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.
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