"They what?"
"Those things were never formed around here as far as I know," the woman answers.
"What do you mean?"
"Just that," answers a man who is stirring soup. "We've been disabused of all that."
"Do you mean," the militant asks the woman with the cheese, "that the pre-revolutionary organization and staff survived in this restaurant intact?"
"I'll tell you about the pre-revolutionary staff," says the man with the dishes. "They had three people who washed dishes full-time and never did anything else. There were professional vegetable cleaners, a salad staff, soup specialists, two meat cutters, a full time baker, a shipping clerk with an assistant as well as a stock man, five pimps who did nothing but make arrangements, numerous professional bus boys, several staffs of waiters—meat waiters, wine waiters, as well as waiters who only bowed. None of the pre-revolutionary staff have been here since. I suppose none of those people ever want to see a restaurant again."
"Then who coordinates production, who does the planning?"
"You mean what happened to the rest of the pre-revolutionary staff? I can tell you that too. I used to deliver meat here in those days. And I used to peek out to look at the better half. They'd come here to eat in what they called 'their own' restaurant. First of all there was someone they called The Investor. It was said that he passed checks to the others while he ate. One of those he passed money to was a big shot. He was 'In Restaurants' and in lots else besides. A scrawny little man who probably hadn't ever touched dough was 'In Bread.' 'I'm in bread,' he'd say when he shook someone's hand. Another one was 'In Meats and Poultry'—"
"We in the revolutionary organization know about all that," protests the militant.
"No you don't," the man insists. "The one that was 'In Restaurants,' the one they called the Big Boss—he continued to come
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