It was a time of excitement at my beloved Chick-Fil-A restaurant in Great Lakes Mall. It was the end of a financial quarter, and the rumor was that it meant a raise in our next paychecks. It seemed strange to me, since other financial quarters had passed with no raises, but I wasn't going to argue. I was looking forward to a paycheck with a little bit of unexpected additional money in it.

When I pulled the anticipated paycheck from its envelope, I was, to say the least, disappointed. My hourly rate had increased one nickel (from $4.50 to $4.55), which amounts to a whopping 75 cents per week when working after school job hours. I felt sick. I felt betrayed. A nickel is not a raise. A nickel is a slap in the face and a punch in the gut. A nickel is a laughing, jeering reminder of just how worthless someone perceives you to be.

Should I have quit? Should I have unionized my fellow workers and demanded better wages? I'm still on the fence. What I did do is have a discussion with the manager. He promised a better raise in the future (which he delivered on) and that talk started me down the path toward earning my "Blue Shirt," which if you're not familiar with Chick-Fil-A parlance would I guess be the equivalent of an assistant manager position.

The Nickel Raise Incident was a watershed in my relationship with Chick-Fil-A, and even possibly in my life. From passive receiver of wages, I evolved to active demander of decent pay. I stopped looking at myself as victim and subjugant, and as all of us do in high school, took another step forward to independence.