Blanche: A coffee shop?
Dorothy: Day-old Danish.
Rose: Yeah!
Blanche: Twelve-hour-days in a steamy hash joint serving chili to a bunch of grubby truckers?
Dorothy: Oh, come on, Blanche. I mean, she's working at the Fountain Rock. It's not Mel's Diner. I mean, the worst that can happen is she'll get scratched by a pinkie ring.
Blanche: But 12 hours on your feet waiting tables? Honey, that is gritty, grimy, grueling work!
Rose: But it's work! It beats the hell out of feeling sorry for myself, and it'll be a lot nicer to fall asleep from being tired than crying.