This morning I woke up to singing outside the window, and looked down from the 11th floor to see the cooks (in tall white chef hats) and wait staff (in red and gold uniforms) of the East Family restaurant lined up outside. A man in a black suit stood in front; we called him Mr. East. After their song, all the cooks and most of the waiters went inside. The waiters left outside were all girls, in a ragged line; Mr. East was inspecting them and giving orders and motions. I spoke for him since we were too far away to hear... Dress up that line! Number 4, your uniform is dusty! No shirking! Come up in front! Close ranks! When Mr. East went inside there was a lot of fidgeting, twisting, straightening of hair, shoving each other and clearly giggling. Then a song came on that I know from Dance Dance Revolution, one with the line "ay, ay ay, my little butterfly" -- it might be the band "Papaya" -- and the waitresses did a hip hop dance routine on the sidewalk as Mr. East stalked about slowly behind them next to the storefront, with his hands behind his back.
Afterwards Mr. East disappeared, and the girls filed around to the back of the restaurant pushing each other and half falling over with laughter.