Mainly I became semi-obsessed with the food runner, who had a pencil-thin mustache, big '80s nerd glasses, and a Marc Jacobs T-shirt. Everything about him said Napoleon Dynamite. As it turned out, that is what Yelpers have dubbed him online. He didn't really have a Lost counterpart, dangit. He did seem to be the restaurant's unofficial mascot, though. Everyone's little brother. My little brother.

I was just getting ready to buy a bottle of wine for everyone when folks suddenly started putting on their coats and blowing out candles. It took all I had not to yell out, "Wait! The night is young! Let's play spin the bottle in the walk-in freezer!" but they all had somewhere to go. (This also, coincidentally, never happens on a desert island.) So no sex, no drugs, and everyone goes home at a decent hour. These guys needed an Anthony Bourdain refresher course.

"Okay, well, thanks!" was all I could come up with, sheepishly putting on my coat. I had a wistful feeling again for my old job, but then I remembered waking up in a booth on my 19th birthday covered in my own vomit and thought the better of it. The wine guy locked the door behind me, and I stepped back into the outside world.

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