This post is dedicated to The Boss whoever it* may be. Ed.
It happened on a work day. (Holy fuck. Is that the scariest opening ever or what?)
It was the arrival of a package that prompted the fun. The boss stopped everything he was doing. Ooh, a package had arrived.
Must. Open. Now.
His fleshy, grubby and unwashed digits picked up the box and it rotated in his massive NFL-style steroid-induced mitts. A piece of gooey food substance jiggled in his beard as he moved.
“Oh look,” he said. “I got something for you.”
Inside? You guessed it. New business cards for my department, the department where he always claimed I was in charge and had autonomy.
The cards were emblazoned with his name. Not mine. And underneath, the business title was printed. “Manager.”
Some time later he indicated with an explosion of gas that he had a “task” for me.
All hail the task!
“I want a widget,” he grunted.
A widget. Yes. I knew about those. I knew a lot. I knew how to make them but, more importantly, I knew how utterly useless they were. They were objects of consumer interest used to line the boss’ pockets with silver.
This was an important task!
To make the widget, I had to make ten decisions.
Some time later, finally, the task was complete. Now came the delicious nectar of a moment where he would review my work.
“It looks great. Just a few things. Change this. Change that. Convert all of these. Minimize this one and maximize that one. The proportions are wrong.”
He hefted the thing up to the table for viewing under the electron microscope.
“Uh huh,” he said garlicly. “I thought so. These could benefit from a realignment of several nanometers.”
He handed the thing back to me. “Fix those ten things and it’ll be perfect.”
And then, almost as if he wanted to snap my neck from the weight of his boot while forcing my face into the shit, he added, “I love teamwork. There is no I in Team. Good job, Tom!”
He tasks me.
*This blog recognizes the existence of the boss as an organism but not as life as we know it.