The final patrons accepted their coats and the maître d’ closed and locked the doors. Three members of the serving staff remained, gathered around the podium. “Eric, you were late, you are docked two hours wages,” his tone, curt and forbidding of any argument. “Henry, your shirt looks grey, you have been told to ensure it is crisp and white. Tomorrow you will clean the grills for no pay.” With an abrupt nod of his head, t...