A letter to the boss

Dear Boss,

I’m smarter than you.

Oh, please. Don’t look so amazed. It’s not really that surprising, is it?

Eh? What’s that? You make more money than me? That’s the best argument you’ve got? Sure you do. I’m painfully aware of that. You rub it in my face all the time. Think I’d forget?

One thing I’ve learned during my time on this planet, though, is that one doesn’t have anything to do with the other. Money does not equate to intelligence. For the record, it doesn’t equate to worthiness, either, nor is it a reliable method of determining who gets access to healthcare. But I digress.

I’ve learned that there are other qualities vastly more important than intelligence when it comes to making money. Things like greed, ambition, flexible ethics, questionable morals, and more. You know, the qualities that you possess in abundance.

Maybe an example of something that actually happened will help get through to you.

Like a Boss!

Remember the time you jammed the punch machine? For an entire year you used it to punch holes in plastic. Did you ever empty it, even a single time? Nope. Those little pieces of punched plastic had to go somewhere, right? Surely even you can see that. Where do you think they went? Think, dammit!

Finally the thing stopped working and you were utterly befuddled. So you brought it to us employees to fix, stressing the importance and that it needed to be done quickly. As usual, your failure to plan became our “emergency,” a term you frequently bandy about rather wantonly in my humble opinion.

Remember what I’m talking about? I think your words when you handed it over were, “No worky.”

At first we were perplexed by the problem, too. It just didn’t make any sense. There was seemingly no reasonable explanation. Finally, out of desperation, we forced the machine open, damaging the mechanism in the process. You remember that, don’t you? You stood there making comments about how the expense would be deducted from our paychecks.

The boss planning his next move. Note the copy of my book, How To Destroy Your Employees, on his shelf.

Once we had the thing taken apart, it all suddenly became crystal clear. You had jammed it so good it physically couldn’t punch any more. The only delay in our troubleshooting was that we underestimated how stupid you could be. That’s not a mistake we’re likely to repeat.

Yeah, I get the irony. It’s fucking rich. No, not that kind of rich, you friggin’ singleminded simpleton. Sometimes those with more intelligence end up working for those with less. Even though that seems illogical and topsy turvy.

I’m sorry if this letter hurts your feelings. Don’t worry about it, though. Soon it will get better. You’ll remember there is a thing called “money” and your thoughts will return to “how do I get more of it?” And then this will be all forgotten. You’ll remember that there are rules to be broken, lies to be told and customers to screw over. Then you’ll be back to being yourself.

It will be a happy time.