Working hard for the cure to straight-acting:
The Best of inQueer

We're here! With such a discreet exterior, you might not even guess what goes on inside.

Giving in to our curiosity, and our desire to keep you, dear inQueer reader, informed, we gathered a group of gay boys and went undercover to the local Hooters restaurant to give you an inside look at the occult world of the straight man's PG-rated fantasy realized.

After three or four attempts to convene a sizable group to participate (you try finding gay men who will give up gym time to go to a place called "Hooters,") we finally managed to gather enough boys for the project. The plan was to do our best to pass ourselves off as straight men and infiltrate a nearby Hooters restaurant to observe and report on its activity. Just to keep things interesting, we agreed to a contest where we would earn points for various activities throughout the evening. Here's how it worked:

• 10 points for overtly straight behavior we'd never do otherwise
• -10 points for any camp remarks or behavior
• 50 points for getting another guy's phone number
• -50 points for talking to another guy and not getting his phone number
• 100 points for the first person to get the phone number of a waitress
• 200 points for the person who convinces them to put Will & Grace on the monitor

Yeah, Dude. Look, it's the straight son Chris' mom always wanted!

Oh, the ambiance! The damned lights. Plus there were signs like the one above all over encouraging us to get our 2003 Hooters calendar today. We passed on that.

Mr. Popular. Mike did a good job of mackin' it with the ladies, but alas, no phone number.

Honey, what's going on here? A straight couple on a date a Hooters... oh, the romance!

Penalty! Ken and Sam lose 10 points for staring a little too hard at a hot guy.

With the rules set, we donned our white socks and flannel shirts and departed to our target Hooters. In an inauspicious start, half of our group showed up fifteen minutes late and were penalized 10 points each for arriving on gay standard time.

The outside of the restaurant inconspicuously blended with the rest of the suburban strip of businesses our representative Hooters sat on. But once inside, the seemingly innocuous façade of the Hooters exterior quickly fades. Upon entering the double doors, we were assaulted by a wall of super-tanned women wearing tight white tank tops and bright orange hot pants who shrieked, "Hiiiiiiiiiii boysssssssss! Welcome to Hooooters! Teeheeheeheeheehee!"

At that point, I froze thinking, "Shit! What am I doing here?" The cognitive dissonance was so great, I was momentarily frozen while I fought the urge to pull the fire alarm and run out screaming. After a moment, I came to, and managed to utter something about needing a table for six. It turned out that my sudden glazed eyes and incoherent speech were typical a Hooters patron, so I later gave myself 10 points for my initial reaction.

Besides the wall of women at the entrance, we noticed a number of other things that were a bit out of the ordinary for

your average family restaurant. First, we couldn't help but notice that the tables are a bit on the low side, no doubt to facilitate visual access to the posterior and cleavage features of our waitresses. In addition, it was unusually warm-- no turgid nipples here, this is a family establishment-- and the lighting was excessively bright. The lighting too much for Ken, who lost 10 points when he remarked that they should soften it up with some track lighting. While bright lighting is always an anathema to the gay male, at least it was incandescent-if they had that much wattage with florescent bulbs, we would have needed to run out for some emergency SPF 15 bronzer.

When we sat down, our waitresses came over and introduced themselves, "Hiiiiiii! I'm Jessica, and this is Sarah, she's in training. We don't have any specials, but I think you should get the ribs. What would everyone like to drink?" Everyone ordered beer (+10 points), except for Sam who lost 10 points when he wondered out loud if they served wine.

Once we adjusted to the heat and blinding lights, we took a look around at the clientele, and can't say we were very impressed. We were rather hoping for plenty of hot eligible straight guys parading around, but instead got a lot of middle-aged guys with nothing better to do than eat chicken wings and mentally remove what little clothing remained on the waitresses.

After the disappointing survey of the men turned up little eye-candy, we decided to take a look at the menu, which featured typical bar fare: plenty of deep-fried, cheese-covered appetizers, chicken wings, and various slabs of meat a bun. They also served salads, which puzzled me, since salads are not very manly. Just who are the salads for? Certainly not the waitresses, many of whom appeared to live on a diet of cigarettes and Diet Coke.

