The morning-shift busboy had gotten suckered into one of those telemarketing deals where you end up with five-thousand-year subscriptions to about fifteen different magazines.
Yitzhak was his boss; Yitzhak was not above exploiting this.
This was why Yitzhak was now comfortably situated behind the diner's counter with a stack of issues of
Cosmopolitan, Harper's Bazaar, Glamour, Elle, Marie Claire, and
In Style. Somehow, the cook had managed to sneak a subscription to
Sunset into that batch too. That might have explained some of the specials on the board.
If he kept up with the fancy-schmancy food, Yitzhak was going to have to exact some creative revenge with toothpicks and crumpled balls of foil, and then, failing that, fire him.
Luke's was open, and the
NOW HIRING sign was back in the window.
[OOC: No OCD today, ZOMFM! AFK for an hour and a half or so, but back for most of the day after that. God, I wish I wasn't allergic to peanuts, 'cause that burger sounds good.]