If you think your boss is stupid, remember: you wouldn’t have a job if he was any smarter.
By working faithfully eight hours a day, you may eventually get to be a boss and work twelve hours a day.
A boss might give instructions and bark orders, a consultant would analyze data and give advice, but a coach would use curiosity to ask, listen and draw out the best from people.
You think I don’t know what I want? You think I love the idea of relying on my looks for life? No! It’s pathetic! In my head, I have a nice, quiet, normal job that involves me running my own business. I carry a briefcase around my office with important documents, I have a nice assistant who calls me boss, and people ask me questions—they ask for my advice because I matter! I’m important to them! I’m recognized as something more than a pretty face and a pair of legs. I have a brain and interests and thoughts about religion, and poverty, and economics. I’m not a miserable girl with a number attached to her chest, stripping her clothes off in a room full of people.
So my unsolicited advice to women in the workplace is this. When faced with sexism or ageism or lookism or even really aggressive Buddhism, ask yourself the following question: “Is this person in between me and what I want to do?” If the answer is no, ignore it and move on. Your energy is better used doing your work and outpacing people that way. Then, when you’re in charge, don’t hire the people who were jerky to you. If the answer is yes, you have a more difficult road ahead of you. I suggest you model your strategy after the old Sesame Street film piece “Over! Under! Through!” (If you’re under forty you might not remember this film. It taught the concepts of “over,” “under,” and “through” by filming toddlers crawling around an abandoned construction site. They don’t show it anymore because someone has since realized that’s nuts.) If your boss is a jerk, try to find someone above or around your boss who is not a jerk
You are always doing something marginal when the boss drops by your desk.
Nothing motivates a man more than to see his boss put in an honest day's work.
Despite all appearances, your boss is a thinking, feeling, human being.
In my house I'm the boss, my wife is just the decision maker.
Surprise your boss. Get to work on time.
By working faithfully eight hours a day, you may eventually get to be
I don't care a straw for your newspaper articles, my constituents don't know how to read, but they can't help seeing them damned pictures.
Keep your boss's boss off your boss's back.
If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.
A boss with no humor is like a job that's no fun.
Show me a man who is a good loser and I'll show you a man who is playing
You need to get one thing straight. I am not bossy. I'm the fucking boss.
It’s not okay to send a feeble kid out to fight our battles, and it’s not okay to push people around like pawns on a fuckin chessboard and it’s not okay giving orders to kill like a Mafia boss.
The American system of ours, call it Americanism, call it Capitalism, call it what you like, gives each and every one of us a great opportunity if we only seize it with both hands and make the most of it. [1929 interview, quoted by Claud Cockburn, In Time of Trouble , 1956.]
There is very little future in being right when your boss is wrong.
A MODERN FABLE Aesop's fables and other traditional children's stories involve allegory far too subtle for the youth of today. Children need an updated message with contemporary circumstance and plot line, and short enough to suit today's minute attention span. The Troubled Aardvark Once upon a time, there was an aardvark whose only pleasure in life was driving from his suburban bungalow to his job at a large brokerage house in his brand new 4x4. He hated his manipulative boss, his conniving and unethical co-workers, his greedy wife, and his snivelling, spoiled children. One day, the aardvark reflected on the meaning of his life and his career and on the unchecked, catastrophic decline of his nation, its pathetic excuse for leadership, and the complete ineffectiveness of any personal effort he could make to change the status quo. Overcome by a wave of utter depression and self-doubt, he decided to take the only course of action that would bring him greater comfort and happiness: he drove to the mall and bought imported consumer electronics goods. MORAL OF THE STORY: Invest in foreign consumer electronics manufacturers. -- Tom Annau
You can grovel with a lover, you can grovel with a friend, You can grovel with your boss, and it never has to end. (chorus) Grovel, grovel, grovel, every night and every day, Grovel, grovel, grovel, in your own peculiar way. You can grovel in a hallway, you can grovel in a park, You can grovel in an alley with a mugger after dark. (chorus) You can grovel with your uncle, you can grovel with your aunt, You can grovel with your Apple, even though you say you can't. (chorus)
Nothing motivates a man more than to see his boss put in an honest day's work.
