Well, it's not exactly the dregs, but it's people too weird for temping and too ambitious (or something, maybe also too weird) to work full-time in a restaurant: alcoholics and heavy drug users, self-hating dysfunctional gay guys, recent immigrants from South America constantly looking for a hustle (and finding them in places I never would have even thought of), sleazy thuggish white dudes from Queens, and every kind of frustrated artist you could imagine, all in various stages of defeat (this last one included me at the time). The people who had settled into being "captains" and took it way too seriously were by far the most depressing. Lots of people freaking out, like screaming, about completely insignificant crap.
All of this unfolded against odd corners of NY that I'm glad I saw, but it was a weird way to spend my days: one day I'd be serving coffee out of a silver tea service at 7am in a 60th floor office overlooking a helipad, another day I'd be in the bleak tan basement of a law firm, yet another I'd be on some estate in Connecticut owned by a guy so rich he had his own zoo. There were some cool moments - leaning against the Temple of Dendur at the Met after I had put out plates of petit fours, working an all-celebrity party at Jann Wenner's house (Harrison Ford was exactly like his character in Regarding Henry), serving George HW and Barbara Bush on the USS Intrepid (George was totally charming, Barbara was horrible and mean). But mostly I'm glad I never have to do that again (I hope).
Oh, also I got to see a whole bunch of original Picassos in some guy's apartment, and the Gold Record of Laura Branigan's "Gloria."