Cover That Sexy Up, Please

I must write about this simply because it disturbed me and if you can manage to do that, you deserve to be written about.


Picture this, if you can:

A soft breeze blows through a downtown area, dodging between buildings, playing chase with itself. The early morning sun sits on its perch. The temperature is in the mid-fifties and off in the distance looms patches of gray clouds. Not that any of that is necessary, I just wanted you to picture it.

A young man crosses the street at around ten in the morning. Two woman, their hair done up in odd little bunches, with a myriad of different colors lining the tips of what could be braids, step onto the sidewalk in front of him. Just so you know, the hair-dos looked as if they could be flowers planted on their heads. He slows, gives them space. They walk slowly, giving the young man enough time to take in the jeans they wear that are both too tight for either of them to be wearing. One of them has on sandals, the other flip-flops. The shorter of the two has a shirt that comes down to just below her ample stomach–it hugs her tight. The other girl’s shirt ends just above her belly–or so it seems. Her jeans also look as if she had to use a shoehorn to get into them.

They turn and head into the Chic-fil-a on the corner of Main Street. They walk in. The young man enters behind them. There is no one in line, so the two women walk straight up to the counter. The young man can’t hear what Midriff Woman says, but he sees the expression on the lady behind the counter’s face.

“You’re here for a what?” Counter Girl says, her brows raised in clear disbelief.

“An interview.”

“You’re here for an interview?”

Midriff girl nods, “Yes.”

There was silence between the three–a standoff of epic proportions (pun intended). Young Man thought about ducking under a table before the fireworks started. Counter Girl finally spoke up, “Our hiring manager is in the back right now. If you just have a seat over there, he’ll be out in a few minutes.”

At this point Young Man has only seen the back sides of these two women. As they turn, he gets a good eyeful of Midriff Woman’s, umm… midriff. Quite quickly his appetite fled. At this point, the theme song to a seventies cartoon entered his head.

Young Man orders his biscuit and, after being served, leaves just as Hiring Manager walks out. Here is where Young Man wanted to pause and watch the events unfold. He could see it all in his head and wished, somehow, that he could have sat in on that interview.

Let’s take a look at a few things real quick. You’re going to a job interview. Do you:

a) Get up early, shower, get dressed in a nice outfit and arrive to the interview early and friendless.
b) Get up at the normal time, get dressed in a nice pair of jeans and shirt that covers all flesh that is not essential to be seen, arrive at the interview on time and leave the friend outside.
c) Get up whenever, put on what you wore Friday night before you went out partying, arrive at the interview with attitude dripping from your pores and invite your closest friend to the interview to validate you’re a good worker/person/partier.

Either a or b would have been acceptable here, but she apparently chose option c. This is not Let’s Make A Deal where the most outrageous costume will get you noticed. Well, it will get you noticed, but not in the way you want it to.

On top of all of that, she clearly didn’t do her research here: This is Chic-fil-a, one of the most–if not the most–conservative fast food chains in the world. They are conscious about their image and the images of their workers, and she showed up with her midsection hanging out. Seriously?

As my friend Virginia put it, if I’m a manager I’m thinking ‘you can’t wrap yourself, so are you going to be able to wrap a sandwich?’ Good question, Virginia.

Can’t you see how this interview likely ended? The two women probably sat at the table with the manager staring at them. He’s trying his best not to look at… well… We all know what happens when we sit down. Everything that gravity had pulled south, bunches up to give us the spare tire appearance. In this case, three or four spare tires were involved. All the manager is capable of saying is, “I think you are more than qualified to be one of our customers, but not one of our sales representatives.” After all, that’s what they are: the people that take your orders are point of sales people. They are the folks you are ordering from. I could not order my food from this woman with her belly hanging out of her red Polo shirt. I would lose my appetite. This is not the Burger Barn, folks.

He then probably offered the other girl a job.

Hold on, hold on. For those of you who did not heed the warning from earlier, I have no issues with big women. If you are four hundred pounds and believe you are sexy, then awesome. Way to go. That’s confidence and I wish more folks had it. However, cover that sexy up when out in public. Have some respect for yourselves… and for those in the restaurant you are applying to work at, just so they can eat without losing their appetites.

But, wait, you say. Maybe she didn’t know any better? Umm… yes, she did. I’m pretty sure she knew that she was going for a job interview and that she should maybe put on a house dress or something that would, at the very least, cover her midsection better.

Then there is the issue of the friend. Did she know that Midriff Girl was going for an interview? I hope not, because if she did, what type of friend is she?

“How do I look in this shirt?”

“Oh, girlfriend, you are on fire. The manager’s gonna want to hire you as one of his personal assistants, girl. Work it. Work it.”

Also, keep in mind, that this is NOT Wal-Mart where the standard of dress is ‘anything goes, as long as it’s clothes.’ And even then it doesn’t matter. This is Chic-fil-a, where there are morals and values and lots of little kids hoping to see the big white and black cow, not the other type.

Simply put, there is a time and a place for everything. A job interview is neither the time nor the place to be dressed like you’re hooking in a poor section of town. Ah man, that last one was wrong. Yeah, that was wrong. Two slaps on the hand for that one.

I must leave now and take a gander at my lovely wife. I need to clear these images from my mind and what better way to do so than to look at something truly sexy…

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