LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Talk: Who Gives a Hoot? |
by Bill Sievert |
News of the biggest controversy to hit Rehoboth Beach this spring is sweeping the nation. The story was first revealed to me at a McDonald's Restaurant somewhere along I-95 in rural South Carolina.
In a long line of people pursuing burgers ("Yes, I said no cheese on that!"), the man in front of me struck up a conversation to pass the time. As he turned in my direction, I noticed he was wearing a Rehoboth tee shirt. Like so many of our fellow I-95 travelers, Jimmy has been splitting his year between Delaware and Florida. He was driving back to Tampa after a quick trip to Rehoboth where he searched unsuccessfully for a bartending job for this summer. "Oh, you haven't been back lately?" Jimmy asked. "You won't believe how much Rehoboth has changed." "What do you mean? I haven't been away all that long." In a hushed voice that sounded like he was reporting major hurricane damage, Jimmy confided, "There's a Hooters going in on Rehoboth Avenue." "No!" I said, truly taken aback. "On Main Street USA? In the town that fought so hard to keep McDonalds out? In the city where Commissioners put a moratorium on outdoor cafes after one of its senior members argued that God never intended for people to eat outdoors?" "Yes," he said. "It's changing the character of downtown." My initial reaction was to agree. Though I've never sampled anything from the Hooters menu, I have long considered the chain's concept to be tasteless. Perhaps that's because I'm getting to be an old hoota veteran of an era when feminists fought fiercely to stop male dominated corporations from using sex as a sales weapon. It seems only yesterday that a group of women outside the Miss America pageant tossed their confining push-up bras into trash bins on the Atlantic City Boardwalk protesting treatment of their bodies as sex objects. Of course, that was back in 1968. In the three decades since, women have (to borrow the annoying tag line from an old commercial for a feminine brand of cigarettes) "come a long way, baby." But Hooterswith a reputation built less on the cute little owl featured in its advertising and more on its busty, flirtatious waitressesseems a throwback to the bad-old days. Not all women see it that way anymore. In fact, one Rehoboth businesswoman had to be escorted out of a recent City Commissioner's meeting for creating a scene when she angrily protested a decision not to award a liquor license to Hooters. A merchant, she argued that the bar and restaurant would draw more customers into her store. So it seems we have just about come full circle, with a new breed of female business owner demonstrating in support of a firm renowned for using women's bodies to sell its products. "Why don't you apply for a bartending position at the new Hooters?" I asked Jimmy in the McDonalds line in South Carolina. "With Mayor Cooper supporting the place, they'll certainly get their liquor license. And the bar will rake in lots of money." "I've already inquired. Hooters doesn't want me," he said, pressing his Rehoboth tee shirt tightly against his pecs. "It appears that I don't quite measure up to the job." Several years ago, one of my nieceswho is very slim in staturetook a waitress job at a Hooters to help with expenses while attending the University of Kentucky. She lasted less than a week. "They hired me because they were short on help and I had experience as a server, but I didn't fit in. I didn't get tips like the other girls because I didn't tease the men enough, and most guys weren't all that thrilled with me. My boobs just weren't big enough for me to succeed as a Hooters girl." For the record, the folks who franchise Hooterswhile gently patting the heads of their little stuffed owlsdisagree that an appeal to male lust has anything to do with their restaurant's current success. Whatever it may have been earlier, Hooters is now another family restaurant where children can frolic and husbands only have eyes for their wives. Uh huh. In defense of Hooters, I will concede that a well rounded view of the subject has two distinct points to consider (and that's as close to a bad Dolly Parton-esque pun as you will find in this column). Rehoboth is a resort town, and it should provide entertainment options to alleven heterosexual males. Most of us gay guys enjoy a little "booty shaking" with our beverages. Bulging underwear nights and appearances by go-go boys are staples at many gay clubs, but few of us challenge these events as being politically incorrect. So, why shouldn't straight guys have comparable opportunities for leering? Because many women have heartfelt concerns about the nature of sexual harassment and violence, females still tend to be more divided of opinion when it comes to the appropriateness of jiggling waitresses. Yet, there is rarely a shortage of takers when lesbians stage a wet-tee shirt contest or when straight ladies with silver hair flock to a Chippendales-style revue. Many of us, male and female, gay and straight, seem to have reached a point where we believe we can differentiate between true sexual oppression and trivial sexual playfulness. As do many of you, I hate to see any chain restaurants or stores come into downtown Rehoboth, even if the franchises are operated locally. Small, independent businesses are certainly a major reason for the town's continuing appeal. But I am even less fond of watching city officials turn away businesses that could help keep visitors downtown at nightsomething the Commission has been doing ever since it denied a liquor license many years ago to the wonderful Strand dance club, causing its ultimate demise. Perhaps the best idea is to let the public determine the fate of Hooters in Rehoboth. Give the people the power to decide with their wallets how important it is to have their burgers and brews served up by well-endowed young women in tight fitting tank tops. Who knows? Maybe Hooters will become such an integral player in the community that it will eventually offer lesbian happy hours and topless male-server nights. Then, maybe Jimmy can get his job as a bartender after all. Bill Sievert used to live in Rehoboth Beach year round but he can't seem to find his way off I-95 south anymore. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 4, May 4, 2001. |