We all had to walk into a downtown bar together and grab a quick drink before we jumped on the bus to catch our plane. I don't think the people in the restaurant even had any idea why we were dressed up anyways. The worst part about the whole thing was having to fly across the country to Washington D.C. in those shorts. Remember atomic wedgies back in grade school. Of course being such a cool kid growing up I never received one of these. (I wish that was the case. I was just faster than most of the kids so I'd run away before I was tortured) That's kind of the feeling I imagine it being like.
I couldn't wait to get into our hotel room and squeeze out of the thing. The night took a turn for the worse after I checked into my room. Two minutes after I laid in bed to relax there was a knock at the door. I didn't have my luggage yet, so I couldn't change out of my Hooter's uniform unless I wanted to open the door naked. I opened it a crack and just stuck my head out leaving the rest of my body hidden behind the door. Unfortunately, it was a guy from room service with my luggage. He wanted to wheel it in for me, but I tried to tell him that I had everything under control. He didn't seem to want to take the hint and insisted he wheel it in for me. I was so uncomfortable and wanted to get out of my booty shorts so badly that I decided to let the guy in.
I don't even want to know what went through his head when I opened the door all the way and he saw me in my matching shorts and spaghetti strap tank top. I'm actually still very surprised a swat team didn't come busting through my window to arrest me shortly after he left. I'm hoping that guy will stumble upon this blog so he can stop telling his buddies on the weekends about that time he saw some weirdo from San Diego rocking a Hooter's outfit in his hotel room. Sorry for the nightmares dude.