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Winging it
BY JOEL REESE Daily Herald Staff Writer
Posted Tuesday, June 22, 2004

 

What's it like to fly Hooters Air? Our intrepid reporter discovers girls, games and, shockingly, no chicken wings

My mind boggled when I envisioned what might happen aboard a Hooters Air plane.

Yes, that Hooters - the restaurant chain that's become a massive success by catering to the holy trinity of male desires: sports on the TVs, fried food on the tables and skimpy clothing on the women.

If that's what Hooters restaurants are like, I figured, surely a flight aboard the relatively new Hooters Air would be a cataclysm of unbridled hedonism and decadence.

I envisioned thumping music and pilots break dancing down the aisle. I foresaw Hooters Girls (that's the official name for the women who work at Hooters, by the way) giving lap dances on the table trays and feeding me chicken wings as I reclined in my seat, like a toga-clad Roman lord.

So it was with great excitement that I accepted the assignment: I would ride on the second Hooters Air flight to depart the Chicago/Gary International Airport.

"Hooters will bring some fun into the travel industry," airline president Mark Peterson had said at a Gary press conference a few days earlier.

And hey, who doesn't like fun? I know I do.

So I'm in my seat, ready for some scantily clad entertainment. Or, if nothing else, surely some chicken wings.

Then a sweet, high-pitched voice, as welcoming and cozy as a warm plate of Southern biscuits, comes over the loudspeaker: "My name is Lindsey and this is Katie, and we're the Hooters Girls on today's flight!"

The plane ascends like a batch of chicken wings rising majestically from the deep fryer, and Hooters Air takes flight.

Glum in Gary

Before the 8 a.m. journey begins, the tiny Gary/Chicago International Airport is the furthest thing from a party one could imagine.

Hooters passengers-to-be sit glumly on unyielding black leather chairs in a fluorescent-lit room. The only noise comes from the surprisingly loud hum of the soda machine; the orange and blue balloons from the Hooters press conference two days earlier hang half-filled from the walls, forlorn and flaccid.

One of the people here is Maysoon Khalaf, a Muslim woman from Orland Park who is wearing a body-covering burqa and a head scarf. It's a far cry from the infinitesimal orange shorts and embarrassingly tight tops of the Hooters Girls.

Khalaf says she's not offended by the clothing worn by the Hooters Girls: "It doesn't make me uncomfortable - I see this at the beach all the time," she says.

Nevertheless, she's not completely at ease with the day's anatomically oriented theme.

"I don't know, ... I just, I don't feel right," she says, noting her husband, Jamal, bought the tickets without knowing of the connection between Hooters Air and the restaurants. "If I had known about this, I wouldn't have flown on it."

Jamal, it seems, doesn't have such a problem with the flight. "I think I'll like it," he says.

Will others like it as well? Aviation analyst John Pincavage isn't sure.

"It's a novelty airline," he says. "The fares are pretty reasonable - and I guess it has the extra added attraction of the Hooters Girls. But will it catch on? The jury will be out for a while."

Hooters Air began in March 2003 and flies out of only a handful of airports, including Fort Myers, Myrtle Beach and Nassau in the Bahamas.

The airline hopes to announce another destination soon, although Peterson declined to say where until the contract is finalized.

So the Khalafs and the rest of us (the flight is about half-full) board the plane, where we're greeted by the smiling Hooters Girls. The flight features two Girls, three non-Hooters flight attendants and two pilots.

The plane taxis down the runway and heads skyward, and the flight is disappointingly uneventful for the first 30 minutes or so of the two-hour flight.

The two women (I mean, Hooters Girls) wear their Hooters regalia and sit together at the front of the plane, talking quietly. No music is heard, and, sadly, no one is break dancing down the aisle.

Finally, one of the Hooters Girls goes to the back of the plane and begins walking up the aisle.

So this is where the fun begins, I think. I wonder what she's going to say to me - undoubtedly it will be quite the salacious offer. Here she comes ...

"Do you want a sausage biscuit?" she asks, holding out what appears to be, indeed, a sausage biscuit.

"Uhh, no thanks," I say.

I guess the question, "Coffee, tea or me?" comes later in the flight.

She doles out more sausage biscuits, then sits back down. No, this is not the riotous ride I envisioned.

Then one of the non-Hooters-Girls flight attendants lets us in on more bad news: There will be no chicken wings. Something about logistics and the deep fryer and "We're very sorry" and all that. (Hooters Air apparently hopes to solve this conundrum one of these days.)

"Man, I was hoping to get me some wings," one passenger behind me grumbles.

So wait - what's the deal here? Is this just a regular plane, with the only difference being two women in tiny orange shorts and the ubiquitous Hooters logo plastering every free inch of space?

