This isn't the first time I've had 3 callbacks to get a job

Today's the day of the big 3rd interview for the potential job. I'm surprised it's taking this many interactions for them to make a decision, but it's not the first time I've been in this situation.

My junior year in college, I had an evening class. One of my friends and classmates came in and took her usual seat beside me. We talked about our days, and she told me She'd had a test run late earlier in the day, and it caused her to be late. She had gotten the "crappy section" at work, so she was annoyed. "Oh well," she said, "I still made $100."

What?!

I whipped my head toward her. "Where on earth do you work that -- on a Thursday afternoon -- you make $100 waiting tables in the crappy section?!!"

Clarece was smart, professional, put together. She was classy. She was always dressed up in nice, trendy boots or heels for class. She was nice. Sophisticated.

So I was shocked when she answered my question: "Oh, I work at Hooters."

She told me she'd worked there since she was in high school. She said the chain was trying to become more family friendly. She told me I should apply.

I thought about it. Why not, right? I told my roommates about it when I got home, and Rachel decided to apply with me. We laughed and joked about it.

We went the next week. Rachel had no waitressing experience, while I had a whole 3 months under my belt from my first summer back home after freshman year. Rachel was cute, and she had a fun personality. Surely they could train her.

The manager told Rachel they weren't hiring, and they (there were two on duty when we were there) asked me to come back the next day so I could meet another manager. When I returned the next day, Manager 3 looked over my application and asked me about my waiting experience. He asked me to come back one more time. I can't remember if Manager 3 was the summer hiring manager, or if the one I had to go back and meet was, but for whatever reason, I was going to have to come back a third time, the following Tuesday at 4:00.

In the meantime, my brother and dad were getting excited about my potential summer job. They were planning visits up to "see me" at work. My mom actually said to me, "You do know the reason people go to that restaurant?" (My response: "Sure! The chicken wings!") She told me she didn't care either way, as long as I knew people weren't really going for the wings. (Duh!)

My boyfriend at the time had a different take on it. He wasn't too crazy about the possibility of having a girlfriend who worked at Hooters. He'd talked about it with some of his friends, and a lot of people (girls especially) said it was one step above stripping.

But I had waited tables before. I had worked as a cashier for several years. I had dealt with flirting or come-ons in both. Sometimes guys are just guys. I knew Hooters had rules about touching the wait staff, so even though it's a much more laid-back environment than your average restaurant, it wasn't like customers would be allowed to be disrespectful or inappropriate.

So I found myself at the restaurant the following Tuesday just before my 4:00 appointment. I found Manager 4 (the final manager) leaning against the counter on the phone. "Oh, no!" he said. "They were supposed to call you." He had a conference call at that time, and he couldn't meet with me.

This restaurant was a good 20 minutes or so from my apartment, and gas was a ridiculous $1.75 a gallon. It was finals week, and I'd had to take off work just to drive up that day to meet the manager.

"Should I come back?" I asked him. "I'll just walk around the mall for a little bit or something. It's no big deal." The manager seemed reluctant, like he had a lot on his plate even after the call. But he started to agree. Me being me (and never wanting to inconvenience anyone), I said to him, "If another day is better for you, I can come back if I need to."

"Yeah ..." he said. "It's just really not a good day. As long as you come back by Saturday, we can start you on Monday."

Gah!

When I got to my car, I immediately called Clarece. "What's the deal?" I asked her. "How many times do I have to go for them to decide if my personality and looks make up for my lack of boobs?!"

It sounded like all I had to do was go back one more time, and I'd be ready to go. But I was tired of making the drive. Why did it take four times? Plus, Brad was against it, and all those "one step above stripping" comments were getting to me.

I didn't go back. Instead, I wound up doing a small stint at On the Border before leaving to become a carhop at Sonic (much less stress, and much better money!).

Who knows what would have happened if I'd gone back to Hooters a fourth time. I always get a kick out of the looks on people's faces when I tell them that story. What's most funny is that the only time -- well, times -- I've been to Hooters were those three times I was there to speak to managers about a job.

It's probably better that way. Besides, I've heard their wings aren't that great.