I'm a man. I like drinking beer (although it has made me a little larger in certain parts than I would prefer), I like to smoke cigars, play poker and watch dave on repeat (the tv program not my friend dave stuck in a groundhog day moment). I don't want you to think for a second that hooters isn't directly marketed at me in the slightest; wooden walls and floors, kitchen roll nailed to the tables, attractive girls in very little clothing doing dance routines which seem to involve a considerable amount of bouncing. The beers are wide and varied and menu is riddled with chicken wings and spicier options. This is the pre-established template they have built into every hooters venue; Unrefined yet delightfully tacky.
I'd like to recount one experience in this venue, I don't like to review a venue through one experience as it doesn't take into account the variance on a venue; how busy they are, staff shortages, stock issues or staff training. It is common knowledge through-out the industry that one in every forty or so customers will be unhappy with their experience. It is the true testament to the venue as to how they deal with this aspect of a customer experience; there are entire departments working on what they call 'customer rescue'. I therefore intend to account a bad experience with the pre-knowledge that 39 other people have had a good experience.
We entered early Friday night to grab a few beers and maybe a snack or two (your typical customers for the ea
rly pre-stagparty crowd that hits Cardiff around 8). I explained to the girl in brown shorts (the host) that we wanted to just have a few beers and would it be possible if we sat against the bar in one of the empty bar stools.
We were informed that the host would have to ask the kitchen.
I apologised and explained that we weren't eating but going to be seated against the bar and simply enjoying a few drinks.
The girl informed me, with a little less tact than should be used with potential customers, that we could sit in the restaurant to enjoy a few drinks.
We sat and waited in heated discussion as to if Cardiff really needed this 'restaurant'.
Ten minutes passed, no waitress, but we had bared witness to several dances, happy birthdays and general efforts in hulla hoop skills which satisfied the wait.
Twenty minutes passed. The hoola hoop skills were becoming tiresome, the birthdays annoying the clapping to the level of deranged five year old on an underground transport system. I wanted a beer.
Twenty five minutes...The claps announced another birthday.
Twenty five minutes and twelve seconds thirst overcame me and I approached the bar asking the girl If I could have two pints of heiniken, she very rudely informed me that it was only table service, I therefore asked her if at all possible as I had a table could she find someone to complete the other half of the arrangement e.g. could we have some table service.
Thirty five minutes; a flustered and abrupt girl stormed to the table and informed us, much to her inconvenience that she would be with us pretty soon.
Thirty seven minutes I was required to move down my seat as the girl insisted on sitting at the table with us to take the order. Beer arrived, oh how we rejoiced at the arrival of such sweet nectar dumped in front of us from a passing hooters girl as if thrown from a moving freight train.
During our time sat here we had three separate waitresses approach us to ask if we had ordered food with plates of chicken wings. I was tempted a few times to say yes and see what would happen next. We finally fought our way to the bar and acquiesced two stools to continue our night. It was at this point I begrudgingly went to pay for the two pints... £7.50 that's £3.75 per pint, which works out quite nicely as 10p per minute we were expected to wait for them.
I told the waitress we would be sitting by the bar and she told me I had to speak to the host again; something I was dreading as a conversation with her seemed to be put in place to frustrate me beyond words. I can only presume that most men who talk to her nod enthusiastically and are unaware that she was routinely talking utter twaddle.
I approached slowly and with a moist calm. She, almost to my utter joy, was crouched down on the floor talking to her iphone on what I can only presume was a personal call. I was staggered by this lack of professionalism and looked desperately for a manager to make everything better; to rescue this situation.
I spyed a man in a shirt who seemed to be dressed to be in charge. I asked him I could move to the bar, he instructed me to check with the host, I kindly informed him that the host was on a personal call and therefore useless at her job at this point. I kindly informed him that we would be sitting against the bar if he needed any more information. I realised from this quick exchange that he couldn't manage a drinking session in a brewery.
I returned to the bar to find my colleague was being moved down the bar by the second manager I'd been greeted with this evening. He had decided that our sitting position was not meeting with the company aesthetics.
As we sat silently sipping our drinks in what can only be described as shell shock as we witnessed some of the worst bar tending I have ever had the shame to experience; the girls on the bar were under pouring measures of spirits, touching glassware at the place the customer would drink from, not at any point using an ice scoop therefore risking the chance that broken glass could (and very likely would be) in peoples drinks and finally not using clean ice (using ice thrown back from shaken cocktails to make further drinks).
I dread to think how often they will cleaning the lines with these appalling practices.
We, much to our own dismay, decided to order food; chicken wings. The order was badly taken and food took a remarkable amount of time to arrive. We left shocked at the worst levels of service I have seen in a long time.
I can stress at this point I am not part of any feminist movement and that I have no intent to drive down the brand. In the same way that if I had a fight in a texas service station over the last kitkat I wouldn't hold this to be the same customer service for all texas service stations, nor would I regard the common currency for chocolate delights to be a violent exertion. I do not hold hooters accountable as a brand; trust me when I say I did not refuse to pay for any of the products I received but I think this is a badly managed poorly staffed and a bad example for anyone visiting our city; at this time if you want to see girls in very little clothing we have a fine selection of Gentlemen's clubs which specialise in these matters and if you require food in an American style Ruby Tuesdays is only around the corner and offers freshly made food for less than half the price with considerably better service.
In my time as a manager of some of the best bars and restaurants in the U.K I would be targeting issues that were isolated and desperately trying to make a customer experience better off one complaint. I therefore decided to give them the opportunity to redeem themselves...
I sent this complaint to the head office of hooters America, one to head office UK and one to the store itself. What follows are the responses in brief.
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