“Gotta bounce, Evan,” he says, grabbing a Gatorade from the cooler. “Can you close for me?” No mention of the unfinished pallet in the back or the spills in aisle 2. He’s already out the door.

Later, I check his timecard. He’ll get paid for 10 hours when he worked four. Meanwhile, I’m here counting expired yogurt in the dark.

I sign off on his hours, lock up the store, and whisper, “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630768&forum_id=2...id#48314438)