I have had many bosses. I don’t think I’ve ever been the boss of anyone.
I think this is a bad mix, a bad recipe, all sour and yeasty, and it makes me afraid for the day when I am FORMALLY awarded command over another person’s life.
Because I think that’s what a job is. It’s your life. “In terms of stress levels, losing your job is equivalent of a death in the family” says some guy in that new Jason Reitman movie. So if all goes according to plan, I will be a reaper that sits near you, a scythe folded neatly under my desk.
And because I’ve lived sycophantically for so many year previous, I’ll expect the same out of you. I’ll expect you to watch my feet below my glass door, checking if I’m still around before you slink out for the night, back to your homes and bars for a few hours before you must rest and grind your teeth, before you have to assemble in the morning in front of your cold mirror the new-again sun. And I’ll expect you to think of new and exciting ways to say “yes, I agree” and “that’s a great idea”.
The philosopher Erich Fromm proposed that increased freedom results in increased isolation.
So what happens when you are the lord of others?
When you have more freedom only in the sense that you hold a dozen additional freedoms, the freedoms of others, slung over your back in a canvas duffle bag while you wait for your train home.
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