Euphemisms and Subtle Boobs.

So the other day, I took the youth pastor from my church out to lunch. I'm not a youth; but I own several. I pulled into a restaurant some of the guys at work had been talking about.

He said, "I can't go here, you idiot." (Must be his nickname for me.)

"Why not?"

"Because this is Hooters; you moron."

"Aah", I said, "and you hate owls."

"No, the waitresses".
"You hate the waitresses? That's not very Christian."
"No, stupid. The girls that work here, dress in tight little running shorts and T-Shirts, and they generally have... well, you know, breasts."
"Don't all waitresses have breasts?"
"I'm sure they do, but all restaurants aren't named after them."
"Huh?"
"Hooters, don't you get it? Hooters is a euphemism for boobs." He explained, "The women at this restaurant, draw attention to their... assets. How can you be this dumb?"
"I don't know. Why don't they call it Boobs? I wouldn't go to a restaurant called Boobs."
"Nobody would eat at a restaurant called Boobs. That's why they give them subtle names."
     So, I took him to another reaturant I had heard about.
"You heard about this one from the guys at work, didn't you?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Because you brought me to Twin Peaks."
"Yeah, and?"
"You are mind numbingly stupid. This is the same kind of place."
"They wear running shorts here too?"
"Gah! No, it's a pin-up girl theme. Or so I've heard. Don't even ask about The Library or TD's."
"Hmmh, that's good to know. So... is a Big Mac a euphemism for large scottish, uh, thingies?"
"No. And you're a pinhead." (Probably has to do with that eye of the needle story, right?)
"You want a Big Mac then?"
"Just take me back to work."
     Later, when I was having a Big Mac by myself, I thought; So the thing is, you don't want to be too obvious. Maybe I should apply what I now know about subtlety and euphemism, and open a restaurant myself. I will combine two of the things I love: Monty Python and Mexican Food and S-E-X-Y. (I will combine three things of the things I love.) At my restaurant we will also have alluring waitresses. Except at my place, only about a quarter of them will be women, the others will be really butch men in drag. And, we will serve Spam. Lots of spam; Spam burritos, Spam tacos, Spam enchiladas with a side of Spam. Menu is set; now what shall I call my place? How about,  'Huge Tracts of... Land', 'Naughty Bits', 'Bad, Bad Naughty Zoot', or maybe, 'Wink, Wink, Nudge, Nudge'? Nah, I don't know if those are subtle enough; I'll call it 'The Cheese Shop."
   

No, I Don't Work Here! I Always Dress Like This.

I don't know what it is about me, but people always ask me, "Do you work here?" In my job I wear a uniform, a generic style uniform, that lots of plumbers, mechanics, brain surgeons and other blue collar types wear. So, often when I am at automotive or home improvement store, some little old lady will ask me where the wrenches or some other piece of metal that you can hit things with, are. If I happen to be at an auto parts place, I just shake my head sadly and say "No habla". If they say something in Spanish in return, I fall on the ground and start foaming at the mouth. It's less emasculating than telling them I don't know anything about cars. I feel much more at home in a hardware store, I estimate that new employees have to work at the Lowe's by my house for approximately 6 months before they have spent as much time in the store as I have. So if somebody asks me if I work there I say "yes", and help them find what they want, and then I gossip about how the manager of this store was cheating with one of the clerks and somebody from paint. (Probably not true.)
     That this happens when I am at work is one thing; that people are constantly mistaking me for employees in my off time is beginning to suck. I was in Trader Joe's the other day and people wouldn't stop. "Sir, where is the humus?", "Sir, which wine should I serve with squab and asparagus?", "Excuse me mister, can I have a balloon?" ("Like I friggin' care", "zinfandel in a box", and "SHUT-UP!", respectively.) What? Can't they tell the difference between a Trader Joe's Hawaiian shirt for employees and one from the Trader Joe's Catalog for real people?! Morons. It's getting to the point where I can't leave the house in any of my favorite clothes. Better not go to Home Depot wearing that Tennessee Volunteer apron that Aunt Kathy gave me for Christmas. Don't even think about going shopping for shoes after officiating that kids soccer game. Give me a break.

     The other day I went for a jog, and then afterwards stopped for a beer and some wings. It was unreal. "Hey toots, get me a beer.", that's what some drunk old redneck told me. Me! I don't even look like a girl. I mean I am tall and skinny, and I do have pretty nice legs. (If I do say so myself) But, just because I like to run in super tight shorts and I have to wear tights under my shorts because of when I caught on fire and I tie my t-shirt in a knot, (that's how I roll) all the sudden I work at Hooters? Really? Get a clue; not even a girl. At this rate I can't even imagine what is going to happen when I wear my 6" platform stiletto heels out to the club.