Then one of the Hooters Girls takes the microphone, and things change again.

Trivia time

The perpetually smiling pair announce they're going to begin a trivia contest, followed by a game of charades.

"You can ring your little ... flight attendant ... thing-y, and we'll come around," the shorter, blonder one (Lindsey Martin of Chicago) says. "We normally give out prizes, but no one stocked the plane, so we don't have anything for you. Sorry!"

The trivia questions are taken straight from the in-flight magazine, which is cleverly dubbed "Hooters." The questions include "When did Hooters Air take its first flight?" and "How many Hooters restaurants are there in Myrtle Beach?"

"TWO!" passenger Jeff Deal of Oak Forest yells exuberantly.

"No, it's four," corrects Katie Urbanik of Calumet City, the taller Hooters Girl.

"No, it's two - one is in North Myrtle Beach, and one is Murrells Inlet," Deal says authoritatively.

The girls confer for a moment, whispering to each other. "Well, my sheet says four, so I'm going with four," Urbanik finally says.

"Oh, man - it's a trick question!" Deal says. (A subsequent trip to Hooters.com finds Deal was correct, incidentally.)

During the trivia game, one couple sits quietly, reading decidedly un-Hooters-like material: David Anderson holds a copy of the academic magazine, "Structure and Architecture." His bespectacled wife, Jenny Snider, reads Maya Angelou's "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings."

Both, it turns out, are architects from Chicago. They seem as out of place here as a Nobel Prize laureate at a monster-truck pull.

"So what are you two doing on this plane?" I ask them. "You don't seem like Hooters types."

Snider turns a mockingly glowering look toward her husband.

"I booked the tickets," Anderson says sheepishly. "But we have a family reunion, and it's really convenient."

"It is cheap," Snider concedes.

OK, fine - you're just here for convenience. But what about the camera Anderson is holding?

"I'm documenting the trip for my family," he insists. Snider rolls her eyes.

Despite her misgivings, Snider says the flight has turned out well enough, so far: "It's fine," she says, glancing over to the two Hooters Girls. "You know, it's ... whatever. No, it's fine. Really. It's fine."

Funnily, though, Snider's trip is somewhat clandestine: "I didn't tell anyone I was flying on Hooters," she confides.

Anderson, however, wasn't so reticent.

"One of my friends said, 'You are legendary!'æ" he says. "But another guy said I was an idiot because I was flying on Hooters with my wife."

Life is a charade

Enthusiasm for the trivia game wanes as people realize they're not going to win a prize for getting the right answer.

So the Girls begin a game of charades, and I'll be dipped in batter and dumped in boiling oil if it isn't pretty fun.

Urbanik walks up and down the aisle, collecting suggestions written on napkins from the crowd.

One of the clues is "The Howdy Doody Show," so Martin gamely climbs onto Urbanik's lap and starts moving stiffly, like a ventriloquist's dummy.

Someone shouts the answer, so Urbanik moves onto the next clue. She points out the window to the passenger's right, then at her butt.

"Left Behind!" I find myself yelling. Urbanik points at me and claps. I am strangely elated by this minor victory.

A quick trip to the Khalafs finds them watching the game with bemused smiles.

"We're not too good at trivia," Jamal says, but the couple plays along anyway.

So, OK, it's fun. It's a disappointingly tame fun (the Girls' minuscule clothing aside) - not exactly the outrageous bacchanalia I'd envisioned. But it's enjoyable enough.

It's not easy to keep the light-hearted ball rolling, Martin admits: "It's like acting," says the 20-year-old, who's a student at St. Norbert College in De Pere, Wis., and eventually wants to become an art historian. "If you just got in a fight with your boyfriend, the customer doesn't want to hear about that. You have no idea, some of the things people have said to me. But you just have to keep going."

And then there are the orange shorts. "There's not a girl in the world who would wear these shorts without these," Urbanik says referring to the constricting panty hose. "Because they pull you in, a little bit."

After about 20 minutes of charades, the girls sit down, and the flight starts its descent to Myrtle Beach.

The landing is a little bumpy, but we step into the sunny Myrtle Beach Airport on time and wearing slight, goofy smiles. Sure, we might be a little embarrassed to be seen alighting from a plane that's essentially a massive billboard for Hooters, but what the heck.

Would I fly Hooters again? Sure, I guess. I don't know that everyone shares that sentiment, though.

"I don't know - maybe," Maysoon Khalaf says. "Probably not."

Her husband, though, doesn't have such reservations.

"It was fine, except for the landing," Jamal says. "It was fine. I liked it. It was comfortable and fun."

Hooters Air site :www.hootersair.com

Aviation analyst John Pincavage's site :www.pincavage.com

 

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