And, for some reason, we take for granted that for the majority of the precious handful of decades we’re alive, we’ll be making money for someone else, doing something we’d rather not do. Not only do we resign ourselves to this fate, we want nothing more than to make sure everyone else is roped into the assembly line as well. At the bottom of our stomachs we hate our bosses, but we dream of someday becoming them. Political theorists call this “fake consciousness,” and there is no faker friend than your boss, no faker crew than your workplace.
