For some reason my boss thinks I grew up wearing a trench coat.
Come on now that doesn’t fit me at all, does it? I have never been a part of the mafia, or listened to a full verse of any song by Insane Clown Posse. I am no Jared Burton.
For full effect, download “Workin’ For The Man” by PJ Harvey, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
On most Friday afternoons, the majority of our country’s population would be using their personal blogs to vent about how awful their boss is, how power-hungry, how over-working, or how bald, fat, and ugly he is, but in my situation that’s not the case. I’ve got a great boss, a heck of a supervisor, a man that secretly steals my phone, hacks my Facebook account, and uploads the status, “Karl Malone is the most overrated basketball player of all time.” Come on now, what’s not to L-word about this guy?
Now don’t misinterpret me on this post, this is by no means a form of brown-nosing, or an attempt to get on my bosses good side and hope for a raise in the future. For all I know the man will never read this post. Ever. He’s practically deleted himself from the world of social media, and makes fun of me for actually thinking that blogs have value. Read this? Yeah right. Brown-nosing is when I laugh at stupid jokes when they’re not funny and tell someone that their daughter doesn’t look like a one-legged Rottweiler with Bell’s palsy.
But in all seriousness, my boss, is “the shiz” as Snoop Dogg would say. He’s a man you would want on your team no matter what sport you’re playing; basketball, croquet, or jai alai. The guy will fight for you when he doesn’t have to, build you up when you need it the most, and can eat an entire box of Rice Krispie Treats cereal in one sitting. Yeah, he’s that kind of guy.
Historically, bosses have been given a bad stereotype, like they’re the ones who are anal-retentive, showing up to work with navy suspenders and a cornflower blue tie on Tuesdays, annoying you to death by their constant hounding and repetitive requests to come in Saturday morning and finish a departmental inventory of socks. My boss, he’s none of that. My boss dumps a quart of salt in your ice water when you’re not looking, and then makes you feel like a thousand bucks by genuinely complimenting you on a 30-second video clip that’s just barely above par. Yeah, he’s kind of a big deal.
Now you may be shaking your head and saying to yourself, “Brock, your boss really isn’t that cool, my boss is equal to, or greater than the caliber of your boss in levels of quality.” Oh yeah, well did your boss help you make a 70-foot March Madness bracket on the windows of your office last March? Does your boss give you a diet and workout regiment for how to run a marathon? Can your boss do a spot-on impression of Professor Fink from “The Simpsons”?
My Boss/Professor Fink: “As you can see, the uh, clavin, time warp transmogrifier is out of whack for all future tomfoolery, clavin.”
Yeah, now your boss looks like Kevin Spacey’s character in the film, “Horrible Bosses”; a cornflower blue paper pusher with 37 pieces of flair on who’s asking if you got the memo on the cover sheet for those TPS reports. My boss eats pieces of crap like that for breakfast every day of the week. The guy’s got an English degree and has actually done something with it, besides settling for an assistant librarian’s job in Bonanza, Oregon.
Without question, where I’m currently working is by far the best job I have had in my entire life, and the same can be said about the man I’m working for. A guy who works for one-hundredth of his actual value, and has a mean mid-range jump shot to boot. I still haven’t figured out where he got his suspicion about me being a part of the trench coat mafia when I was an undergraduate, but either way, he’s a big reason why I enjoy showing up to work every morning.
And who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll dig up my black leather slicker and surprise the old guy.