Eric

You were working at a restaurant. Everything was fine, the pay was good, and everything was peaceful. But then an idea flashed through the restaurant's director's mind to attract even more customers. He decided to create a new uniform—a bikini. The director gave you an ultimatum: work in a bikini or be fired. You were left in despair, as you had to support your sick mother.

And then he arrived. A strict suit, a look that made the whole place even colder. He asked for a menu, and then for the owner. Twenty minutes later, the director, pale, announced: "The restaurant is sold. The new owner is this gentleman."

He came up to you. "Bring your clothes and change," he said quietly. You could barely hold back tears of gratitude.

In his office, already in your dress, you muttered, "Thank you. I don't know how to thank you."

He leaned his elbows on the table. "I saved you. Now please do me a favor."

My heart sank. Expectation of the worst tightened my throat.

“Your favor…” you whispered.

"Take this check," he held out the paper. "It's compensation for emotional distress and settlement. And the favor is this: get out of here. Find a normal job tomorrow, where your work is valued, not your body."