Keep your boss's boss off your boss's back.
You are always doing something marginal when the boss drops by your desk.
A boss with no humor is like a job that's no fun.
"I don't care who does the electing as long as I get to do the nominating." -- Boss Tweed
Your boss is a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
Conference, n.: A special meeting in which the boss gathers subordinates to hear what they have to say, so long as it doesn't conflict with what he's already decided to do.
By working faithfully eight hours a day, you may eventually get to be
-- Robert Frost
When properly administered, vacations do not diminish productivity: for every week you're away and get nothing done, there's another when your boss</p> is away and you get twice as much done. -- Daniel B. Luten
guru, n.: A person in T-shirt and sandals who took an elevator ride with a senior vice-president and is ultimately responsible for the phone call you are about to receive from your boss.
Hacker: Dang, I'm always forgetting my assignations...
Hacker: Er, I guess my finger slipped when I was typing "getservbyport"...
-- Larry Wall in <199710311732.JAA19169@wall.org>
He who laughs last is probably your boss.
Important letters which contain no errors will develop errors in the mail. Corresponding errors will show up in the duplicate while the Boss is reading it. Vital papers will demonstrate their vitality by spontaneously moving from where you left them to where you can't find them.
job Placement, n.: Telling your boss what he can do with your job.
Theory of Selective Supervision: The one time in the day that you lean back and relax is the one time the boss walks through the office.
Rule #1: The Boss is always right. Rule #2: If the Boss is wrong, see Rule #1.
I got a hint of things to come when I overheard my boss lamenting, 'The books are done and we still don't have an author! I must sign someone today! -- Tamim Ansary, "Edutopia Magazine, Issue 2, November 2004" on the topic of school textbooks
There will always be beer cans rolling on the floor of your car when the boss asks for a lift home from the office.
There is very little future in being right when your boss is wrong.
Show me a man who is a good loser and I'll show you a man who is playing golf with his boss.
A is for awk, which runs like a snail, and B is for biff, which reads all your mail. C is for cc, as hackers recall, while D is for dd, the command that does all. E is for emacs, which rebinds your keys, and F is for fsck, which rebuilds your trees. G is for grep, a clever detective, while H is for halt, which may seem defective. I is for indent, which rarely amuses, and J is for join, which nobody uses. K is for kill, which makes you the boss, while L is for lex, which is missing from DOS. M is for more, from which less was begot, and N is for nice, which it really is not. O is for od, which prints out things nice, while P is for passwd, which reads in strings twice. Q is for quota, a Berkeley-type fable, and R is for ranlib, for sorting ar table. S is for spell, which attempts to belittle, while T is for true, which does very little. U is for uniq, which is used after sort, and V is for vi, which is hard to abort. W is for whoami, which tells you your name, while X is, well, X, of dubious fame. Y is for yes, which makes an impression, and Z is for zcat, which handles compression. -- THE ABC'S OF UNIX
Here I sit, broken-hearted, All logged in, but work unstarted. First net.this and net.that, And a hot buttered bun for net.fat. The boss comes by, and I play the game, Then I turn back to net.flame. Is there a cure (I need your views), For someone trapped in net.news? I need your help, I say 'tween sobs, 'Cause I'll soon be listed in net.jobs.
The boss returned from lunch in a good mood and called the whole staff in to listen to a couple of jokes he had picked up. Everybody but one girl laughed uproariously. "What's the matter?" grumbled the boss. "Haven't you got a sense of humor?" "I don't have to laugh," she said. "I'm leaving Friday anyway.
Your boss climbed the corporate ladder, wrong by wrong.
Surprise your boss. Get to work on time.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, in the Middle Ages the
words "boss" and "botch" were largely synonymous, except that boss,
in addition to meaning "a supervisor of workers" also meant "an
ornamental stud."
