It’s not the typical greeting you’d find in a customer service manual, but this Lincoln Park joint isn’t your typical restaurant. People don’t just come for the food -- they come, and stay, for the entertainment: a staff of kitchen workers who hurl profane insults at every customer with the guts to eat there.
“You be up there smoking in bed, you motherfucker,” Poochie sasses, after the guy meekly responds with a “shut up!” “It don’t be cigarettes,” says another employee, line cook JB, standing in the swinging doorway to the kitchen. “It be fucking blunts.”
“Blunts, cigarettes, they all still got ashes. Ashes still stink, motherfucker,” Poochie yells. The customer just smiles and waits for his food among the throng of late-night customers.