This is one of a few posts from my old blog that I’m re-posting to ASF. This particular post was written June 12, 2006–
As I’m writing this, I’m listening to Guns ‘N’ Roses. You will find this to be extremely appropriate as you read this blog.
So, I did the typical “guy” thing on Thursday night–I went out for beers with some guys from work. This led us to the local Hooters establishment, where they were having the state finals for the “Hooters Bikini Contest.” Of course, being a male, I wasn’t all that opposed to it initially. However, I have never been that big of a Hooters fan. Sure, the waitresses are somewhat attractive, but they make them wear those nude pantyhose–which remind me of what old ladies wear to church–and those high leg-warmer looking socks, which remind me of “Jazzercise” or something. So the scene from the hips down cancels out anything that’s going on with the top half of the body, at least for me.
Anyway, we arrived, and I discovered that I could no longer drink beer (due to a horrendous weekend in which I attempted to drink all of the beer in Atlanta). Our waitress was awful in every way: not attractive, not nice, and unattentive. She was going for the triple crown. She was, however, better (or less worse, I guess) than the PREGNANT waitress that was working another section. Seriously? I’m all for gender equality, but I’ve got to draw the line at the fucking pregnant Hooters waitress.
I’m rambling…sorry. Back to the situation at hand. We got our food quickly, but the pitchers of beer were slow to arrive (again, to which I was not affected one way or the other, since I would’ve vomited (or delivered the pregnant waitress’s baby) rather than drink beer) and my fries initially didn’t come with my burger. She said “Oh, they probably forgot to make them” which leads me to another tangent. I’ve never worked in a restaurant, but I was out at lunch a couple of weeks ago with some co-workers who have waited tables in the past, and they confirmed my theory that in the history of restaurants, nothing has ever been the waiter’s/waitress’s fault. It’s always the kitchen’s fault. Have you ever been at a restaurant where your order was screwed up, and the server didn’t blame it on the kitchen? In this particular situation, I’m sure it was the waitress’s fault, because she sucked ass.
So, we finished our food and headed outside to the tent in the parking lot where the Bikini Contest was being held. This was a sight. I would’ve given $100 for my sister and brother-in-law to be there, because no one is as bitingly critical as the three of us when we get together…and let’s just say, there was a lot of “material” for us to be critical of. This was the dregs of society. First, some guy–who had on jean shorts that were so long I swear they were capri pants–almost spilled beer on me. This guy was about 4 foot 8, and 275 lbs. Yes, I know ladies…hold yourselves back. I barely managed to get out of the way of Lil’ Redneck’s beer spill. In retrospect, I guess that all of this poor man’s shorts are so long that they look like capri pants, because he is an oompa loompa.
The ladies in the contest were attractive, yes; however, they had that air about them that said “Yes, I was raised in a trailer; yes, I lost my virginity in the sixth grade to my uncle (on a waterbed, of course); yes, I’ve had three kids by the age of 20; and yes, I’m studying to get my dental assistant’s degree.” It seemed as if every girl in this contest was studying to get some sort of assistant’s degree in a medical field, which leads me to believe that to get one of these you need to have a pulse, 150 bucks, and no self-esteem…which, as I think about it, was probably the same requirements for this bikini contest–plus some serious fake tits.
Anyway, one of the girls in the contest also moonlighted at Wild Bills, a country bar across the street from this Hooters. Imagine that resume: Her “primary job” is Hooters, and she “moonlights” at Wild Bills. DOUBLE WHAMMY!! There were about 50,000 Wild Bills employees there; I’m not sure if this was because she was in the contest, or because it is a natural fit for these two establishments to participate in each other’s events, seeing as how “skank” is the main class of clientele for both. Either way, you knew she was going to win. She had the “Panama City Beach strip cruisin’, too much makeup wearin’, I may have sex 7 times tonight with 8 different guys” (do the math–two guys at once) look going. The contest was truly over at that point.
They went on with the contest anyway, and there were two guys (who I believe were from a local radio station) emceeing. They kept saying things like “Listen to this, guys: Tiffany is an INDEPENDENT woman! She works and is raising two kids!! Give it up for 20 year old Tiffany!!” Translation: “Guys, Tiffany is a dirty, filthy whore!! Any one of you has a shot to stick your golf pencil in her mine shaft tonight, just please wear protection, because she’s obviously very fertile!!” Another constant refrain was “and the person that Amber admires most is her father” which led me and my friends to say “Yeah, because Daddy is the one that paved her way to a Hooters Bikini Contest through years of sexual abuse and neglect.” And again, if my sister and brother-in-law would’ve been there, it would’ve been even worse.
This event followed the trend set by other outdoor events (flea markets, carnivals, sporting events) in that it had an inordinate amount of mentally handicapped people there. Are they on some sort of mass email listing for these types of events? Is there a high pitched, dog whistle-like call that only tards can hear when an event like this takes place? They’re always there).
The emcees did, however, show that they were very aware of their audience as they kept imploring the crowd to “Give it up for our troops!” spouting off things like “TWO 500 POUND BOMBS ON THAT BASTARD AL-ZARQAWI!! YEAH!!” Of course, this sent the crowd into a frenzy. If you want to incite a throng of illiterate smelly rednecks, nothing will do that more than overt patriotism and whores in bikinis.
That reminds me; I’ve hardly touched on the crowd yet. I can’t even begin to describe them. Seriously. It was too much to take in. My mind couldn’t process all the skankdom surrounding me. Thank God I was sober (remember, the whole beer/vomit phenomenon the previous weekend) so that I could even begin to absorb the environment. There were so many jorts there, I thought I was in Florida. There were families there; by that, I mean in the truest sense of the word “family”: Father, mother, and children. CLASSY!! There was a man with his three-year old son there. There were 60+ year old women there.
All of this made me want to crawl into a hole and suck my thumb. I was overcome by the environment. This has never happened before. It was like some sort of White Trash Overload Syndrome began overtaking me. I succumbed to the skankiness around me, and it covered me like a blanket. A really nasty, smelly, piss-covered blanket with a rebel flag on it.
Needless to say, the Wild Bills moonlighting girl won. For winning, her prize was an all-expenses paid trip to Las Vegas for the National Finals of the Hooters Bikini Contest. In other words, she gets to show the rest of the nation how much white trash the South can export. It makes me proud to be a Southerner!
What did I learn from this experience? Nothing, really, except that my cruel observational humor does have boundaries; it can be overcome by a supremely trashy environment. And that if you put on so much makeup it looks like you’re wearing a Halloween mask, spend 7 straight weeks in a tanning bed, get $70,000 of plastic surgery, and bring your own personal cheering section with you, you too can win the Hooters Bikini Contest! Future Hooters waitresses, keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars!