There are certain things you should really only say to your best friend. This is probably one of them. Do you ever just shut up and just listen to somebody? Go right ahead. That's what-- spill it out there, brother. I already did. Tom and Scott are in an all-night diner around midnight. Scott is disheveled and tired. He's been working all night as a bartender at a Chinese restaurant, serving lots of free drinks on the sly to Tom. And Tom, in response, seems astonishingly ungrateful. Here is the kind of sass that Tom keeps throwing Scott's way. You're the-- you're the one who needed the food and the beers and all that stuff like that to calm down after your traumatic night stealing from your employer. Really? Just at that moment, a man in a Hawaiian print shirt and khaki pants walks by their table. He hears the word "employer," mistakes it for the word "lawyer," and then turns to Tom. Are you a lawyer? No. No. Do you want to be? Who brought up a lawyer to start with? You just came-- walked in-- You did. No, I didn't. Not at all. He didn't say lawyer. You thought that you heard something and then you let your mind take over and then it got you in-- it put you in-- Well, I am a lawyer, so that's probably why I might have thought that. But you know what? I'm trained in the art of listening, and I could've sworn you said you wanted to be a lawyer. Well, I definitely wouldn't hire you because you heard completely wrong. Really? Yeah. There's some conversations that you overhear and it's hard not to want to keep listening or to butt in, even though everybody knows that it is not the right thing to do. One Sunday morning a while back, I was sitting in one of the booths in this very diner, the Golden Apple, in Chicago on Lincoln Avenue, and I looked around the restaurant. The table next to me, a family was taking their teenage daughter out to an awkward last breakfast before she shipped out with the military. There were dressed-up people who'd come in from the church across the street, and young couples who'd stumbled in with the paper and were working on the crossword together. And I thought, if only somebody could interview every person at every table in this restaurant. That would be amazing. You'd get such a wide variety of different kinds of stories from different kinds of people. So we decided to try it. One Friday night, a big group of us took shifts starting at 5:00 AM and going to 5:00 AM the next morning. During quiet hours, it was just one of us on duty, recording and interviewing people. During the busiest hours, which means late night, three or four of us worked the tables. We first broadcast today's program all the way back in 2000, and we'll be running it again today. From WBEZ Chicago, today's show, "24 Hours at the Golden Apple." It's This American Life. I'm Ira Glass. Stay tuned. It's 5 o'clock in the morning. My name is Pete. I work from 10:00 PM to 5:00 AM, and now we're going to have the taxi drivers and the cops, you know, come for a cup of coffee until 6 o'clock, the morning crowd is going to be in. Pete's one of the three owners of this restaurant, along with Nick and Tom. All three are Greek, and one of them is always there 24 hours a day. The restaurant sits at one of those intersections where three streets come together, not two, so every one of the corners in the intersection is wedge-shaped, which means that the restaurant itself is wedge-shaped, with booths along the windows on two sides of the wedge. There's a counter with stools and a larger room with tables in the back. There are those oversized, laminated menus that go on for pages-- pages-- with pictures of the food. By the door is one of those revolving dessert cases, an octagon made of glass. Three shelves of cream pies and melon slices and cakes. Lately, it's been nothing but trouble. Here's Nick, another one of the owners. It's supposed to be turning. It's not turning because the motor broke. Jimmy's supposed to come out like three days ago. He's still coming. Now, if you can figure this one out, the-- the pie case is not turning. And believe it or not, it's not selling as good. That's-- that's a truth. Dessert sales are down, he says, by half, ever since it broke. People just like desserts more when they're in motion. It catches the eye. You know, when it's turning, it catches the eye and it sells. Over the course of 24 hours, the staff of the Golden Apple changes, the regulars who come in change, and the atmosphere changes, from quiet in the early morning to crazy hectic late at night when the bars in the neighborhood let out. Nancy Updike took the first shift of our 24-hour surveillance, mic in hand, from 5:00 AM till 10:00 AM. This is Eddie. He comes to the Golden Apple a few times a week in the mornings and plays the harmonica in the middle of the restaurant for a few minutes. He's in a pale blue shirt and hopping lightly from foot to foot. I might fall down. Eddie heads to the back of the restaurant to play there. No one is complaining. No one is rolling their eyes. In fact, a few people are smiling and saying hi. Eddie is not an outsider here. He's a regular. Early morning at the Golden Apple is like that, a profoundly democratic place. Early morning welcomes the night shift workers, the unemployed, the retired, the confused, the disappointed, the slightly off. The people who work for themselves and the people who don't work at all anymore, but crave a little morning routine. Every morning, I'm here between 4:30 and 5:00. I love the Golden Apple. They're wonderful people. They got good food. And that's it. This is how Joe Molica ends every sentence. And that's it. Or sometimes-- And that's all I could tell you, honey. Joe's not used to talking about himself. His story comes out bit by bit. Our entire conversation takes place in a different era. He's completely unselfconscious about calling me honey. He bangs on his coffee cup with his spoon to get the waitresses attention for a refill. Please don't try this at home, but he gets away with it. I do construction, remodeling, rehab. And that's what I do. I retired. I'm 78 years old. And I gave the business to my two sons and that's it. How did you start that business? Through my dad. My dad done the same thing. When I was, I don't know, maybe 10, 11 years old, I started working for him. He was paying me a dime an hour and that was it. Clean up, sweep up the floors that he's working on. What else you want to know, honey? At 5:30 in the morning, almost everyone is sitting alone, by choice, it seems. Joe's friend Bob is sitting in his own booth behind Joe. No one's talking much, but it's a comfortable silence. When you're up this early, it's hard not to feel some sense of community with everyone else who's awake. But you don't necessarily want to talk to them. As it gets lighter and lighter outside, more people trickle in. A guy with thick, dark blond hair and a face that looks like it could use another six hours' sleep sits down at the counter. His name is Scott Johnson, and he says he usually comes in around 3:30 AM, but today's different. It's about 20 after 7:00. How did you start coming to the Golden Apple? I own a bar right down the street. It's called Wits. And I own another one on Clark and Oakdale called Jake's. How did you get into the bar business? Oh, boy. Well, about eight years ago, I turned 30, quit my career, got a divorce, and bought a bar in the same month. Oh, my god. Took the Etch-a-Sketch and shook it. Just turned it upside down and shook it real hard and changed my life forever. It's completely light outside now. Commuter traffic is picking up. The Golden Apple isn't crowded, but all the front booths are taken, and most of the counter. Nick keeps getting deliveries-- orange juice, potatoes-- and his butcher comes by, John Zervas. John is a big man in that way that's the norm in Chicago. Not fat, just big. John has been eating at the Golden Apple and supplying its meats for 10 years. When he was eight years old, he became famous for being the youngest butcher in Illinois. Back in 1979, I was interviewed by Fahey Flint. I don't know if you remember. Back in 1979, Fahey Flynn was a well-known newsman right here at Channel 7 news before he died in '81. I was the youngest butcher in Illinois in 1979. And yeah, I've met Governor Thompson down Randolph Street. My father was in a retail business still out on Randolph Street. And that's how I started learning how to cut. So I've been doing this for-- I'm 33 now and since I was, like, eight years old. You were a butcher when you were eight? Well, yeah, I'd been involved, you know, cleaning tables. And about 12 years old, I started cutting meat on a band saw. Wow. Do you remember the first piece of meat you cut? Pork chops. Piece of pork loin and I sliced it. I remember very well, like it was yesterday. Real slow on a band saw. Pork chops. Pork loins like 18 pounds. First thing I did is cut it down the middle and start from the middle. The trick is, at the end, not to cut your hands when it comes really small. You got to use a special kind of thing that's underneath the band saw, not to put your hand in it because the band saw doesn't have any friends. I mean, if it's going to grab your hand, it's going to cut it. The front of the Golden Apple is the smoking section. Sitting there is a grayish woman with a fleshy face and wavy hair in one of the small, two-person booths. Her name is Alice Deluca. I work at a purification center. It's sauna, running, vitamins and minerals. It's a program to rid your body of toxins and radiation. Wow. Have you done the program yourself? Yes, I have. Now, to the naked eye, it looks like you're smoking and drinking coffee. Yes. And about to have some sausage. So how does that square with the whole toxins thing? Well, I'm trying to wake up. You need some toxins to wake up? I guess so. The restaurant never gets crowded this morning. Turnover is slow. People linger over their coffee or their conversation. It's a weekday, so there's no impatient brunch crowd waiting for tables to open up. And if you don't have an office you need to get to, why rush? Donna, the waitress, is finishing up the night shift and getting ready to go home. She's been on since 11:00 PM, but you would never know it to look at her. She's six feet tall and looks like Catherine Deneuve. She's one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen in person. How long have you been working here? Oh, 26 years. Wow. How old were you when you started? Well, you think I'm going to tell you that? [LAUGHS] Are you kidding? My kids don't even know how old I am. Donna says she's actually not a night person, but she's worked the night shift the entire time, all 26 years. She came to Chicago from Oklahoma City in her early 20s with three kids. I was divorced when I came here, and I had married so young, had my children young. No education. And I had a little baby. That's why I started working nights. But this is a great job for that. I mean, working nights, that way you're with them during the day. You don't sleep much, but-- when they're asleep and you're working. And I'm still working the night shift. I don't know why, but I still am. Every Christmas Eve, Donna brings in a big tray of homemade cookies for the homeless guys and the old men and the taxi drivers-- anyone who shows up that night. Every once in a while, on her afternoon off, she'll go see a play starring one of the actors who come in every night after their own shifts waiting tables. Her customers give her tapes of the bands they're in, bring in their artwork for her see, tell her about their successes and failures. These are people she's known for years. It's like home here to me. And when I think about going on a