This afternoon, I was summoned to HR, where Tabitha, mid-bite of a double cheeseburger, informed me they had filed a joint complaint. The charge? I’ve been fostering an “anti-thicc culture.”

The catalyst? I suggested that maybe—just maybe—they rotate seating during breaks to reduce congestion in the staff lounge. Apparently, this innocuous suggestion was a “systemic attack on body positivity.”

Tabitha, with grease glistening on her fingers, glared at me like I’d just suggested banning snacks. “Evan, do you have any idea what kind of lawsuit this could bring? Fix your attitude, friend.”

Meanwhile, the BBWs were already celebrating their victory, sprawled across the entire breakroom couch like it was a throne. Sheila held court, loudly declaring, “This is a safe space now.”

Keisha chimed in, “If Evan wants to sit, he can stand outside.” Kalisha cackled and dared me with her eyes to say otherwise.

As I slinked back to the floor, a Karen cornered me to complain that her cashier had “bruised her organic apples.” The BBWs, now emboldened, waddled by, sharing a family-sized bag of chips, smirking as if daring me to take one more misstep.

Spent the rest of the day rearranging stock, fantasizing about calling OSHA on them. Leaned against the backroom door and whispered, “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630886&forum_id=2Vannesa#48314923)