"Jesus H. Christ..." Issac took a long swig of coffee as he kept staring at the order. As a line cook, you had to be able to read shit like this- it wasn't like you could run out into the restaurant and ask the waitstaff what their abstract art was supposed to mean. Still, whatever was written on this paper was beyond him.

He scratched his jaw with the lip of his cup and sighed. "They must really hate the interns where you work. I'd get them all Kombuchas if I were you. That stuff tastes awful..."