He came through my checkout line just before my shift ended—carrying a bag of apples, two cans of soup, bananas, bread, and a large tan coat. Nothing flashy, just basics.
After I scanned his items and told him the total, he began counting out coins—mostly dimes and nickels. His hands trembled slightly. When he realized he was four dollars short, he smiled weakly and said, “Guess I’ll put the fruit back.”
Without thinking twice, I swiped my employee discount card and covered the rest quietly. I smiled and said, “Pay it forward someday.” He looked like he wanted to cry and softly replied, “Thank you, darlin’,” before leaving.
What I didn’t know was my floor supervisor had witnessed everything. An hour later, I was called into the office.
“No customer discounts. Period,” she said. “They call it thievery.”
I tried to explain it was just a few dollars, that he really needed it. She wasn’t interested. I lost my job that night.
I cried on the bus home—not just because of losing the job, but because doing the right thing had cost me.
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