You get a phone call to have a meeting at (drum roll please) Hooters.
Yes, I travel in the classiest of circles where we meet in refined establishments of grace and decorum.
I was early ("To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late.T o be late is unacceptable." words to live by and engrave upon your heart,) so I went in and waited for the other parties to arrive. Turns out that it was a slow day at the Hooters in Waldorf so a waitress or three sat down to chat with me. Apparently I was an oddity in their world. Go figure.
It was a fascinating conversation quite frankly and I am not being facetious. Did you know that they make these things called a "chicken cutlet" to go in your bra to push everything up? It LOOKS like a chicken cutlet. Now who do you think the first gal was to rumage through her 'frig and think, "Hmmm...this chicken cutlet is just the thing to make my chest ever so perky!" and then proceeded to put the damn thing in her bra? She must not have been too stupid because now she is raking in the bucks from her faux poultry boob enhancers sold to Hooter girls and God Knows Who Else.
The meeting went well - Hooters is doing all of the food for free for our Motorcycle run in August. They even offered me a free Hooters shirt.
I declined. I just don't think I can pull it off in quite the same manner they did.