day job, I just can't. It's almost like it'd be another div-- you know, a separation because it's like home when you've been here this long. Donna runs her shift at the Golden Apple with a lot of compassion and generosity. But like any good waitress, she's also ruthlessly practical. She can be direct when she needs to. Early morning is no time to stand on ceremony. Honey, I got to get finished with the rest of my work. All right. Can I-- are you doing anything to set up or clean up? I got to check and see what I've got to do. Can I just follow you around and you tell me what you're doing? I'll just like-- Well, I don't even know if I have anything more to do. I just didn't want to talk anymore. Oh, OK. I didn't want to be rude, but-- No, no, no. You're [INAUDIBLE]. I just told her I'm tired of talking. [LAUGHS] In the middle of the day, a muted light streams through the windows through a pale haze of cigarette smoke. At certain hours, it feels like everybody is smoking at the Golden Apple. Three industrial smoke-eaters, a non-stop. At lunch, some customers come in, eat quickly, and head back to work after just a half hour, but they're in the minority. Probably 3/4 of the customers are regulars. Many of them stay for hours. Nick, the owner, says some come two or three times a day. I mean, they go home and sleep, of course, but this is their base. We got Charlie right now, and there are some that comes twice, three times a day. Floyd, which is right next to him. Mitch. Mitch with his son on the counter. He's a counter man. Mr. Harland there with Steven. They come twice a day. Russ comes about three, four times a day. Al, two, three times a day. At the counter, a man who looks a little bit like the actor Harry Dean Stanton, scruffy and lean, is here for the second time in 24 hours. He gives me what he says is his nickname, Robert. He says he usually just comes for coffee. Can't afford much else. So why do you come here? Just something to do. Coffee. I come over here because I'm single, no wife, no girlfriend. No kids either. Robert is one of three different men who tell me that they come here in the afternoon to drink coffee and talk to the waitresses. All three actually seem a little shy and intimidated by the waitresses. Robert is so bashful, he has a hard time saying much of anything to them. I've never said more than hello, you know, or goodbye. That's all I ever said. I don't know what to do with a pretty girl, what to say. I don't know what to say. At a table in the back, Manuel Hernandez is here for the second time today. He's a retired carpenter. Came to Chicago from Mexico in 1965 as one of the workers who built the Sears Tower downtown, one of the tallest buildings in the world. He quit, he says, when they got to the 105th floor. It was too windy up there. After two guys, they-- they fall down, and then I quit because I don't want to be the next. As the afternoon passes, he calls over one of the waitresses, Sherry, and asks her for help reading a document that he got in the mail from an insurance company. He's worried it's some kind of scam. She reads it, tells him no. They've sent him a check. It's real. Sherry says this kind of thing happens all the time. Some of these guys, who else do they have to turn to? Out on the sidewalk when the weather's good, the restaurant sets up tables. At one, Allison Musgrave and her two kids are eating. Ian is four, Madeline is two. Both are wearing their bicycle helmets at the table and eating the Mickey Mouse pancakes. Three pancakes arranged in violation of US copyright law. Two ears and a head, maraschino cherries, canned pineapple, and whipped cream as the eyes and mouth. Cover it with maple syrup and you have a sugar concoction so powerful that four-year-old Ian literally cannot sit in his chair. Ian, Ian. Around here, please. Thank you. I don't live far from here and I do not think there is a four year old in a 10-block radius who does not know the Mickey Mouse pancakes. Turn around now, Ian. Turn around, please. The restaurant has toys for kids in a corner inside. One couple named Mike and Liz tell us that they come here so often with their four and seven year old and feel so at home here that they've instructed their kids that if they're ever lost, they're supposed to find a policeman and tell them not to bring them home. Bring them to the Golden Apple. As evening falls, it takes a while for the dinner crowd to show up in any kind of force. It's a slow day, everybody says. It is Friday, and couples start to arrive. Some on dates, some just friends. Some in that vague territory in between. The topics of conversation in the room start to make an orbital shift toward couples sorts of topics. One of our producers, Susan Burton, notices one couple in particular. A man and a woman in their 30s sit down in a booth by a window. The man's long hair is tied back with a bandanna. I'm Daniel Romero. Silvia and I just got through playing a few sets of tennis in Grant Park, and stopped at Healing Earth for a little incense and some good karma. And we decided to stop and grab a bite. You know, Sylvia and I have this kind of weird history. She actually dumped me not too long ago. And-- that's right. That's a long time ago, Romero. Well, not that long ago. So she's-- she's now happily in a relationship, and I was telling her as we were driving here about how lonely I am. Actually, it's been three years since Daniel and Sylvia broke up. They met when they worked together at the same nonprofit organization. Well, you're ready to settle down now. I am. Well, I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you. I actually-- when you first told me that, I actually wasn't sure. Right. But you will not be coming to the wedding. You already told me that. I did-- I did-- I did tell you that. I won't be participating there. You'll have my best