The business was one that was insanely busy, constantly. Though they did their best to try to get their human friend not to push so hard, the person still kept working sometimes fifteen hours or more a day. While they were getting very well paid for such overtime, it was obvious this poor friend of theirs still had a long way to go in therapy to break out of the Deregger mindset so heavily beaten into them when they were young. -- Anon Guest
Some philosophies have sticking power. For the rescuees of Greater Deregulation Upper Northwest, it was both, Work or die, and, Work until you die. Human Ome was among the number of those recovering from such mental poison.
It didn't help that she became a baker. Handmade loaves, buns, and whatnot were selling like - well - hotcakes. A baker rose early so that their bread could rise too.
This baker stayed up with her staff to show them that the manager could work just as much as they did. It was starting to take its toll.
The bags under the eyes were just as much warning as the extra caution she took when making a braided loaf. Or the way she kept checking the orders between tasks.
Work or die. Get it right the first time or pay in a pound of flesh...
The staff and many of the regular customers staged an intervention. It was a spur of the moment thing, inspired by the sight of Ome literally sleepwalking to the bread-slicer.
Dreen took the dough pan out of Ome's hands. The hubbub of the bakery died and several people made a circle that included Ome.
"Huh? Wha?"
"Human Ome," Dreen began. "We love you and want to support you. We cannot ignore what you are doing to yourself any more. Please understand us when we say, you need to take care of yourself. You need rest. You need free time."
"Hav'n earn'd," Ome mumbled. "Boss' gonn' be mad." Blink. Squint. "No. Wait. I'm th' boss. You'll be mad at me. Can't be a slacker manager with my butt polishing a chair..."
Dreen knew she didn't trust anyone in a management position over her. "You don't have to make the bread and run the shop until closing. You can take a break in the middle of operations when everything's in wait mode."
"Don' wanna be lazy..." Ome drifted back into sleep, startling out of it. "Lazy hacks get no snacks..."
One of the customers gently shook her back awake. "Take a day. Please. A minimum of two per week. That's still working eight days[1]. More than you ever worked in your homeworld."
"You have worked hard," said another. "We all agree you have earned rest. We will abide by your needs."
"Your good work is a treat, after all."
"I'm not fired?"
"You're not fired," said Dreen. Sooner or later, it would sink in that she was her own boss. "Go home. Sleep. Have some fun. I will come find you when it's time to do the accounts and lock up."
The hard part is always letting go. Of the running of her business for a day, of nascent fear, and especially of the chain of thought that lead her to the point of near collapse.
[1] The Galactic Standard Calendar has a ten-day week, making that one Beatles song a little more literal than originally intended.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / noskaphoto]
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