Restaurant City Diaries

Welcome to Restaurant City,
one million inhabitants, one million homeless people.

Everybody thinks Restaurant City is the most awesome city in the planet, boasting all of the most exotic restaurants ever conceived by disgruntled office workers who clearly have too much time in their hands. There's always food for everybody, everything costs 2$, and best of all, there's always at least one restaurant run by a dedicated owner 24/7 (against all rational reasons)

But is it really the most awesome city? In this startling revelation of an account written by an anonymous restaurant city worker, we slowly learn that like most things in life, there's always two sides of a plate.

For the approval of the midnight society, I present to you the tale of the Restaurant City Diaries.



Day 1
I've finally arrived at Restaurant City. I came here upon hearing that this place is in constant need for workers. True enough, I suddenly find that every street is filled with nothing but restaurants filled with customers who appear to be also working in other restaurants. People here sure love to eat. There are a lot of peculiar things about this city, and the fact that all buildings seem to be always only on one side of the street that seems to go on forever is the least of my observations.

Day 2
Finally started working for a place called [Need Rice and Lemon]. Don't ask. I have no idea why they called it that either, although for some reason the signage changes depending on our needed ingredients for today. The place looks decent enough, and I happen to be working with another employee who, for the lack of a better description, has green skin and a mustache. I have given up trying to figure out his/her gender.

Day 3
Apparently, restaurants here thrive on the principle of barter. Veggies and food are traded through notices via our mailbox, along with furniture, and quite possibly illegal immigrants. Speaking of mailboxes, some anonymous person keeps on dropping strange quiz letters on our mail that bursts into flames if we don't reply within ten seconds. I thought we already had this sort of thing sorted out in the 80s the moment we canceled the TV series Mission Impossible. If I do reply correctly, I get raw beef in the mailbox. What kind of sick prank is that?

Day 4
I'm starting to think that our restaurant is alive. It seems to be growing in size overnight without anybody ever doing anything. There are times when I can almost hear it breathing down my neck while I'm cooking food. Speaking of cooking, we do things very differently here. Everything has to be cooked in a stove, even salads and ice cream. Who makes up the recipes in this place? And I thought fried ice cream was ridiculous.

Day 5
Sanitation seems to be a big issue here in restaurant city. Sometimes I'm cooking food one moment and then scrubbing the crusty dried out feces in the toilet bowl the next, after which I find myself once again tossing salad in a hot frying pan. The customers don't seem to mind, which leads me to think there's probably cocaine in these food items. Our food items are supposed to improve in quality overtime, but I realize nothing is changing both in ingredients and in the look. Possibly more laced cocaine? I'm scared I'd have to find out one way or another.

Day 6
It's been six days here and our staff has grown from two to four people. I have yet to receive any payment for my efforts and I haven't had an inch of rest since Day 1. The working conditions here is appalling. While we keep on cooking delicious food, our owner insists on giving us nothing but water. When we end up overworking, we get treated to apples and bananas. This is insane. I also realized there's no real way for me to quit unless I get fired, which never really happens, ever. I'm starting to rethink that this career move wasn't exactly the best one I've made.



Day 7
The situation has gone desperate. We're not getting paid, or allowed to leave our posts, or rest, and the owner seems to have abandoned us leave us with nothing to eat but the strange pizza slices that appear on the floor for no apparent reason. Our waiters have already collapsed out of exhaustion and I feel like I'm about to run out of energy soon as well. For some reason the customers think this is all normal and just go complain that they're not getting service anyway. This is inhuman. I'm sending this journal through our mailbox that people may read about the injustices happening here in Restaurant City. Does this city even have a mayor? Where is batman when you need him?

Day 8
Screw this, I'm off to live as a 24/7 mascot in Pet Society.