wishes. Why? We're friends. I still love you and care about you. Why can't you be there? Well-- [LAUGHS] well, why can't-- it would just be weird. I mean, you and I have a pretty significant history together. But I would-- I would still be happy for you and you'd have my best wishes, and I'll still buy you a toaster. A toaster? OK. See, I think that that's unusual. I think-- I would be very happy for you. Would I have some feelings there? Yeah, maybe there would be a little twinge, thinking why-- why wasn't it me? That's actually a Sex in the City topic a lot. Right. Absolutely. In case you've missed it, Sex and the City is a TV show on HBO. Each episode circles around some central question, like, can you be friends with your ex? If Daniel and Sylvia and I were suddenly cast in our own episode of the show, this would be the moment where I would light a cigarette and flip open my PowerBook and ponder what I'd seen. Daniel and Sylvia began by talking about Sylvia's new boyfriend, but wound up discussing each other. And I started to wonder, when you talk about your ex's new relationships, are you really just talking about the two of you? I didn't tell you this. You asked me how my love life was a little bit earlier. I did meet somebody about a week ago. Her name is Amy and she works at-- where does she work at? She works at Supercuts. And she was with her-- her boyfriend, actually. And she was hitting on you? And she was hitting on me. She said to me, I want to go out with you. And I said, fine, let's go out. She says, well, you have to wait a month because I'm still going out with this idiot over here. I mean, and she's talking about, you know-- so nothing happened though. But nothing happened. But you would go out with a woman who would degrade her boyfriend that way? Who would treat the guy that she's supposedly dating that way? Yeah, but I'm not going to marry-- I'm not going to marry this girl, you know? I mean-- you know, I mean, I wasn't interested in a lifetime commitment at that moment. I mean, I was much more looking for the immediate gratification. That's what you're always looking for. That's not entirely true. That's not entirely true. Each time Daniel brings up someone he's interested in, Sylvia gets exasperated with him for refusing to make a commitment. It happens when he mentions the woman he saw in a lounge chair by a pool in Las Vegas, and the girl he's taken on a dozen dates, but is pretty sure he wants to break up with. It turns out that this is a conversation they've had before, at the end of their own relationship. I was ready for the next step and he was ready to back out. Any time I pressed forward, he went backwards a couple steps. You're right. You and I were in a place where you were frustrated because I couldn't move forward. I was frustrated because you were pressing so hard. And right-- And then you met the next girl and moved in with her after three weeks. I think it's a hard topic for us both. Absolutely, absolutely. Yeah, it's just-- you know, the thought of-- you know, it's like-- He trails off, staring out the window. I don't know, it's kind of hard to-- it's kind of hard to-- It is kind of hard to talk when two babes go by. Yeah. Outside on the sidewalk, two girls with blond hair and short skirts approach. They catch Daniel's eye. He mumbles. As the girls stride by the window, he turns his head and follows them from one end of the glass to the other. The gesture seems to happen in slow motion. He does that all the time. Yeah, but I-- I'm not-- but-- I know, I know. I'm not saying that. Yeah, I understand. I'm just saying that when we were together and you did that, that really hurts. Even if-- even though it's just looking? It says you're not interested in what's going on right here, and that's exactly-- No, see, that's-- --you did by doing that. You couldn't even formulate the sentence because your eyeballs were glued to that window. Look, this-- this is another-- this has-- this has been another topic on Sex and the City. Just for the record, what actually happened in that episode, the woman got so mad at her boyfriend that she punched him in the face. And then she realized she couldn't change him. Over by the restaurant's front windows, which look out on St. Alphonsus Catholic church, a huge building, sits Kay Frank, known to our friends as Katie Keane, 75 years old, dressed in a nice outfit and matching scarf. She's here because one of her longtime neighbors, another Golden Apple customer, is laid out dead in the funeral home right across the street. She'll eat and pay her respects. She tells me that she's lived her whole life within walking distance of this very spot. Yeah. I was born and raised on Lakewood 75 years ago. Went to St. Alphonsus School, so this is my neighborhood for a long time. Wow. And it gives me a lot of pleasure to walk the neighborhood and say, Margaret Kuntz lived in that house, Lucille Sutchell lived in that house. I can still see all the things in my mind as I did in the '30s and '40s. Back then, for instance, a pharmacy was on this spot. Kay and her friends would come here after 11 o'clock mass. I'm talking about first year, second year high school, when you didn't go to the kiddie mass anymore at 9 o'clock in the morning. This was like a hangout here after mass. And this whole section here, they had a wonderful soda fountain. It was right here where this would be. See what I'm saying? She points at a section of booths. For years, this neighborhood was all about which parish you belonged to. St. Alphonsus for the Germans, St. Andrews for the Irish and Italian, St. Josaphat for the Polish. Till finally, in the 1960s, that ended. Kay's five sisters and her parents all moved away from the neighborhood. I'm the only one that stayed in the neighborhood because we couldn't afford to move out of here. We bought our house in the