“ADA, baby,” she said with a smirk, waving her break card as she disappeared into the back. Fifteen minutes later, I saw her outside, laughing on her phone, sipping a soda she didn’t pay for.

I didn’t say anything. What would be the point? Management doesn’t care. The customers don’t care. Keisha gets her breaks. I get my silence.

By the time she came back, the lines were worse. She clocked in, leaned on the counter, and said, “You look tired, Evan.”

I nodded, swallowed the lump in my throat, and whispered, “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630766&forum_id=2/#48314416)