damn hostesses

so I went to the Outback last Saturday and ate with friends and the food was good and the merriment plentiful.

And then, as tends to happen in the life of DTM, I started ranting.

Hostesses, fuck them. I mean, hell yeah, I'm all for being sexist and putting a couple hot bitches -- and I will use that word in this post purely because I believe it fits the sentiment I am trying to express -- up front, but if you've ever worked in a restaurant in ANY capacity (waiter, busboy, cook, bartender), then you will understand the true source of my properly directed rage.

Hostesses -- by the way why do we never complain about gender equality here?............oh shit, just when you start to talk shit you realize all the maitre d's at ACTUAL class restaurants are dudes, and it always goes back to: male power!!!......but wait, what's this? hmmm, interesting, I had to do a google for the spelling of that, apparantly it's french for "headwaiter," so my original argument about bitches monopolizing hostessing seems to hold. Regardless, the point is hostesses don't do ANYTHING. And, worse, there's at least two, usually three to FIVE of them to do all that nothing. They hold doors open, say hello, walk you to your table, and that's it. And don't give me shit about having to "keep the sections equal" -- that's 1st grade math. If there are more people in one area start sending new arrivals someplace else. That's it. One rule to follow. And they get $8-10 per hour. Meanwhile everyone ELSE in the place is working their asses off without a second to stop to breathe or think, and as you rush in a gust past the dumb bitches up front you find them chatting, making jokes and worried about "looking pretty." And generally they find YOU rude for actually working your ass off and not having time to socialize or file your nails.

I mean, granted I'm completely without culture, but let's fuck the whole tradition of hostesses. I for one would not be offended if there were only one of them, even if, god forbid, I walked in the door to find her leading another party to their table and had to wait a whole 30 seconds until she could make it back to her haughty little podium to talk with me.

Or hell, I'll seat myself (cue sirens signaling the pure chaos that would surely ensue). Just end the madness, that's all I ask.