I'm 40, a single mom of two, and I've been working at this diner for the past eight months—ever since the company I spent fifteen years at downsized me. I used to have an office, benefits, and weekends off. Now I have aching feet, night shifts, and customers who call me "sweetheart" like it's an insult. Last Friday, two men in suits took the table by the window—the kind of men who talk loud so everyone knows they're important. From the moment I brought the menus, they looked at me like I was inv