[Nick didn't go to church. Hadn't ever, wasn't gonna, nobody was gonna see him in a church except if he got married or he died and even then, they wrote out licenses and got people hitched fine without being under God's roof. He didn't like worship, full fuckin stop. The police pension wasn't money that would run forever, it was gonna be finite eventually. But he had a trust, surrounded by tripwire and legal requirements that had been set up by the foster-family and Nick, Nick didn't feel enough like getting good and dirty in his own guilt to tap it yet. He would, if the diner stopped paying the bills, he was resigned to the fact he was gonna pay his staff no matter how many people walked in the door.]
You got napkins on tables. Stack of 'em under the counter, fresh ones with every cutlery. Ketchup bottles, they get refilled every shift. Square 'em up, all of em. Ketchup's out back. Go say hi to Caesar, he'll show you. We gotta menu with three pages, most everyone orders off the first. Don't ask me why, but they do. Notepads are under the counter, even if you got a memory like a vice, you write it the fuck down or you have a fight with Caesar over what table goes where and I put money on Caesar winning. [A grin, honest one.]
You come in for your shift, we don't punch in, we're on the honor system. But I work out back and I don't sleep, so you work longer than the hours on the sheet, you write it on the sheet back of the kitchen door where the schedule is and if you break the honor system, we got a conversation coming you ain't gonna like. You learn the pies of the day - you ask Caesar that, you serve coffee, you know how to make coffee? Ain't hard. There. Now you know the ropes.
[Another grin, as he sat back, looked at her like she'd know the difference if it wasn't.] Caesar runs the kitchen. His day off, I run the kitchen. First thing? Stay outta the kitchen when I'm in there. I drop a lot, can't promise it ain't gonna hurt. If Caesar's swearing up his mama in there, stay out the kitchen. If you're working the late, you don't work alone. If we're so dead there's no point, one of you comes and gets me out back and then you can go. You get anyone in late who looks like trouble, you come get me. That's it. [Spread hands, the diner a small kingdom of plastic booths and the smell of fried meat in the air.] You want a practice run, pick an empty table, put on an apron, go.