By Thaddeus J. Hooter
I got into this business in the hopes of getting the Hooter name out there in a way our family could be proud of.
When I created Hooter’s oh-so-many years ago, my goal one that was far removed from what it has become today. I simply wanted to the greatest wing-eating experience of our time, one that would perhaps even stand the test of time. I had no interest in created a bastion of the depraved, where men could eat their lunches while leering at large-breasted women in skimpy, barely legal uniforms. This is not how I had meant to honor the Hooter name but I must admit that I have no one to blame but myself.
When scientists began turning buffalo’s wings into a beloved foodstuff, we restaurant owners were perplexed as to how to sell the public on them. Most Americans weren’t even aware that buffaloes had wings let alone that they could be delicious. Once someone tried one, though, I was certain that they would be coming back for more for as long as God willed life into them. No, the question was never in the quality of the product, but how to get people to try them. A local business owner by the name of Carl Appleby had the idea of setting up a roadside stand where he would let people sample the wings for free and I had the idea of stealing his idea, but with one subtle difference; I was doing it. Once the public got a taste for them, buffalo wings were off to the races and myself, Appleby, Wildwing and T.G.I. Friday were making so much money we didn’t know what to do with it.
It wasn’t too long before the market got flooded. Soon enough you could get buffalo wings just about anywhere. Heck, you could even buy them from the grocery store and make them at home yourself. I knew that if I wanted to continue to be as rich as I was while spending an absurd amount of money on expensive butters and cow figurines I was going to have to come up with an original wing-eating experience that was not only fun for the whole family, but somehow more delicious than my competitors. One Thursday afternoon I made an important discovery when I accidentally witnessed a female employee changing from a hole I drilled in the wall while eating a plate of some of our finest wings; that when one had an erection, the wings actually tasted better.
Not just a little better, either. I’m talking game-changer, here. I’ve never had the research done myself, but something tells me that when the blood rushes to your penis it must dull the senses of your tongue, hiding the low-quality of the wings.
I began working my way around the restaurant reporting in hushed tones to my employees the discovery I had made. The men were intrigued while the women, while less so, also found the information somewhat interesting, though many of them focused one where this hole was and how long it had been there (women!). By the end of the week I had convinced many of the female waiters to wear more skimpy outfits, perhaps showing off a bit of ankle or even a little elbow. Some women were fine with this display of exhibitionism while others found it demeaning and refused. Those women were of course let go and from that point onward I only hired women that were both well-endowed and aware of the unorthodox dress code upon their arrival.
The newfound “erections lead to better taste” discovery also led to another important invention in the 20th century; tables. Before Hooter’s, people would simply lie their plates in their laps and eat from their own crotches which worked fine up until then, but once customers started getting aroused and watching their dinners plummet to the floor, we knew we had to do something about it. At first we tried designed special plates with centers cut out of them and the wings were placed strategically along the edges to give customers enough room to get as excited about their dining experience as they wanted, but this led to many unforeseen accidents when it came to both sharing food and the contamination of dipping sauces. Another short-lived experiment was just making our customers stand at a bar while carefully balancing the plate on themselves but many found that their dining experience wasn’t exciting enough to keep this going for longer than a half-hour and for some reason women weren’t able to sustain the balancing act at all, most likely due to their inherent inferiority. Finally we came to the conclusion that if we couldn’t put the plates in people’s laps, we would have to make separate chairs for the food itself, and thus the table was born.
All seemed well in the house of Hooter for awhile, as customers would come and go with satisfaction, but as the times change so did people’s sexual urges. Soon a little bit of ankle or a flirtatious wink just wasn’t enough to make the men of the ’60s and ’70s aroused, and we had to make altercation after altercation to the uniform design until our waitresses were basically as naked as local state laws would allow. I myself do not find this sort of behavior appropriate much less arousing, as I’ve always believed that expressing one’s body should be done privately, between only a man and a woman, or in some cases between a hole in the wall and an employer, but I haven’t the energy to fight the times, nor do I want to. If people need half-naked women serving them wings to achieve an erection in this day and age, so be it. I’m not here to judge or argue, I’m simply trying to give people the most satisfying buffalo wing experience I possibly can.
The fact that the Hooter name has now been associated with breasts in and out of a wing-eating environment doesn’t exactly thrill me, but if it’s between that and having to give my money back, well, I’d like to keep the money, thank you very much.