About two hours into his shift... well his day off, the manager came in. Patted Dale on the back.

"Dale, you're a good kid."

"Thanks, sir."

"You got a moment?"

"Sure, sir."

He followed the manager into another room. Out of ear from the grill room.

"You know how tough the economy's been." Dale nodded. "And you know that today's your day off."

"I'm just glad to be able to help."

"Well that's the thing. We love it too. But money's slim these days. So we can't pay you for this shift."

Dale felt an intense, internal fury. If there were no rules, if his head didn't have a final say in his decision making, Dale would've clenched his fist and punched the manager in the stomach. Not the face. He wasn't that pissed. But pissed enough he wanted to gut check him. Maybe a few times. Maybe even make him spit out blood. Well maybe not that much.

Instead all Dale said was, "Mm."

"Sorry, kid."

The manager patted Dale on the shoulder twice more. And then headed out.

Son of a bitch, Dale thought. He considered leaving. It was his day off for chrissake! He wasn't even supposed to be here. Now the remaining six hours of his day off shift was feeling like an eternity. He didn't know how the hell he was going to get through. He took out his vape and puffed. This was some 

bullshit

.