My question was answered when a straight couple walked in and sat down near us- the girlfriend ordered a salad. Female customers? Why would a guy bring his girlfriend to Hooters?! Is he dumb? Maybe he's trying to tell her something? Perhaps she's bi, and they're looking for a third? We ruled out her being a dyke, since we would think most dykes would be too outraged by the very notion of Hooters to even think of dining here (Becky was.) I really wanted to saunter over to her and in my best Megan Mullally voice say, "Honey, what's going on here? We can do better than this."

As we ordered our food, there was a growing clamor behind us. It turned out to be the start of a Hooters' birthday ritual, which involved the birthday boy standing on a stool with two balloons near his groin, perhaps as a suggestion of reproductive organs, while the ladies serenaded him with a royalty-free birthday song. Sadly, my photo of this didn't turn out. The lucky guy during our visit was turning 17, and two members of our group were penalized 10 points for coveting jailbait.

One other peculiarity about this restaurant was the sheer number

of waitresses who were working there. There were waaaay more ladies in uniform than necessary to provide an adequate level of service, and most of them just loitered around the bar or chatted it up with the boys. Throughout the course of the evening, we developed favorites, and generally agreed on the waitress that was most attractive and named her "Monique." (Note that gay men are still capable of appreciating attractive women, but we don't feel the need to touch them. We just want their shoes.) Chris got a little carried away with Monique and lost 10 points for saying, "She's so hot, I'd bottom for her." Yikes.

At one point, I almost had one waitress convinced that she should put Will & Grace on the TV near us, but then she was distracted by a shiny object and that ended that.

Our meal was served with little fanfare in a train of waitresses dropping off the food. While lacking in presentation, the food was actually quite good. My chicken sandwich was one of the best I'd had in a long time, and the other boys agreed that their burgers and wings were also excellent.

After our meal, I decided I needed to scope out the bathroom. Along the way, I was trapped in a tragic straight mating ritual when one of the other male patrons knocked over a table sign in my path. I instinctively picked it up and put it back, only to have one of the guys say, "Hey, Dude, that wasn't for you to pick up."

"Yeah, I'm the one who picks stuff up around here," complained his waitress.

Let me now digress for a moment and share some of Amanda's wisdom with you. Straight people tend to hide their prurient intentions through seemingly innocent behavior. See, if I were in a gay restaurant, I would just say to the waiter, "Come here and bend over." But straight people feel the need to be more inconspicuous, just in case Father Francis might see them, not knowing that Father Francis himself prefers to use the phrase "come here and bend over" as well.

At any rate, I quickly apologized for the confusion and scurried off to the bathroom, cursing myself for not having used the opportunity to obtain a phone number.

We're sooo butch!!! The inQueer investigative team, sans Amanda, poses with some of the lovely ladies at Hooters. We've blurred faces in our photos to protect the innocent. Where's Mike's hand? No wonder he was so popular.

The rest of our visit to Hooters was relatively uneventful, aside from the occasional deduction of points for Romy and Michelle references and sibilant s's. We managed to maneuver our way though the evening without completely queening out (they did play Madonna in the background at one point) or otherwise drawing attention to ourselves, and had fun chatting it up with our troop of waitresses.

On our way out, everyone cruised the one cute blonde guy sitting at the bar, and those of us who missed him went back in for a gander. And needless to say, we all lost the point game with negative scores.

To sum up our Hooters experience, I think Miss Mona from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas sums it up best: "Lots of good will, maybe one small thrill, but there's nothin' dirty goin' on." While there's no extraordinarily depraved behavior (by inQueer standards) going on at Hooters, all those scantily dressed women and drooling men were a bit much for us, and despite the good food and friendly service, we can't say we'll be heading back again soon. But don't let us stop you from visiting your local Hooters with a pack of wily gay men. Just remember, should you find yourself headed there, be sure to dress lightly, bring sunglasses, and don't pick up anything off the floor.