Everybody but Sam had signed up for a new company pension plan that called for a small employee contribution. The company was paying all the rest. Unfortunately, 100% employee participation was needed; otherwise the plan was off. Sam's boss and his fellow workers pleaded and cajoled, but to no avail. Sam said the plan would never pay off. Finally the company president called Sam into his office. "Sam," he said, "here's a copy of the new pension plan and here's a pen. I want you to sign the papers. I'm sorry, but if you don't sign, you're fired. As of right now." Sam signed the papers immediately. "Now," said the president, "would you mind telling me why you couldn't have signed earlier?" "Well, sir," replied Sam, "nobody explained it to me quite so clearly before."
You know you're in trouble when... (1) Your car horn goes off accidentally and remains stuck as you follow a group of Hell's Angels on the freeway. (2) You want to put on the clothes you wore home from the party and there aren't any. (3) Your boss tells you not to bother to take off your coat. (4) The bird singing outside your window is a buzzard. (5) You wake up and your braces are locked together. (6) Your mother approves of the person you're dating.
First off - Quake is simply incredible. It lets you repeatedly kill your
-- Signal 11, in a slashdot comment
In short, at least give the penguin a fair viewing. If you still don't like it, that's ok: that's why I'm boss. I simply know better than you do. -- Linus "what, me arrogant?" Torvalds, on c.o.l.advocacy
Despite all appearances, your boss is a thinking, feeling, human being.
My political opinions lean more and more to Anarchy (philosophically understood, meaning abolition of control not whiskered men with bombs) The most improper job of any man is bossing other men. Not one in a million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the opportunity.
"Why, de fog!de fog dat's been aroun' all night. En didn't you whoop, en didn't I whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah he wuz? En didn't I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible time en mos' git drownded? Now ain' dat so, bossain't it so? You answer me dat."
The rest all fought, and dread the shouts arose On all sides. Telamonian Teucer, first, Slew valiant Imbrius, son of Mentor, rich In herds of sprightly steeds. He ere the Greeks Arrived at Ilium, in Pedæus dwelt, And Priam's spurious daughter had espoused Medesicasta. But the barks well-oar'd Of Greece arriving, he return'd to Troy, Where he excell'd the noblest, and abode With Priam, loved and honor'd as his own. Him Teucer pierced beneath his ear, and pluck'd His weapon home; he fell as falls an ash Which on some mountain visible afar, Hewn from its bottom by the woodman's axe, With all its tender foliage meets the ground So Imbrius fell; loud rang his armor bright With ornamental brass, and Teucer flew To seize his arms, whom hasting to the spoil Hector with his resplendent spear assail'd; He, marking opposite its rapid flight, Declined it narrowly and it pierced the breast, As he advanced to battle, of the son Of Cteatus of the Actorian race, Amphimachus; he, sounding, smote the plain, And all his batter'd armor rang aloud. Then Hector swift approaching, would have torn The well-forged helmet from the brows away Of brave Amphimachus; but Ajax hurl'd Right forth at Hector hasting to the spoil His radiant spear; no wound the spear impress'd, For he was arm'd complete in burnish'd brass Terrific; but the solid boss it pierced Of Hector's shield, and with enormous force So shock'd him, that retiring he resign'd Both bodies, which the Grecians dragg'd away. Stichius and Menestheus, leaders both Of the Athenians, to the host of Greece Bore off Amphimachus, and, fierce in arms The Ajaces, Imbrius. As two lions bear Through thick entanglement of boughs and brakes A goat snatch'd newly from the peasants' cogs, Upholding high their prey above the ground, So either Ajax terrible in fight, Upholding Imbrius high, his brazen arms Tore off, and Oïliades his head From his smooth neck dissevering in revenge For slain Amphimachus, through all the host Sent it with swift rotation like a globe, Till in the dust at Hector's feet it fell.
