I’ve been working this dead end job for over a year,  and it’s boring as hell. All I do is sit here and wait on impatient little shits that don’t give a crap about the rest of the world. I don’t know anyone who has strolled into this crusty old place who wasn’t a complete blockhead. I could have avoided this crash pit and been Miss America by now if it wasn’t for Missy. I was a professional model for three years, even got on the cover of Sports Illustrated, but Missy made it her number one obligation to tell everyone that I got knocked up. I swear, if she and her little friends walked in here, I would cut a bitch. Just because that lying scumbag cheated on her boyfriend, and I called her out on it, doesn’t mean she should get her ponytail in a twist.  Now I’m stuck at Hooters waiting on these bastards that push me around all day. I don’t even do my make-up for work. All they do is stare at my tits anyways.

I tapped my pen against the side of the podium where they stored the menus. I was staring off into space for the third time that hour when I heard someone  snapping in front of my face. It’s my boss, Tom. Tom is literally the most lard-filled man I’ve ever seen. He weighs upwards of 300 pounds. I don’t understand how he gets out of bed in the morning. I’m guessing his day begins with a large crash and ends with the springs of his bed begging for mercy.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! How many times do I have to get ya’ filthy mind out of the gutter and wait on the customers!” His face is bright red from the effort it took to speak that many words in succession. I swear, one day he’s going to pass out from all his fat crushing his lungs. Don’t eat burgers for a midday snack, go vegan kids.  

“Yes Tom, I’ll get right to it!”  I say sarcastically. I salute him, and get on with my day. I drag my sneakers across the floor and feel Tom staring at my ass.  I’m beyond telling him off, it’s not worth it. He’s just this stuck-up pig that will never learn.

“Welcome to Hooters, how many?” It’s a group of jocks in their jerseys. They don’t even bother washing up before they came here. They smelled like a high school locker room that someone tried to spray chocolate Axe over.

“Eight.” I’m guessing he’s the quarterback of the group. His cockiness disgusted me.  He didn’t even make eye contact with me as I walked his group of brainless junkies to the table.

“Your server will be here shortly.” I placed their menus on the table, and just started to turn around when I felt something hard press in the small of my back. I freeze. What is this guy trying to do?  

“Tell me where it is!” What the bloody hell is this guy talking about? Is he trying to rob a fricken Hooters?

“Where’s what?” I hear his lankies jeering from the table. What could these guys possibly think is valuable in here?

“Don’t play games with me Sugar, I know you got gold hidden in this place. It’s in your advertisement for God sakes. I didn’t think you would be that type of blonde.” For fucks sake does this guy have a gun? Is he trying to rob a Hooters with a gun?  This guy needs to get his priorities straight.  I feel his gun-free hand gravitating towards my ass and I whip around.

Suddenly I know what the idiot is talking about. We advertise this golden spoon, once a year, saying who ever finished the Choco-supreme would be able to take it home. The disaster desert weighs seventeen pounds. No one has ever done it. The spoon is right next to a sign that says ‘Ask for their number, I’m sure they’ll be flattered.’ It’s right at the front of the store; he passed it when he walked in.

“Are you talking about the fucking spoon?” I say obnoxiously loudly.

“Shh,” he whispers, horrified. “Keep your voice down.” I can hear the other jocks shock and confusion as I reach into his pocket and pull out the so-called ‘gun’. It’s a mini water gun. A water gun.  I took the little thing and squirted it in his face.

“Did you seriously try to rob a Hooters with a fricken water gun?” Looking me in the eye this time, his face ripe with embarrassment, he nods his head yes. Water drips down his face in shame, and his ‘friends’ jeer as they watch their alpha get demoted in status. I point up to the golden spoon surrounded by a glass case. “If that’s what you’re after good luck getting it with a water gun that isn’t even loaded.” I  shove the gun down his pants, and unload the rest of the water.  

“Have fun getting your spoon, your server will be right with you.”