the temptation to let my eyes roam the room, knowing full well that I’d catch her eye again.
I thought for sure that I’d inadvertently stared at her at some point, and she was thinking that I was the very kind of creep I described above. She was even whispering comments to other patrons about me (I was sure of it since she was staring at me the entire duration of these comments).
Around the time I had planned to ask our waitress for To-Go boxes, though it’s well known that Hooters’ management keeps those Styrofoam treasure chests under lock and key on Wednesday nights, our waitress came bounding up to the table with a big grin on her face.
“You have an admirer,” she informed me, followed by a napkin with the name and number of my admirer. Jennifer. Apparently I’d caught her eye with my dashing good looks and rakish charm. Wait, scratch that. That’s hot sauce on my face, not rakish.
So though I am quite flattered, and though it certainly made for an awesome Hooters visit, I don’t think I’ll be calling Jennifer. I don’t think she’ll mind though. The 22 year-old seemed a little disappointed when I told her I was 19 anyway.
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