DanMargarita.com

Clearwater, Florida is home to the Philadelphia Phillies spring training facilities, as well as the first Hooters restaurant ever, established there in 1983. I’m guessing there has been a hefty turnover of staff since then as some of the original staff has probably gotten pretty hefty; you know, what with all the access to those free chicken wings.

After several years of attending Philadelphia Phillies games in Clearwater on my annual Spring Training trip with baseball pals Jim & Rick, I finally had the chance to visit the birthplace of Hooters; Hooterville itself, as it were.

The connection between Hooters and the Phillies is strong. Besides many ads around the ballpark, there is a “Hooters VIP Diamond Dugout” down the third base line. Fans sitting there can have their food served to them by Hooters waitresses.

Although Clearwater is the home of the original Hooters, many other ballparks seem to have Hooters waitresses patrolling the grounds, as well. In Clearwater, the Phillies use them as “ball girls” on each base line. That is, they are supposed to retrieve foul balls and give them to kids in the stands. I’ll leave it to you to insert your own “ball girls” joke.

From what I could discern, these ball girls didn’t seem to be selected for their athletic ability, or even their knowledge of the game as one of them unwittingly fields a ball in play that winds up being scored as a ground-rule double as a result of her interference.

My two previous experiences at a Hooters restaurant weren’t pleasant ones. The first occasion was at the old Hooters near the Boston Garden. I went in to check it out several years ago to have some food, a beer and watch a ballgame. After perusing the menu for just a few minutes, the bartender rudely asked “Are you gonna order something, or what?” That question pretty much made my decision for me. A simple “Are you ready to order?” as most service people would ask, would’ve kept me there and who knows, maybe coming back.

I told someone this story recently and it made me realize that after all these years it wasn’t fair to judge the whole chain and their staff by one bad experience, so I decided to give them another chance (honestly, it was in the interest of fairness). So I recently took a trip to the new Hooters on Rte. 1 for a meal, bypassing such other heart-congestion-inducing haunts as The Border Café and The Hilltop Steakhouse.

It may or may not surprise you to learn that the patrons at Hooters were about 98 percent male. Go figure.

The waitress was friendly enough and the fish sandwich was okay, but when I paid my bill of $12.25, the waitress brought back my change of… $7, instead of $7.75. I’m a pretty good tipper, having had many friends in the service industry, but when you automatically assume the extra .75 as part of your tip, I tend to simply deduct that amount and even a little less, so instead of the handsome tip I would’ve given, she got less than she might have (although still an OK tip).

While we had made several trips over the years to Clearwater for Phillies games, we had never visited the original Hooters, so we decide to make the pilgrimage to the original land of Hooters for the first time ever. The waitress was peasant enough and the burger was okay, but as I went to check the rest of the place out, I unwittingly went upstairs, not realizing that it’s for staff only. As I descend the stairs, I run into the manager who chews me out instead of saying “I’m sorry sir, this is for staff only.”

That pretty much cemented my opinion of Hooters and as I left for home the next day, I was determined that I was done with the owl-themed (yeah, right) restaurant for good. Or so I thought…

Making my way through Tampa Airport, I realize that I can’t find my cell phone. I search my bags frantically, re-trace my steps, go to lost and found…all the things you’re supposed to do. Figuring, well more like praying, that it had fallen out of my pocket and into the rental car from Rick which had dropped me at the airport, I try calling my own phone from a pay phone to see if Rick (or anybody) answers.

I try later again on and it hits me that if I did if fact put it in my luggage by mistake, perhaps the last thing I want to do in the post-911 era is have luggage handlers hearing a ring tone come from my suitcase.

Alas, through the miracle that is the Internet, I learn the next morning that Rick does indeed have my cell phone. It hadn’t fallen out of my pocket and into the rental car as I figured, though. It was found by the manager of Hooters.

Well, maybe I can give them one more chance.