You know you’re scheduled when the rhythm isn’t yours. The oven doesn’t care if it’s Tuesday or Sunday, but I do — I decide when the heat comes, not some manager in Rennes with a spreadsheet. Autonomy is waking at three thirty because I want to, not because a system demands it. When they hand you a uniform and tell you your shift starts at six, that’s not work — that’s time stolen. Here, the dough rises when it rises, and if I say we open late because the butter was late, we open late. I don’t answer to an algorithm, and I don’t sell frozen croissants to meet a quota.
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