When the bosses talk about improving productivity, they are never talking
If you are determined to be an effective shield, start by working on yourself. Great bosses avoid burdening their people. They invent, borrow, and implement ways to reduce the mental and emotional load they heap on followers. In particular, meetings are notorious time and energy suckers. Yes, some are necessary, but too many bosses run them in ways that disrespect people’s time and dignity – especially self-absorbed bosses bent on self-glorification. If you want to grab power and don’t care much about your people, make sure you arrive a little late to most meetings. Plus, every now and then, show up very late, or – better yet – send word after everyone has gathered that, alas, you must cancel the meeting because something more pressing has come up. After all, if you are a very important person, the little people need to accept their inferior social standing. Sound familiar? Using arrival times to display and grab power is an ancient trick. This move was used by elders, or ‘Big Men’, in primitive tribes to gain and reinforce status. An ethnography of the Merina tribe in Madagascar found that jostling for status among elders meant that gatherings routinely started three or four hours late. Elders used young boys to spy on each other and played a waiting game that dragged on for hours. Each elder worked to maximize the impression that the moment he arrived, the meeting started. If he arrived early and the meeting didn’t start right away, it signaled that he wasn’t the alpha male. If he arrived late and the meeting had started without him, it also signaled that he wasn’t the most prestigious elder. I’ve seen similar power plays in academia. I was once on a committee led by a prestigious faculty member who always arrived at least ten minutes late, often twenty minutes. He also cancelled two meetings after the rest of the five-person committee had gathered. I tracked the time I wasted waiting for this jerk, which totaled over a half day during a six-month stretch.
"At boss zides, Captain," he heard the voice of the colonel, who, having ridden ahead, had pulled up his horse near the bridge, with a triumphant, cheerful face.
And so for three days and nights. No differencejust the same thing. But the next day I went exploring around down through the island. I was boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and I wanted to know all about it; but mainly I wanted to put in the time. I found plenty strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green razberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show. They would all come handy by and by, I judged.
So spake the royal Chief, and to his friends Pisander's gory spoils consigning, flew To mingle in the foremost fight again. Him, next, Harpalion, offspring of the King Pylæmenes assail'd; to Troy he came Following his sire, but never thence return'd. He, from small distance, smote the central boss Of Menelaus' buckler with his lance, But wanting power to pierce it, with an eye Of cautious circumspection, lest perchance Some spear should reach him, to his band retired. But him retiring with a brazen shaft Meriones pursued; swift flew the dart To his right buttock, slipp'd beneath the bone, His bladder grazed, and started through before. There ended his retreat; sudden he sank And like a worm lay on the ground, his life Exhaling in his fellow-warrior's arms, And with his sable blood soaking the plain. Around him flock'd his Paphlagonians bold, And in his chariot placed drove him to Troy, With whom his father went, mourning with tears A son, whose death he never saw avenged.
Whom answer'd then Pallas cærulean-eyed. Oh Jove, Saturnian Sire, o'er all supreme! And well he merited the death he found; So perish all, who shall, like him, offend. But with a bosom anguish-rent I view Ulysses, hapless Chief! who from his friends Remote, affliction hath long time endured In yonder wood-land isle, the central boss Of Ocean. That retreat a Goddess holds, Daughter of sapient Atlas, who the abyss Knows to its bottom, and the pillars high Himself upbears which sep'rate earth from heav'n. His daughter, there, the sorrowing Chief detains, And ever with smooth speech insidious seeks To wean his heart from Ithaca; meantime Ulysses, happy might he but behold The smoke ascending from his native land, Death covets. Canst thou not, Olympian Jove! At last relent? Hath not Ulysses oft With victims slain amid Achaia's fleet Thee gratified, while yet at Troy he fought? How hath he then so deep incensed thee, Jove?
"Well, looky here, boss, dey's sumf'n wrong, dey is. Is I _me_, or who _is_ I? Is I heah, or whah _is_ I? Now dat's what I wants to know."
