Hey, Boss, where's Sheriff Roscoe?

I came to a realization today about my boss, courtesy of Mr. Lakoff. My boss is a Big Daddy.

Previously, I've always thought of him as a Cop. You know, you're driving down the road, minding your own business, obeying the law. Then there's that Cop in the mirror. You start to get nervous, you check the speedometer, you become hyper-conscious of your signalling, and how you brake, and the cars around you. You say to yourself, this is stupid, and force yourself to relax, but you dont realize until the cop turns a corner, or passes you and goes on ahead, just how tense you were.

That was my boss.

Well, not necessarily was my boss. I'm sure the mental picture will stick around, along with my original Big Cat image (panther, actually). But the Big Daddy image nails every mystery about his behavior.
For instance, I have been on his shit list for years. This is despite the fact that I, all alone on my B shift, produce as much product as the three people on the A shift do. My crime? I have a Bad Attitude. That's right, I am a Rebellious Teenager to my boss's Big Daddy. That's not the proof, though it works for me. There's also the way he never, ever asks the workers about anything pertaining to production, though he frequently makes rules about it. There's that way he gets angry about so-called "negative" statements. I always assumed that his rigidity and lack of human warmth was a result of having originally come from a management position in a company with strong Military ties, but the humorlessness of Strict Father Think explains things much better.

In a way, perhaps I should feel flattered. After all, Big Daddy wouldnt get upset unless he thought I wasnt living up to my "potential". Of course, since my potential is one of increased profit to the company (and more work in the same amount of time for me, i.e. a paycut), I think I'll decline playing along. I do my job, and I do it as well as anybody in that building.

And I already have a Father.