Yes. Literally. At least for a little while longer. She is almost 11.
No, she isn't my supervisor, or my supervisor's supervisor.
She can't sign my expense report.
She can't approve my vacation days.
She doesn't participate in a 360 review of my work.
She isn't the one signing my paycheck.
She's still the boss.
Why? The work I do is for her.
The work I do pays for food, shelter, clothes and the other necessities. It funds her extra-curricular activities and spur-of-the-moment froyo cravings. It buys her books, and blocks, and soccer balls.
The work I do gives me a chance to be a chauffeur, wanna-be coach, enthusiastic cook, organic gardener, chess partner, and many other things.
There is, however, an inescapable fact: The people to whom I'm accountable from 9 to 5 aren't the ones that really matter at the end of the day.
My job is to provide advertising ideas to my supervisors in exchange for money.
My real boss couldn't care less what I'm paid to do.
And I'm completely comfortable with that.
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