The unexpected solace of an all-night diner

Midnight feasting is closely tied to matters of the heart, writes CANDICE CHUNG in her new memoir.

- CANDICE CHUNG

WHEN I WAS NINETEEN, I WORKED AS a waitress in a 24-hour café in the city. I was at university. Everyone I knew was travelling in the summer. I was studying with would-be bankers, actuaries and economists, and though I had no interest in going anywhere with the handful of people I occasionally sat with, I longed to join them in the excitement to leave.

I'd tried my hand in a few casual positions: a short-lived stint at a call centre; work experience at a suburban accountant's; once, I'd attended a free two-day seminar to become a door-to-door salesperson for speciality cooking knives. All those gigs inevitably went south as soon as I started. After each one, I'd look a little further along the axis of my sturdy suburban life. When an ad came up for a job at the all-night café, I thought I'd found something I could stay in.

The interview was simple. They were willing to take on anyone who had flexible hours and no qualms about putting on an oversized shirt covered in fake newspaper prints - a uniform design that matched the café's newsroom theme. On the upside, all the staff had unlimited access to bread rolls and hot chips on their breaks and, importantly, we would get to keep all of our tips.