One of the best parts of staying in this particular hotel in Baghdad is the first-floor cafeteria -- not because of the food (it's horrendous), but because of the irreverent, hilarious guys from Sadr City and Doura who work behind the counter.

They're dirt-poor, they pull double shifts several times a week and one of them has a bullet wound on his chest that's a reminder of the harsh lives they lead once they clock out and return to their violent neighborhoods. And yet, for five years and counting, they've retained a mischievous humor and warm camaraderie that transcends their disparate faiths, sects and political beliefs. When the overbearing manager isn't around, the workers crack themselves up by answering room-service calls in menacing tones: "Interior Ministry. Who are you and what do you want?"

I had an hour to kill before the morning meeting today, so I went downstairs to have breakfast with them. They had the door to the courtyard open and a refreshing breeze aired out the stale dining area that looks to have been last renovated sometime in the early 1980s. It was 9 a.m. on a Friday morning, like a lazy Sunday in the States, so they didn't expect any customers until much later.

I found them smearing processed cheese on yesterday's hard leftover bread as they gathered around a suspended TV set to watch Martha Stewart's talk show, which was broadcast with Arabic subtitles. They oohed and ahhed over Martha's sample autumn table, laid out with sparkling crystal and a centerpiece of pumpkins and gourds.

"What's that orange thing?" a waiter asked. I couldn't recall the Arabic word for pumpkin, so I just said it was a really big squash.

They followed the subtitles as Martha explained how you arrange silverware from the outside in, salad fork and then dinner fork and so on.

"Why do Americans need so many forks?" one of the guys asked me. Beats me, I told him.

"But how does she eat her tishreeb?!" another joked, referring to the delicious Iraqi stew that can only be scooped up with a spoon or pieces of bread.

At the commercial break, the youngest waiter pointed to the crew leader and told me, "You see this guy? He's so mean. I worked two shifts yesterday and I'm still here serving breakfast!"

"Oh, go file a complaint at the human rights ministry!" the crew leader shot back.

The young waiter grabbed a tissue and pretended to cry. He told me he was in love with a Palestinian girl whose family still lived in Baghdad. Yesterday had been her birthday. He'd used his paltry salary to buy a cake and some perfume, but couldn't get the time off to arrange a secret meeting to give his sweetheart her gifts.

"They won't even let me spoil my Sou-sou!" he wailed, using his girlfriend's nickname. "I swear, if her family marries her off to that 51-year-old donkey who asked for her hand, then I'm going to die and it will be this guy's fault!"

"Nobody wants to hear your Hindi-film love story," the crew leader said. "Shh, Marrrrtha! Marrrrtha!"

Martha was back on and it was time for questions from the audience. First up was a pretty blonde woman who introduced herself as Suzy.

"Hi, ya Suzy!" a portly waiter said, "My name is Haider. Can I get to know you? Do you have a cell phone? You know, the land lines don't work so great here."

They laughed till they cried. Martha began chopping onions and dropping them into a pan, but before we could figure out what she was making, the electricity went off and the screen went dark.

Back to work, for them and for me. Before heading upstairs, I wished them a happy Norouz, the Iranian new year that's celebrated in Iraq as a spring festival. In the past, families would fill the parks with picnics and dancing.

"Is it Norouz?" the crew leader asked in disbelief. "My God! I'd completely forgotten. I really need a day off."