Today, she strutted into my office, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. She handed me a doctor’s note that looked like it was scribbled by a 5-year-old on the back of a Denny’s placemat. “Reduced lifting duties and daily rest breaks,” it said, complete with misspelled medical jargon and a suspiciously smiley-faced signature.

I went straight to HR, expecting Tabitha to laugh this out of the building. Instead, she adjusted her recliner, wiped a smear of gravy off her desk, and gave me her trademark you’re already dead glare.

“Evan, the law doesn’t specify ‘currently pregnant.’ Accommodate it.” She paused to stuff a biscuit in her mouth. “And for fuck’s sake, stop coming to me with this petty shit. Next time, I’ll personally write you up for wasting my valuable time, faggot.” She waved me off, muttering, “Some of us have real work to do. Like catching up on The Bold and the Beautiful.”

By noon, Keisha had fully embraced her “expecting” lifestyle. She dragged a lawn chair into the bread aisle and parked herself like a queen holding court. She lounged there all day, scrolling TikTok and munching Cheetos while customers dodged around her. Every time I passed, she’d stroke her nonexistent belly and sigh dramatically:

“Future baby needs its mama to rest, friend. You understand.”

At one point, a customer asked her for help finding bagels. Without missing a beat, Keisha pointed at me and said, “Ask Evan. I’m on doctor’s orders.”

Later, when I dared to suggest she could at least help bag groceries, she clutched her imaginary bump like a soap opera star mid-monologue.

“Evan! I want to help. But legally… legally, I can’t risk it. Are you trying to harm my hypothetical baby? :(”

The rest of the shift was a blur of hauling frozen turkeys, cleaning up a shattered jar of pickles, and explaining to Karen #83 why her favorite gluten-free brioche was out of stock. Keisha, meanwhile, waved at me from her lawn chair like a benevolent monarch.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Evan! You only get one back!”

Finally clocked out, leaned against the loading dock, and whispered: “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630901&forum_id=2Elisa#48315071)