So them he roused, and they, their leader's voice Hearing elate, to closest order drew. As when an architect some palace wall With shapely stones upbuilds, cementing close A barrier against all the winds of heaven, So wedged, the helmets and boss'd bucklers stood; Shield, helmet, man, press'd helmet, man, and shield, And every bright-arm'd warrior's bushy crest Its fellow swept, so dense was their array. In front of all, two Chiefs their station took, Patroclus and Automedon; one mind In both prevail'd, to combat in the van Of all the Myrmidons. Achilles, then, Retiring to his tent, displaced the lid Of a capacious chest magnificent By silver-footed Thetis stow'd on board His bark, and fill'd with tunics, mantles warm, And gorgeous arras; there he also kept Secure a goblet exquisitely wrought, Which never lip touched save his own, and whence He offer'd only to the Sire of all. That cup producing from the chest, he first With sulphur fumed it, then with water rinsed Pellucid of the running stream, and, last (His hands clean laved) he charged it high with wine. And now, advancing to his middle court, He pour'd libation, and with eyes to heaven Uplifted pray'd, of Jove not unobserved.
And now the battle join'd. Shield clash'd with shield And spear with spear, conflicting corselets rang, Boss'd bucklers met, and tumult wild arose. Then, many a yell was heard, and many a shout Loud intermix'd, the slayer o'er the maim'd Exulting, and the field was drench'd with blood. As when two winter torrents rolling down The mountains, shoot their floods through gulleys huge Into one gulf below, station'd remote The shepherd in the uplands hears the roar; Such was the thunder of the mingling hosts. And first, Antilochus a Trojan Chief Slew Echepolus, from Thalysias sprung, Contending valiant in the van of Troy. Him smiting on his crested casque, he drove The brazen lance into his front, and pierced The bones within; night overspread his eyes, And in fierce battle, like a tower, he fell. Him fallen by both feet Calchodon's son Seized, royal Elephenor, leader brave Of the Abantes, and in haste to strip His armor, drew him from the fight aside. But short was that attempt. Him so employ'd Dauntless Agenor mark'd, and as he stoop'd, In his unshielded flank a pointed spear Implanted deep; he languid sunk and died. So Elephenor fell, for whom arose Sharp conflict; Greeks and Trojans mutual flew Like wolves to battle, and man grappled man. Then Telamonian Ajax, in his prime Of youthful vigor Simöisius slew, Son of Anthemion. Him on Simoïs' banks His mother bore, when with her parents once She came from Ida down to view the flocks, And thence they named him; but his parents' He lived not to requite, in early youth Slain by the spear of Ajax famed in arms. For him advancing Ajax at the pap Wounded; right through his shoulder driven the point Stood forth behind; he fell, and press'd the dust. So in some spacious marsh the poplar falls Smooth-skinn'd, with boughs unladen save aloft; Some chariot-builder with his axe the trunk Severs, that he may warp it to a wheel Of shapely form; meantime exposed it lies To parching airs beside the running stream; Such Simöisius seemed, Anthemion's son, Whom noble Ajax slew. But soon at him Antiphus, son of Priam, bright in arms, Hurl'd through the multitude his pointed spear. He erred from Ajax, but he pierced the groin Of Leucus, valiant warrior of the band Led by Ulysses. He the body dragg'd Apart, but fell beside it, and let fall, Breathless himself, the burthen from his hand. Then burn'd Ulysses' wrath for Leucus slain, And through the foremost combatants, array'd In dazzling arms, he rush'd. Full near he stood, And, looking keen around him, hurl'd a lance. Back fell the Trojans from before the face Dispersed of great Ulysses. Not in vain His weapon flew, but on the field outstretch'd A spurious son of Priam, from the shores Call'd of Abydus famed for fleetest mares, Democoon; him, for Leucus' sake enraged, Ulysses through both temples with his spear Transpierced. The night of death hung on his eyes, And sounding on his batter'd arms he fell. Then Hector and the van of Troy retired; Loud shout the Grecians; these draw off the dead, Those onward march amain, and from the heights Of Pergamus Apollo looking down In anger, to the Trojans called aloud.