not lost in translation

I passed by Hooters today on the way to Santa Monica beach where I saw a couple of the ladies outside, scantily clad as usual and chatting up a customer on the patio, which reminded me of the following conversation I once had with a 40 year old monk from Korea:

"So we went to Hooters the other night to watch the game and..." I tried to say.

"Hoo-ters?" he rudely interjected.

"Yeah, you know that bar in Santa Monica. So I was saying..."

"What is hooters?" he asked.

"Oh right. Um, it's... well, it's the name of a sports bar," I explained feeling a bit uptight.

"What does it mean, hooters?" he asked again.

"Well, it actually is another word for, uh, a woman's breasts." There I said it.

Silence.

"And it's called Hooters because all the ladies who work there have big breasts and wear tight t-shirts." I was on a roll.

Silence.

"It's American slang. I think. Funny, huh?" I kept going in complete discomfort.

I expected more silence. But instead he said, "Ah, I see. So at this Hooters, it is a place where you cannot get a job?"

Followed by his ridiculous laughter.