The American Dream

They come from the four corners of the world, seeking a new life for themselves and their children. Some were doctors and scientists in their homelands, but are often forced to start from the bottom and prove themselves all over again. They do it for the American Dream and because they want to leave a legacy for their descendants.

And how do we repay them?

We give them jobs at second-rate American pseudo-diner chain Johnny Rockets and make them do choreographed dance routines to The BeeGee’s for $5.15 an hour plus paltry tips from Georgetown tourists who are on a break from pressing their faces against the window of Barney’s across the street.

Alright. Maybe I’m being a bit melodramatic, but this was really the saddest sight I’ve seen in a long time. Catching a quick lunch before going to see Superman Returns in Georgetown today, we decided to clog our arteries with diner food. Maybe we should have just had nachos at the theater.
For those who haven’t been to Johnny Rockets, it is a chain of American 50s diner restaurants whose workers wear their place of origin on their name tags. Constant hits of the 50s, 60s, and 70s played on the intercom while we waited for our nice Bolivian waitress to bring us our check when “Stayin’ Alive” came on, much louder than the rest of the music. We saw all of the workers look at each other with sad eyes and a few slowly dragged themselves to the front of the restaurant and formed somewhat of a line. They began some sort of jerky, choreographed routine that looked less like dance than it did a medical condition.

I would have left an extra large tip if they would just promise to never do that again, but it seemed easier to just quickly leave and head to our movie.