Back of Bourke: Tales from Down Under: Home, Part II

I have never been to Hooters before, to the best of my recollection.

This was the thought that passed through my mind when some of my friends invited me to go with them while I was home. I had seen it in movies and television before, but I had always written it off as some sort of fictitious place, like Jackrabbit Slim's from the movie Pulp Fiction.

Anyway, it was an interesting excursion, to say the least. We were greeted by a hostess who barely looked twelve (the oversized braces did nothing to help this image). After being seated at a large raised table shaped like California, we were eventually greeted by our server. We had around 7 minutes left to take advantage of their happy hour specials, and started ordering drinks to that effect. We realized that appetizers were also half price, and asked her to put those in as well.

Moving with the blinding speed of a sloth on antihistamines, she made her way back to the computer, before returning and informing us that happy hour was over. We all consulted our clocks / watches and informed her that we still had 3 minutes left. Helpless, she let us know that the discount was determined by the clock on their systems. Escalating the issue, the day shift manager informed us that his hands were tied because their times came from Micros. A stunned silence spread across the table as we basked in the inaccurate glow of the idol that was micros. Clearly, clocks synchronized to the internet itself would not be as accurate as the almighty Micros. Long story short, we had to pay full price for our food. Meh.

The food was not terrible, but it was not exactly great either. Chicken wings (my nemesis - the most annoying food to try and eat), fried pickles (interesting), chicken quesadilla, garlic fries, and onion rings. Your standard bar fare. All in all, it was not the transcendant experience I was expecting.