Off the Clock

It was late evening. I was waiting in line at the convenience store. One of the cashiers had just ended her shift—punched out, headed out, and (I discovered as she shuffled from behind the counter towards the door) letting it all hang out. She had, as soon as her shift ended, liberated her gut from the work-a-day constraints of her belt and top pant-button:



Wow, I didn't realize that was an option, but sure: I'm off the clock and so is my belt. Beautiful!

I think I'll do that for my last day.