Sitting next to John at Bings. First break in six months. He lays this on me:

"You never eat in Chinatown on Sunday during NFL season. It's like seafood restaurants on Sunday."
-John, philipino but understands Chinatown's obsession with gambling.

Good night

Shift is over. Lights are off and we're saying goodbye on the street. Kiss kiss with the girls and slap punch with the guys. I'm going home. I should take the 1 California but I might cheat and take a cab. The bussers are going to see the midnight show at the Metreon - the benefits of working at a cafe and not a bar with a proper 2PM last call. The servers are going out. To the Mission, Castro and the Marina.
A few times a month some of us will rush home to the computers. Deadlines or homework or lesson plans before sleep. Different second jobs but shoehorning the work is shared.
The cooks go straight to bed. They have to open our kitchen or A16 or another joint in a few hours. Are they more focused? Sending money back to rarely seen children would focus most of us. Also, the demographics trend a bit older in our kitchen. Either way the GM never has to speak with the back of the house about being late. Front of the house, what's our excuse?

Jealousy factor

A customer who knows she's on a three drink limit taught the bar a new lesson in self-discipline/policing. She walked into the room last week with, I'm guessing, a four bar head-start. She ordered her first drink and pre-paid for the next two. She then counted out $40 in cash and put her remaining money, credit cards and license into a self-addressed, stamped envelope. While I was mixing the first cocktail she excused herself to post the envelope at the mailbox on the corner. She returned to her waiting drink, smiled and said without irony, "Nothing bad can happen now."