I remember first learning about Hooters when I was a teenager, and just like the time when I learned that women didn’t always have the right to vote, I was appalled. Who are these women willing to work there and wear that stupid t-shirt and be treated like objects? And why would a man want to go there and treat women like that? Something told me that women’s suffrage and Hooters were parallels — men go to Hooters to pretend women don’t have the right to vote. Why? Because a lot of men have fragile egos and the pseudo-experience of forcing a hot woman to give them a hot meal somehow lifts their fragile egos, as fake as the whole exchange might be.
OK, that’s my interpretation, and I’m sure that’s just scratching the surface. Because it’s got to be more compelling than that, or else the novelty would wear off and this trend wouldn’t be spreading and seemingly getting even more stupid. Right?
So, it’s with an even more confused brain that I reveal to you a new Astoria restaurant disturbingly named “CANZ a City Roadhouse.” This tacky, poorly done double entendre name is no match for the web site, where almost all plural words are spelled with a “z” at the end — even “pretzel fingerz” gets bastardized. I have NO IDEA why the “z” is better than the standard “s” and why “CANS a City” wasn’t good enough, but then again, I don’t get the whole concept.
In case you haven’t gotten the totally fucking hilarious joke yet, the “CANZ” part of the name is referring to the mammary glands of the female reproductive system, which hold mysterious powers over the human male, while also referring to “Kansas City,” known for it’s great barbeque, a type of food that also holds mysterious powers over the human male (OK, and female).
And how do they follow through on the promise of “canz” being part of experience? Well, these women who I’m going to assume are waitresses — wait, I mean, waitressez — are displayed on the web site.
(Wouldn’t it be awesome if you showed up to CANZ a City Roadhouse and all these lovely ladies were actually in the kitchen, washing dishes or cooking the food? All that humidity ruining their false eyelashes and blow-outs? Big food and water stains getting tangled up in their hair and rinsing out their fake tans? Ah, a girl can dream.)
Before I get any hate-filled comments from people who take life too seriously, I’m not actually that worked up about the boob-ness of the place. Time has taught me that we still live in a sexist world, and places like this are relatively harmless on the scale between equality and slavery. What really has me angry, though, is the name. It’s like we’re taking leaps and bounds into the Idiocracy Mike Judge predicted. Or shall I say, leapz and boundz.