mid-'60s, '64. And everybody thought the neighborhood was going to change. So of course, they're moving to the suburbs or farther north or farther west. Change? You mean people thought it wasn't going to be white anymore? They thought-- yes. They thought it was going to go down. That's why people were scared and moved out. So we couldn't afford to move, so we bought a house there for $27,000. I've had offers of $500,000, $550,000 for my house. Meanwhile, one of her sisters who moved away to avoid the blight of this area, who moved to an area too expensive for Kay or her husband to afford, just sold her house for only $200,000. Gentrification, which spread through this neighborhood in the last 15 years, hasn't made it out to where her sisters live. But around here, on Southport and on Clark and all over, there are little boutiques and several Starbucks, and expensive restaurants with fake European names. The neighborhood has changed a lot, you know? A whole lot. Some for the better, some for the worse. Close by, we have our gay people, which we never had as a kid. They were around, maybe, but we didn't know who they were. Today, you know who they are. My husband, coming from the old school-- we have the nicest neighbors we've ever had, two gay men. They can't do enough for you. They cut your grass for you. They water-- now that I'm older. And when they moved in, my husband, coming from way back, oh, my god, you know, he didn't want really too much to do with them. Within a year, I'd say, we saw that they were nice people, very clean. And when we had our 50th wedding anniversary party, had some [NON-ENGLISH] here, it was our neighbors that went to the hall without any-- they wouldn't take a penny. They decorated that place like you wouldn't believe. Now, how many neighbors would do that for you, you know? So gay or not gay, they're really nice people. So I think that the gays can be credited for being such a nice people. They swayed a lot of the old-time people into different thinking. There's still a lot of racial stuff. Maybe if you had a black neighbor here, or one of the people would rent to a black person, I think they'd be frowned upon a little bit. But if you rent to a gay person today, it's OK. A lot of things that we think should be this way and that way as you grow up, it's really not that way, shouldn't be that way. So I don't feel that we should really judge them, you know? Let the Lord judge them. Coming up, drunks, partyers, people on the make, and lots of other people to try not to judge. I mean, we have not even gotten to the cops. In a minute, from Chicago Public Radio, warm up that coffee for you when our program continues. We never close. We have no keys. We got no keys. If you see the doors, we have no locks. Always open. We'll never, never lock the doors. Just at that moment, a young woman burst through the door. Laughing, she swivels around and drunkenly tries to lock it to keep her two friends out. It takes a second before she realizes there are no locks. The three stumble to a table. This is Kim. I'm at the Golden Apple. I know I am. And I'm with Oscar and Beth. Oscar. Oscar, who I have no idea where he is. Beth and I are riding in a cab, and he like hops in. I've never even met this guy. I need to order food. I'm a journalism major, by the way. Yeah. So I understand what you're doing right now. I work with Kim. And Kim lives-- I don't live downtown. I live in the suburbs. And Kim was like, OK, we went to-- I live downtown though. Right. I do. That's right. She lives in Sheffield. It doesn't matter. Anyway, so we go to this premiere party of the Star Wars exhibit at the Field Museum. Yes. It was so awesome, by the way. Kim, this is my story. Look at my stars. Look, do you see it? Yeah, she sees it. Star Wars. I'm the most sober one here, as you can probably tell. So anyway-- I'm sorry. I'm drunk. That's fine. I-- I meet Oscar. We just meet him, like, standing at the bar, and he offers-- he buys us a couple shots. So we're like, you know, fine. We started drinking with him. We start talking to him. Oh, so I'm sitting there talking to Kim. All of a sudden, I feel two hands on my back. Two hands I do not recognize. Two hands I do not want on my body. And I look and who do I see? It is Oscar, and I don't even know your last name, do I? Which we're not going to say on the radio. I'll be honest. I will-- I will be honest with you. He paid for a lot of tonight. Like, he paid for my drinks. OK, great. You know what? Don't touch me, but you can buy my drinks for me. If you're going to hop into the cab and pay for it, then fine, I'll let you get into the cab with me. That's fine. And he's probably going to buy our food here tonight. So that's fine with me. The brutal truth. What? The brutal truth. It's the brutal truth. I'm just-- I'm just honest. I'm not going to go home with you. My name's Oscar. I bought them-- I bought them a drink or two. Or a bottle of $300 champagne, OK? I'm successful, what can I say? And gloat. We didn't even have to pay when we walked in. I'll be completely honest with you. My goal is to share a bed tonight. Yeah. I'm going to end up with both of them. See, it doesn't matter which one. It's just to share a bed. He just wants to get some play, basically. Is that what you're saying, Oscar? And I'll bet you, if you follow us home, one of them two will be in bed with me tonight. Would I be sitting here talking to you in front of a microphone eating breakfast with them if I was not going to go home with them tonight? Either I'm a complete moron or-- or I know something that you don't. You're just a sleaze ball. I really hate him, Beth. Oscar, you're a good guy. I understand you have a lot of hormones and that's fine with me. You're just not going to be able to act on them tonight-- with me. I don't know about you. Not me either. Unless it's paying by