Mother's Day at Hooters

It was my choice to go. It seemed like a smart move, really. Where else could we go on Mother's Day and be certain not to run into long lines and big family celebrations? Sure, we found lots of single guys and divorced dads whose kids were with Mom for the day, but that’s what we expected when we entered the Hooters over in Portland yesterday. Having Hooted once before, I thought I knew what we’d find. I now understand that my tame sports-bar experience at the Fisherman’s Wharf coop several years ago was probably an enlightened anomaly.

Lowlights of our Delightfully Tacky Yet Unrefined lunch:

• When we walked in, I felt very conspicuously female. And overdressed. And decidedly approaching 40.

• Hooter Girls wear too much make-up, little missy. And their pantyhose are thick like the ones ice skaters wear. Hooter Girls actually don’t show nearly as much skin as you are supposed to think they do. But their bras are indeed gravity defying.

• When Britnee or Tiffanee or Kimmee -- can’t remember which ee name -- came to take our order, she pulled up a chair and sat with us. I was tempted to ask her if she wanted to split an appetizer...or borrow my coat.

• The music was blaring. The only song I recognized, at least at first, was “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” I only know that song because Drew Lachey and Cheryl Burke did their Freestyle Dance to it two seasons ago on “Dancing with the Stars.” Now that was some class with a capital K.

• Some time after placing our order, a Hooter Girl randomly grabbed a wooden bar stool, put it upside down on the floor, and proceeded to sit between the legs and spin herself and the chair around and around and around. It sort of looked like assisted break dancing. She looked a bit ditsy, I mean dizzy, while basking in the applause.

• Every time a Hooter came by our table to ask if we needed anything, she signed her name on a paper napkin. By the end, I think we had been visited by about five different Hooters. And there was at least one heart on our napkin. I guess the napkin was supposed to be a souvenir. I’m devastated I didn’t realize that at the time. Otherwise, we’d have a fabulous scanned photo right here.

• As "The Chicken Dance” music started, a Hooter grabbed a very willing rooster from a neighboring table and instructed him to stand on a chair. She and about four other Hooters gathered around and showed Mr. Rooster how to wear a Styrofoam cup as a beak and flap opened “to go” boxes as his wings. Mr. Rooster’s friends all gathered with their camera phones to take pictures. Either because he was drunk or because he was in his 60s and felt he had earned the right to speak the truth, Mr. Rooster yelled, “What? What am I supposed to do? I can’t pay attention to what you are saying because I’m looking at your ….” And no, he didn’t have the ellipsis.

• The burger was pretty good. The onion rings were industrial. The hot sauce was kicky.

• Rob was distracted by a billiards game showing on the TV behind me. At least that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

• We decided to leave when “YMCA” started playing and Mr. Rooster was looking rather itchy to join the group dance.

For several hours later, I felt very greasy. I’m not convinced it was the onion rings. I'm thinking maybe we'll go to Joann's Fabrics or Michael's on Father's Day, just to even out the cosmos.

THIS JUST IN:
Courtesy of a long-time friend, here is a photo of that friend doing the Mr. Rooster Chicken Dance in a Floridian Hooters. Guess the schtick is the same coop to coop.