Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

At Hooters, we do women right (the annual Bizarro Post)



I've been practicing using my weblog as a marketing analysis tool. In my view, far too much time is consumed by people engaged in after-hours personal lives. I believe that this time can be much more profitably spent on generating useful management tools, suitable for self-improvement at the workplace. I never understand why people wish to engage in small talk about personal matters, when work-related activities, assiduously pursued, could enliven and make more profitable those hours away from the job.

I posit that this is symptomatic of a broader problem. I will share with you my thesis, and then proceed to explicate it at length. I have come to believe that people spend too little time thinking about work, and too much time worrying about politics, religion, the arts, family, romance and friends.

America has become complacent. Whereas, in the 19th Century, we had every man, woman and children not of the patrician class, engaged in twelve hour days doing productive things in the workplace and in the home, we've now slipped into a world in which leisure sometimes exists for essentially no good reason.

But I have decided to treat this paradox less as an obstacle and more as an opportunity. Even the coldest winter can seem like General January and General February in the great war against American complacency.

Even since I got my Executive Master of Business Administration by mail from the University of Alaska at Barrow, I've looked for ways to make my career more about
management of profit, and less about profitless pursuits.

One puzzle I wanted to solve was how to take the base, boring interests of the non-work-motivated consumer, and turn it into an opportunity for corporate success.
I was frankly discouraged in my job search, as some firms seemed to go out of their way to stress their desire to provide time off or a corporate culture built on things other than profit. I say "what profits a man to have a soul, if he can't make a decent profit?". I have always endeavered to have no soul in all that I do.
But I began to despair--could I find a job that offered me both profit and a chance to study the shallow American psyche?

Then I got my job as a second assistant manager at Hooter's. This experience has opened my eyes to the wonderful opportunities which commerce offers even in this sadly dysfunctional leisure age. At Hooter's we realize an essential thing. We can make a commodity of anything, and regularize markets formerly done haphazardly.

Some people think that Hooter's is about fun or a party atmosphere. That's the marketing genius our glorious upper management brings to the place.But I was delighted the first time that I realized that disgusting human lust could be turned into an incredible profit-making opportunity.

I'll never forget the first time I saw Brenda Jean DeQueen, who goes by the name of "Bambi", during my first week as Second Assistant Manager. Bambi had the tightest top on imaginable, which enhanced certain anatomical aspects of her figure
in ways that made her apparently popular with customers, who grabbed at her and said things vaguely suggestive of a desire for direct interaction with her. I personally am immune to the charms of people of any gender, having discovered long ago that sexual desire is best sublimated to more fruitful pursuits such as on-line accounting courses and Toastmasters. But Bambi taught me a valuable lesson that night. She confirmed for me the lesson that I had always read in marketing books. Sex sells. But she also taught me an important, more important second lesson--sex sells even when you don't sell sex.

I had never grasped the potential for profit in the illusion of sex before. During my graduate seminar in "Marketing Techniques of Brothels and Brokerage Houses", I had learned what a varied profession prostitution proves to be, both in bed and on Wall Street. But Bambi showed me a new light, in a single evening. You see, the problem with conventional sexual trade is that the delivery of product poses a number of legal, staffing and community issues to overcome. But at Hooter's, we sell sex but don't deliver. I think this is a masterpiece.

I freely admit that it's regrettable that our patrons have sex drives at all. I think that the procreative urges of our species could more easily be met by a few basic contractual forms and biological adjustments than the current blur of misplaced energy spent in pursuit of momentary pleasure. I have never had any pleasure, momentary or otherwise, from a bodily pursuit, but I imagine it must be a lot like giving a good sales presentation. But the wonderful thing about Hooters is that we take something as regrettable as a sex drive, and turn it into pure money.

The intriguing thing at Hooter's is that the principal product, women engaged in serving beer while providing a flirtatious tease, is something our staff can deliver without undue stress or effort. Even the controversy that Hooters can arouse with needlessly churchy townfolk proves an effective marketing tool, as having Hooters girls appear in tight-fitting attire before city councils and newspaper folks has proven the best form of advertising. I, of course, am an advocate of modified free expression. I think that people should have freedom to say anything to make money.

The internet has opened up wonderful new opportunities for testing this theory.
After all, the internet has taught us that with the entire universe at his fingertips, the American male will choose downloading pornography over piddling things like communication or achieving understanding. I think that people spend far too much time on peace, love and understanding, when there is real money to be made.

Once I worried that I would be side-tracked into a workplace where people wanted to talk about their families, and I would be forced to eat meals with co-workers consumed with matters other than profit. Even before finishing graduate school,
I purchased a CD walkman and two hundred hours of management instructional tapes.
I promised myself I was not going to have a life, unless I could have a life of pure profit.

But my worries proved groundless. At Hooters, none of the women want to trouble me at all with their personal lives or small talk. I get to eat alone, Wall Street Journal at hand. After all, when you've spent your day admirably selling yourself to beer-drinking men, you don't have time or the inclination to distract your Second Assistant Manager.

I'm glad, too, that we do women right at Hooters. I believe in equal rights for men and women, of course--voting by mail so as not to lose work time, no time off due to child-raising issues for either gender, that sort of thing. But until I came to Hooters, I always just saw women as men with different plumbing. Now I see that they can be commodities. I am almost jealous, speaking in the most strictly practical way.

I am seriously considering joining the YMCA, so that I can pursue weight lifting.
I believe it would be profitable to be able to sell myself, too. I have read of an establishment called Chippendale's that takes men and turns them into dollar earning teases. God bless America, assuming, as I do, that God is one more metaphor for Money.

For the first time in life, I have fallen in love with a place. I work at Hooters, and I hope never to work anywhere else. When I see my staff jiggle and giggle by, it's like watching twenty dollar bills stuffed into a thong. Pure profit, taking from the shallow and giving to the corporation.

I have discovered sex for the first time, and I see now there's money in it.
The best thing is that I never need have sex to profit by it. Thanks to my career at Hooters, I need never look down on sex as needless recreation again.

A very happy April 1 to one and all.
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