food. Where the hell's the waitress? I don't know. I just want to know where the waitress is. By 1 o'clock, the diner is at capacity and it feels like one big party. A woman sits in a booth in the back with a friend. She's in her early 40s, grew up in the neighborhood. My name is Nancy. Where am I and what time is it? Well, I don't think I'm really here. I think that there's-- I'm doing like a two-dimensional kind of thing. So there's part of me that's here, and then there's part of me that's somewhere else, the future me. So what time is it? Earthly time, it's 1:15 AM, and there is no time where my future self is. You know how you-- when you go to sleep and you dream, how you can bend and shape the events that take place in that dream? Well that-- what if that were your reality and what if this were the dream, you know? You can actually paint your future and you can make everything that's ever happened, is happening, and will happen has already happened. It's shapeshifting time and events so that you know why your soul is here. And that's the purpose, to know why you're here. To know why you came back. I know one past life, I was a cowboy and I was shot by accident. And I've met two of my four buddies that I was with together here at-- we-- we agreed to come back on some kind of subliminal basis. So yeah, I was a cowboy in one lifetime, probably right before the turn of the century. And my other lifetime, I really don't know, but I know I was crushed. And I don't know by what, but probably a large building. I haven't identified the time yet. I'm still working on that. Can I have-- can I have a short stack, please? That's all. Thank you. Not far away, in another booth, sit Danielle, who's 17, and Allison, 18. They're best friends. A month ago, because of problems at home, Danielle moved in with Allison's family. They both live in the basement there now. They've been driving in from the suburbs to the Golden Apple to hang out, meet friends-- guys mostly. We're sitting here waiting for this guy Jeff, who's hopefully going to come. We've just been coming here for the last three nights at about midnight, 1 o'clock. Because we're bored. Just sitting here waiting for random people to show up. She kind of has a crush on this guy, and so we kind of come here in hopes to find him. It hasn't worked yet. You paged him and told him to come here. Yeah, I paged him and told him to come here. Paged him, no answer. Paged him again, no answer. Paged him again. No answer. So basically, we have no life, so we come down here and wait for people. All right, phone call time. Do you have the number? Yeah, I have the number. All right, give me money. All right. I am calling this guy Jeff and I'm going to make him come here because my best friend wants him to. All right. And it's still ringing. Hi, Jeff. We are at the Golden Apple and I am wondering if you're at all coming because Allison kind of wants to see you, and I'm not going to stick around here all night because I have to sleep. So hopefully you'll be here by like 2:00. If not, call Allison tomorrow. All right, bye. And he'll be here. He'll be here. Err. Six messages on his machine at home. I just called Jeff and told him that he's not here and he should be. I still think he will come, I just don't know when. See, the thing that makes this a big deal is the fact that I think he actually might like me back, which doesn't happen ever. So that's why I, like, want to see him again. You want to know the really weird thing about us? Is she, like, hates herself. She never likes anyone ever. And whenever anything goes right, she freaks out. Seriously, like, you say that there's so many people that like me, but how many times has it actually ever worked out? It's not hard for you because you're just like this massive guy magnet. You know, and you act sometimes like you don't see it. You see it. You got to see it. Because we go somewhere, and it's like, whoosh, and everyone's there by you. And not even just guys. Like, you're just-- like, people like you, you know? It takes no effort. But it's not-- no, you're wrong, though. No, I'm not. Because it's not like I just get them like that. It's-- err! OK, I'll give you sometimes it just-- I don't know why, but sometimes, it happens like that. And it's the fact that I talk and I'm not, like, boring and I don't just sit there. No, I'm not saying you're boring. I'm just saying that that's what I'm not. People, like I said before, are robots and they're going to want to follow the life of the party. That's how people are. If you put an idea in their head-- like, if one person says you're a good kisser, you are deemed a good kisser forever and ever and ever. That's the point. Like, you have this thing where you just like radiate positive vibes, you know? And you're always, like, upbeat, you know? When I've been really outgoing, or trying to be, I'm like almost imitating you to see if it works. It doesn't work for me. And you know, we're best friends, especially now that you live with me. It's like you're just always there, so the issue is always there. When you didn't live with me, you know, sometimes I'm not even thinking about it. I don't care. But now you're there all the time and, you know, we've been, like, going out more and it's always there. It is 1:25 almost. OK, I am calling my friend Marion in hopes that he is up. OK. Marion? Are you sleeping? You are? We're just at the restaurant and waiting for people, and no one's coming. So we were wondering, do you want us to come pick you up? Say yes. To come back here. Just say yes. No, say yes. So don't go to sleep. Oh, come on. You know you love me. Thank you. I will be there to pick you up in like two minutes. Bye. So we're here. Hi, Marion. Hi, I can't go anywhere. [LAUGHS] You can't go anywhere? Get in the car. I cannot. Marion. I cannot. My mom has convinced me