January 12, 2012
Several years ago, Hooters (yes, the restaurant that brought you hot wings and hot waitresses) decided to start an airline. Pilot Husband was tapped to be the Inaugural Captain and Poster Boy. Pilot Husband was now.... Captain Hooters! Imagine my pride.
For years I had kept a can of Crisco on our front porch so Pilot Husband could grease up his head, to make in back in the front door (Gi-normous ego... Gi-normous head). After the press interviews (CNN, HLN, local news, MTV), I had to go to Sam's Club and buy the extra large industrial-sized vat of Crisco just to get him back in the house... so he could lay on the sofa and watch the Military Channel.
Then came the photo shoot (hey, I said he was their Poster Boy). Captain Hooters called me from the photo shoot, whining "They're making me salute in the pictures. Don't you think that's cheezy?". After pausing for a moment, to choose my words carefully, to be the most loving and supportive wife I could be, I replied "You're Captain F-ing Hooters! We are SOOOOO far beyond cheezy!". I followed that up with, "You're wearing an orange tie covered with owls and your Pilot's wings have a Hooter girl STRADDLING them!". (No, seriously, they did!) End of conversation.
Weeks later, the results of the photo shoot began to appear all over the country. In every restaurant, a life sized cardboard cutout of Captain Hooters appeared (like some Nascar driver in the beer aisle of the grocery store)... salute and all.
By the way, this particular gig required Captain Hooters to get a crash pad in Myrtle Beach, SC. Interestingly, he found a place at the former Air Force Base. Like Homer Simpson and the latest get rich quick scheme, Captain Hooters was convinced Hooters Air was the next Pan Am. He signed a lease on a three bedroom unit, thinking he could fill it with other pilots to cover the rent (or so he said). When Hooters Air did not quite live up to the expansion expectations, Captain Hooters was forced to expand his roommate search to include.... wait for it... Hooter Girls. Again, imagine my pride. So ladies, when your husband says he's sharing a crash pad with John, James, and Smith.... make sure it's not Brittany John, Ashley James, and Summer Smith! Oh yeah, anytime your husband heads to the "crash pad" with a surf board strapped to the roof, and his golf bag in the trunk, it doesn't bode well.
Several years ago, Hooters (yes, the restaurant that brought you hot wings and hot waitresses) decided to start an airline. Pilot Husband was tapped to be the Inaugural Captain and Poster Boy. Pilot Husband was now.... Captain Hooters! Imagine my pride.
For years I had kept a can of Crisco on our front porch so Pilot Husband could grease up his head, to make in back in the front door (Gi-normous ego... Gi-normous head). After the press interviews (CNN, HLN, local news, MTV), I had to go to Sam's Club and buy the extra large industrial-sized vat of Crisco just to get him back in the house... so he could lay on the sofa and watch the Military Channel.
Then came the photo shoot (hey, I said he was their Poster Boy). Captain Hooters called me from the photo shoot, whining "They're making me salute in the pictures. Don't you think that's cheezy?". After pausing for a moment, to choose my words carefully, to be the most loving and supportive wife I could be, I replied "You're Captain F-ing Hooters! We are SOOOOO far beyond cheezy!". I followed that up with, "You're wearing an orange tie covered with owls and your Pilot's wings have a Hooter girl STRADDLING them!". (No, seriously, they did!) End of conversation.
Weeks later, the results of the photo shoot began to appear all over the country. In every restaurant, a life sized cardboard cutout of Captain Hooters appeared (like some Nascar driver in the beer aisle of the grocery store)... salute and all.
By the way, this particular gig required Captain Hooters to get a crash pad in Myrtle Beach, SC. Interestingly, he found a place at the former Air Force Base. Like Homer Simpson and the latest get rich quick scheme, Captain Hooters was convinced Hooters Air was the next Pan Am. He signed a lease on a three bedroom unit, thinking he could fill it with other pilots to cover the rent (or so he said). When Hooters Air did not quite live up to the expansion expectations, Captain Hooters was forced to expand his roommate search to include.... wait for it... Hooter Girls. Again, imagine my pride. So ladies, when your husband says he's sharing a crash pad with John, James, and Smith.... make sure it's not Brittany John, Ashley James, and Summer Smith! Oh yeah, anytime your husband heads to the "crash pad" with a surf board strapped to the roof, and his golf bag in the trunk, it doesn't bode well.
#2 ~ Wonder if my Captain Hooters knew your Captain Hooters? I bet so ;-) So very proud. Great memeories in flying history. I can post of few pics of the Hooters airplane if you like. LOL!
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