I do know that the concept of hiring women—and only
women—for a certain position within a business is by definition discriminatory.
How is it possible that a so-called legitimate “family” business—not a strip
club mind you—can get away with hiring only women, and not men, as servers?
Further, how is it legal, in this day and age, to practice single-gender hiring
based on a woman’s looks?
And what does it say about us as a society that we’ve taken the forward
strides brought to us by so many brilliant, equal-rights-fighting,
capable women like Susan B. Anthony, Eleanor Roosevelt, Rosa Parks, Gloria
Steinem, and Anita Hill and pretty much flushed them down a big fucking toilet? What
started with Hooters has now lead to several national chains that have taken
the hiring process to a place so degrading that it’s about reducing women to
one (okay two) body parts: their breasts. These businesses are literally hiring
a good pair of tits to wait on their customers. (I’m sure that they would argue
that it’s not just about the boobs. They have to hire a pair of boobs with the ability
to wait tables, a feat that I am positive is not easy for anyone, boobs or not,
which is why I always tip at least 20 percent, even when the service is less
than stellar.)
And these businesses don’t even have the common decency to
sugar-coat what they’re doing. They put their boobishness on big-ass signs right
out front: Hooters, Twin Peaks, Mugs N Jugs.
Yet another part of me argues that women who are good
looking and have been blessed with a nice rack have every right to use their
genetic advantages to make money if they so choose. After all, if guys are
going to continue to be so easily manipulated as to drop a few bucks when they
see a pair of tits, then who am I to deny those women their right to collect
their piece of the American pie?
Of course, that argument goes the other way too. What about
all us plane-Jane types who have to rely on brains and hard work to make money?
That kind of sucks.
In a burst of injustice-induced frustration, one day on
Facebook I announced that I would be opening a string of restaurants called Sausage
Fest. The menu would be sausage-based and we would be hiring only good-looking
young men in their twenties who would sport uniforms that show off their
“packages.” I said that we’d only hire young men of a certain length and girth,
if you know what I mean. “Who wants to invest?” I asked, and about 20 of my
female friends “liked” the status, which at this juncture of our culture is of
course the only vote of the people that seems to really count for anything.
A male friend of mine pointed out that such a venture would
never work. First off, heterosexual women don’t tend to patronize that kind of
establishment in droves. You could cite the popularity of an enterprise
such as Chippendales, but the fact of the matter is that its popularity is
limited. There are strip clubs for men in virtually every town in America, but
only a small smattering of Chippendales-type shows for women. Secondly, my
friend pointed out that sexually explicit material that may start out aimed at
heterosexual women is often usurped by gay men. Take the publication Playgirl, as an example. And while that’s
not necessarily a bad thing—I’ve enjoyed a couple of really good strip shows in
gay clubs alongside my gay brethren—it still changes the basic intent of my
brilliant idea.
And that made me madder than ever. It also made me come to a
realization: I’m not mad at Hooters for exploiting women nearly so much as I am
for the fact that straight women aren’t able to exploit hot young dudes in the
same fashion. ‘Cause if Sausage Fest was real? I’d be eating there breakfast,
lunch and dinner.
And that, I realized, after twenty long years, may be the real reason I despise breastaurants.
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