to stay. Marion, go tell her that you have to come back to the restaurant. I can't-- I have to wake up at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Marion, I'm going to go beat you up. Danielle, however, does not do such a good job convincing him with her fists. Actually, she doesn't try. He won't come. So she climbs back into the car to head back to meet Allison, who's waiting back at the Golden Apple. OK, me and Allison. I think that she feels like we're growing apart because I-- I've kind of been mean lately. Not like-- not like too mean. But like, she's my best friend. She will always be my best friend. It's just like now that we live together, we have constant each other. And it's just like we realize the things that we could overlook before are actual issues now. Like, we're complete opposites. She doesn't like people. I love people. She likes staying home and reading. I can't stand staying home and I can't stand reading. And I mean, I don't-- I don't like thinking. It's like thinking is something you do in school, and then when you need to. And she is not like that, and that's very cool. I mean, it shows that, you know, she's not a robot or whatever, you know? But she's 17. She's only 17. And she acts like she's 23. She's, I guess, above, you know, the normal teenager. She thinks of things. She-- she cares, you know? And that's what people in college do and that's what, you know, older people do. But me and most of all my friends, we're not ready. We're not-- we don't want to do that, you know? We want to-- we want to just sit back and have fun. I mean, she just needs to find the right people to hang out with. And for right now, it's not my thing. This is my thing. I like this scene, where it's just like, we're going to sit back. We're going to have fun. We're going to laugh. We're just going to let everything go, you know? Just like, all right. The Golden Apple scene. Yeah. When she's back in the restaurant, after all this thinking about how she and Allison are so different, she heads over to her best friend. They started a band together called Mixed Emotions, just the two of them. Allison plays guitar. They both sing. And they do one of their songs together now for the microphone. Ready? (SINGING) So much for faith, so much for loving you. So much for everything you told me you would do. So much for love. You won't believe in me. So much for all the times you say you'll never leave. I needed you and thought you'd be there, but now I see the change in you. And now you just don't seem to care. So much for faith. So much for loving you. They skooch in tight to each other near the mic as they sing. Allison's sitting, Danielle's standing, leaning in close. And then, the thing that they had been waiting for all night finally happens. Sort of. This is Jeff. That's Juan. He's got a face for radio. That's Billy. This-- OK, yeah. Oh, Billy's here. It is 2:15 and they have finally arrived. Yeah. Like-- When we'd given up all hope, poof, they're here. It's the greatest thing. I told you. I knew it. I never gave up faith. They all sit down together. The guys who they've been waiting for, who they called six times, Jeff, he never arrived. But there is another Jeff with this group, and Allison transfers her crush to Jeff number two. At some point, Danielle drags her outside the diner to confer. They stand on the sidewalk, just on the other side of the plate glass window Jeff number two and everybody else. Allison reviews the facts of the case. Well, it's just like, OK, he's-- you know, he's into some of the supernatural stuff too-- Uh-huh. --and we have a lot of things in common. Like, we're both big Tim Burton fans and-- so-- I don't know. I actually had something to talk to him about for hours now. And-- but then again, it's like, what's the point of liking him if he doesn't like me? So-- Do I ask him? No. I'm just going to go and be like, OK, here, look. I'm trying to hook her up and-- Don't. OK. I was wondering. I'm trying to set Allison-- I'll be slick. It'll be fun. For you, yeah. I'll give him a flower. Come on, it'll be fun. If he says no, we just won't come out here ever again. Please. No. Whatever else it might do for Allison if she were hooked up with somebody, it might just reduce the general level of tension between her and Danielle. And Danielle does not take no for an answer. She gives the flower to Jeff number two, saying it's from Allison. He smiles a big number two smile, then he and Allison sit alone at a table and talk for a while until Danielle comes over. Are we leaving now? Yes, we paid and we left a tip, and I put the rest of the change in this little box here. And now we're leaving. It can be our research foundation. It was fun. We got here at like 11:30 and it is now 3:15. And it is time to leave, so we'll be back tomorrow. Bye. Bye. Good night. By 4:00 AM Saturday morning, things have finally started to die down. Once again, like when we arrived the day before, it's mostly cab drivers and cops. What was that show Florence was on? With Mel's Diner? What the hell's the name of that show? Alice? No. These two police officers are sitting in a booth in front. Even on a break, they are required to wear 18-pound bulletproof vests. They call over their waitress, Donna, to help settle this question. Let me ask Donna. Maybe she knows. Hey, Donna. Do you want another [INAUDIBLE]? Oh, no thank you. What's the TV show that-- where they were in the diner with-- Mel's Diner with-- Flo. Flo. Flo was the redhead. Yeah, Flo was the one waitress. It was Alice and Flo and Vera. Yeah, it was-- and it was Mel's Diner. Vera was the dark hair. Flo was the Western. And then Alice was the one from New York. But it was called Flo's, I think. No, it wasn't called Flo's. No. No? It was-- I think it was Alice. I'm stumped. Now I won't be able to sleep today till I find out what