Night shift routines.

A few weeks ago at the (Thai) restaurant, I came in to cover a night shift, since they needed someone to come in and cover it for them.

From force of habit, it was hard not to bring out free little side salads like we do at lunch.

And, like right before close, I pop back into the back kitchen, and suddenly all you can see everywhere is like 6 (Guatemalans) crawling around everywhere on the counters and by the stoves and up on the stoves by the stove hoods, and there's soap suds everywhere and they're scrubbing, and there's water all over the floor, and that's them cleaning for the night like they do every night, I see and I'm guessing right away when I walk in and see them like that.

Like, there were (Guatemalans) everywhere, all over my field of vision at different levels, like one over here and then one over there and then one way up there, not like normal people standing around a room in different places, it was like they were all at different heights and were just visually everywhere, overpowering you, among all this metal and soap suds, just glistening, and then them with their dark brown skin and black bristly hair and bright blue polo shirts and beat-up worn blue jeans, just scrubbing in these busy little motions, all five-and-a-half feet of each of them, everywhere.