“No matter how good he looks, someone somewhere is tired of his shit.”
You don’t think that’s possible, do you? What a mischievous trick to make the great fall, what a funny thing to imagine about that important person who can keep the party going and your plate full of hot potatoes, day and night.
The one you have to obey and follow, the one you must trust beyond reason. They said it’s the safest thing, but, hey, out there is a job that requires to get constantly hit by paintballs (the “human bullet impact tester”, no joke). 10.000 masochistic people applied to get hurt and probably have the skin half as thick as you grew yours.
The one who dictates for your own good and destruction without really noticing any difference. The one who gets you… because it’s in his job description. He’s paid for giving you a hard time and the pleasure is extra. It’s not nice, you think. It is what it is.
Then you think of something really mean to say. Something that’s so sharply smart it could slice pride and egos into tiny pieces. You write it down, then calmly fold the paper and forever store it in your trash can.
Be good, be charming, be effective. That’s in your job description.
Photo source: a great frame from a great film.
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