the name of that show was. I'm Officer Norman Knudsen, and this is my partner. Officer Clark Eichman. We work beat 1922 tonight in the 19th district. We're on a personal. We're allowed as many personals as we want for coffee breaks, use the washroom, whatever. And so it's almost 5 o'clock in the morning, AM. OK, 0500 hours. It's often-- this district normally is slow. But on the weekends, it's like any other district. Gun calls, fights-- Narcotics. --narcotics. It's real busy for two days a week and real slow for five. With all the bars on Lincoln and Clark, and even further north on Lincoln, you can go from one jab to another. One fight after fight after fight after fight. We had a bar fight over at Irish Eyes. One of the guys is going to need plastic surgery. Yeah. Because he got hit with a beer stein in the face. You know, Sox fan versus Cubs fan. OK, the Cubs fan got hit in the face with a stein. And then we had another brawl over at Cubby Bear, where we made three arrests. And we just got done with all the paperwork and it's been, what, two and a half hours on the paperwork. Yeah. Yeah. Total of four arrests. Four arrests. Yeah, four arrests. First time to sit down and have a cup of coffee and relax and unwind. This is my regular hangout here. The Golden-- what is it? Pancake? I don't know. You come here all the time. I know. I come in here all the time. I used to know. 2971 Lincoln. Mike is always hanging around, and then there's, well, Bob over there. He's sitting on the end. Hey, Bob. How you doing? Donna, Mary. Dave, the one cab driver. I've come here quite a bit. 19th and West Belmont. 19th and West Belmont. Damon and Belmont. Right down the street. --three men standing on the street. One is a male-- There's a car right now three blocks away, three guys with a gun. Three blocks from here. I'm getting description of a male, white, bald head, white t-shirt. Now, supposing they're heading towards Barry, which is this way. They can break our personal if they want. Our lunch break, they're not supposed to. But if it's a hot call-- like, this one might even be bona fide. Probably 8 out of every 10 calls are garbage. They're not-- now there's two calls. Now it might be legitimate. One thing that happens is, when you get a regular partner-- and even somebody you can work for the first night. You learn their first name, not just their last. And then, where did you work before, are you married? He collects hockey cards. I collect monster memorabilia. Models. I do model collecting. I collect a couple of guitars. I play the guitar. And then you create a bond. You even tell some intimate secrets, you know, things that even the wives don't know about. But you're creating a bond, and people don't realize that. 90% of the job is you and your partner in the car. It can be a long night or it can be a lot of fun. The other thing is if you don't feel like doing anything, on some nights, you don't have to. You might not get a call. You can chill out, drive around. You know, you can just kind of be off in a haze and it doesn't really matter. It's almost 5 o'clock in the morning, AM. Three more hours. Yeah. If we don't get a late arrest. 1922 is back with you. They head toward the door. Donna, Pete, we'll see you guys manana. Hasta la bye-bye, says Donna, over by the counter. All right, see you guys all later. The damn sun is coming up already. The damn sun streaks its damn light through the cursed windows. Donna straightens things up a little, surveys the restaurant. She's the waitress that we first interviewed a full day before, the one who brings in cookies on Christmas for everybody. She eyes the morning regulars at the tables. Well, it's now 5 o'clock Saturday morning. I got one hour and 45 minutes. And I know it sounds a little corny, but I really do enjoy it. As soon as it starts to get daylight, I start to feel good. The day people come in, the nice smells, nice colognes. [LAUGHS] You know, it's kind of wore off on the night people, but the day people, it's so fresh. It's nice, refreshing. Everybody else is getting sleepy and I'm starting to wake up because I'm a day person that's been working nights for 26 years. [LAUGHS] But I'm handling it all right. Well, our program was produced this week by Julie Snyder and myself, with Alex Blumberg, Blue Chevigny, and Jonathan Goldstein. Other people who did shifts recording at the Golden Apple include Mary Wiltenburg, Joe Richman, who recorded Danielle and Allison, Wendy Dorr recorded the policeman, Oscar and two drunk women who would not go home with him, Tom and Scott, and the lady who explained earthly time. Nancy Updike's story was produced with a grant from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting as part of HearingVoices.com. Many thanks to Tom and Nick and Pete, the owners of the Golden Apple, and dozens of customers that we interviewed over the course of the day. This show was recorded in July of 2000. The Golden Apple still stands at Lincoln Avenue, where it hits Southport. My recommendation is the feta cheese omelet. Additional production for today's program by Aviva DeKornfeld, Stowe Nelson, and Matt Tierney. Our website, ThisAmericanLife.org, where you can stream over 600 episodes of our program for absolutely free, see all kinds of videos we've made over the years, the musical we did on stage, favorites lists, staff recommendations. Again, ThisAmericanLife.org. Or get our app, which has all that stuff, and you can download as many episodes as you want. This American Life is delivered to public radio stations by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange. Thanks, as always, to our program's co-founder, Mr. Torey Malatia, who's always reminding me-- I'm a journalism major, by the way. Yeah. So I understand what you're doing right now. I'm Ira Glass. Back next week with more stories of This American Life.