If the story of a young woman's manipulation and, dare I say it, exploitation in a humbling and humiliating way is something you find entertaining, then you will love what happened to me.
First, I have to say this is completely true. As I think back on what happened, what I did, from the perspective of my 33 years it is all I can do not to cringe. The second impulse that hits me when I think about it, is the question of how could I have been so stupid as to put myself in such a position in the first place. I suppose it was because I was young and naïve. I had grown up in a small town and had gone off to college in the big city (Houston). I was freshman in college and having a hard time financially. My parents were far from rich, and were what most anywhere else would call blue collar middle class. Even so, because of my looks, in our small town, I had been in the popular set, the equivalent of high school's upper class. The transition to the huge University campus had been a shocking change.
One day I was in the student bookstore, holding up the cashier's line, struggling to pay for a used textbook, when I heard a voice behind me.
"How short are you?"
I turned and saw a pretty, slender brunette with an obviously enhanced pair of breasts straining her sweatshirt. Breast augmentations on college girls in Texas weren't exactly an uncommon phenomenon, but she had the super tanned, pink lipstick, and cheerleader-borderline- maybe could have been an exotic dancer- look that seemed to heavily populate the campus. She smiled and there was a genuine sympathy in her expression.
"Uh...about 5 dollars, I think," I said.
"Here," she said digging into her purse to offer a bill.
I took it with an embarrassed smile and paid the cashier. I wlked outside and was still getting my belongings together when she walked out. I looked at my benefactor and said, "I can't thank you enough. I...I really am embarrassed. I promise I will pay you back. I had no idea that a used book would cost so much."
She grinned at me and said, "Everything in this city is expensive, I'm Gena by the way."
"I'm Kim," I said.
There seemed a real sympathetic quality to her interest and within a few minutes I was telling her all about myself, my background, small town, about school, everything.
She shook her head.
"Oh hon, with your looks there is no reason why someone like you should be struggling for cash. Where do you work?" I told her I was looking for a part time job that could work around my class schedule. As soon as I said it she broke out in a huge smile.
"I know just the place," she said and hooked an arm in mine, "In fact I am heading to work now."
She walked me to her car, a brand new Miatta and got in. There was an ease, an assurance that I envied immediately and wanted to share. She was just so confident. College was not intimidating to her. She was "in control" of her situation. Almost unconsciously, I began to follow her lead. It had always been something of a flaw in my personality that I liked, almost needed, to be one of the "in crowd" no matter how that was defined in my brain. In my small town it had been no problem, but at the "U" things were so different. Everyone else seemed to be in on a big secret to being cool and I was not. In Gena I had found an elder (sophomore), an adviser, and a route to being back in control of my own life. It was almost a relief. Conversely in the short time that I had known her I was also, quickly, very susceptible to her suggestion.
We drove down the street off campus and across the highway, chatting all the way. We talked about music, school (she was going to be a nurse), shopping, clothes, boys, movies, just everything. In my estimation she was nothing short of glamorous. I was completely caught up in the conversation as we pulled into a huge strip mall parking lot. My distraction ceased though when I realized that we were slowing to park in front of a Hooters restaurant.
"You work...here?"
She grinned, a little at my surprise I think, and climbed out of the car, grabbing a small gym bag.
"Yep. Great money too. Come on!"
I looked from her to the restaurant with its big orange and wood façade. I had always been pretty modest and conservative growing up. In part it was the way I was raised. In part it was also because Hooters was the sort of place I knew my family would not appreciate or find acceptable for their daughter. Finally it was because for the last year of high school, I had experienced a "development", as my mom called it, that had made my body of sudden curiosity, speculation, and attention by every guy in school. I had become as my dad kidded, a "bombshell". It had made me more self conscious and modest than anything else. I sat there a second, almost intimidated, but the self-assurance of Gena and the promise of some financial independence overcame my intense basic objection.
"Come on, it's no big deal," she laughed.
Her laugh was the tipping point for me, and I manufactured a carefree laugh myself and climbed out of the car. I had always had a near weakness for a challenge or the perception of one. Too often I had reacted too quickly to a question of my courage or affront with poor judgment and a justification that "everyone is doing it" or worse, "You don't want to be chicken". So I closed my gaping mouth, got out of the car, and walked with her through the big glass doors into the restaurant.
It was early and the restaurant was not yet ready to open to customers. Two guys were setting up in the kitchen and a couple of waitresses were standing around talking and putting paper towel rolls on tables. They looked at Gena ad smiled and at me with a quick and critical appraisal. If anything, it struck me as a challenge, and that served to overwhelm the nagging doubt about being there in the first place. The external features were affecting my decisions and behavior again. I tried to act as if being there was no big deal and casually followed Gena.
"Don't worry about them. They just can tell you are going to be awesome here and they will not make half what you will. Let's go see the manager."
She led me by the arm to the back of the restaurant to the manager's office. Behind the desk was a guy in his early thirties. He was very Italian looking and I could not help but think that he might have been mildly attractive had it not been for his very bushy, pronounced mono-brow.
"Joey, I think I found you a new waitress!" said Gena.
He looked up at me. I found an instant offense at the fact that his gaze never got to my face. He was looking at my body, specifically my chest in such a bold and assessing way. There was no pretense at all that I was being judged on the most chauvinistic scale.
"You ever work at Hooters before?"
"N..n..no sir," I stammered.
He laughed and Gena smiled. I felt like an idiot, betraying my discomfort, and immediately I forced a smile as though I was completely in on the joke and at ease.
"You think you can handle it?"
"Sure," I said, "no big deal."
I looked at Gena.
"Right!" she said.
"Whatever," said Joey and reaching into the desk handed me an application. "What is your name?"
"Uh, Kim," I said.
He looked at Gena. "Perfect! Get her into a uniform so we can see if she looks alright."
I had no idea what that meant, but I was about to find out. Gena led me around through the back area to a large door that opened onto a little locker room. It was obviously a changing area for the waitresses. I don't know why I hadn't thought about that. I guess I did not expect that got "Hootered up" and drove to work like that, and since Gena had grabbed that gym bag I should have anticipated, but I found myself taking it all in. On one wall was a small shelf with the dreaded white t shirts and the even more notorious orange shorts.
"That locker is empty," said Gena and eyeing my shoes added, "Good thing you have on white tennis. I have some socks you can borrow."
She paused a moment then and looked me over, before putting her hands on her hips.
"Okay," she said and turned to the shelf to grab a uniform.
I was just standing there at first until she gestured with the folded shorts and t and gave me a classic "duh" look.
"You can't wear them over you clothes, you know!"
That jolted me to act. Almost stupidly, I answered. "Oh yeah, sure," and I laughed nervously. I felt like a prize cow being judged, but I tried to smile and act casual as she stood there watching me undress. I slipped off my jeans first, revealing a pair of pink, inexpensive, cotton, string-bikini panties. I wished I had worn something a little more elegant or sophisticated as these were the kind of underwear that you'd buy at Walmart. In front of the confident Gena, I felt like the simple, dumb, country girl I was pretending I wasn't. I tossed the jeans into the locker and then pulled my t shirt up and over my head, taking it off, so that I was just standing there in my bra and panties only.
"Good grief," said Gena.
"What?" I said alarmed.
"Are those real?"
