The Truck

A while back, I complimented my boss on his brand-new, gleaming, fresh-off-the-lot truck. You know the kind — it practically has that “I just got promoted” smell. Chrome shining, tires so clean they look like they’ve never even thought about touching dirt, and an interior so pristine that even a single french fry would file for asylum before daring to fall between the seats.

I smiled, wide-eyed, and said, “Wow, that’s a beautiful truck! Congratulations!”

He looked at me, leaned back with that all-knowing executive grin, and said, “Well, if you work really hard, put in extra hours, come in on weekends, and show total dedication… next year, I’ll buy myself an even better one.”

I paused. My mind short-circuited for a moment like an outdated office printer trying to handle a massive print job. I was expecting something like, “You’ll get a raise too!” or “Maybe you’ll be driving one like this someday!” But no. Instead, I was offered the noble opportunity to upgrade his future truck.

So let me get this straight. I can grind away, lose sleep, eat cold pizza at my desk at 10 p.m., and politely decline every family barbecue, all so he can drive around town in a fancier toy next year? Incredible. Motivational posters everywhere just spontaneously burst into flames from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Meanwhile, my own car is out here playing a symphony of mysterious rattles every time I go over 35 mph. The check engine light has basically become my emotional support pet at this point. And yet, apparently, I should feel deeply honored that my blood, sweat, and questionable instant coffee breath will contribute to the leather massage seats of his next automotive masterpiece.

I imagine him pulling into the parking lot next year in his new ultra-truck. It probably has 87 cup holders, a moonroof that can summon Elon Musk, and a built-in espresso machine that delivers motivational quotes. He steps out, tosses me a half-hearted thumbs-up, and says, “Great hustle last quarter. This adaptive cruise control is smoother than your work-life balance!”

Picture me standing there, holding a lukewarm gas station coffee, wearing the same tired polo from last week, nodding and trying to muster up a “wow, so happy for you, boss.”

On one hand, it’s almost poetic. Like a modern-day fable: “Work hard, and your boss’s dreams will come true!” It’s the corporate Cinderella story nobody asked for.

But on the other hand, it’s a masterclass in unintentional comedy. I mean, somewhere in that message, I think he meant to inspire me. He just took a slight detour into “accidental villain origin story” territory.

So next time he upgrades, I’ll be ready. Maybe I’ll even make a plaque:

“This luxury truck was made possible by 473 unpaid overtime hours, 12 skipped birthdays, and 97 weekend shifts. Dedicated to the real MVPs: Us.”

In the meantime, I’ll keep chugging along in my trusty, squeaky sedan. The one where the radio only works if I hit the dashboard just right. The one with the AC that decides to take vacation days in July. The one that, despite its flaws, is all mine.

After all, someone’s got to keep the universe balanced. He can cruise through life in heated seats; I’ll just keep bringing the heat with sarcasm and a questionable sense of humor.

So yes, boss — I’ll work hard. I’ll come in on weekends. And next year, when you roll up in that spaceship-on-wheels you call a truck, I’ll be the first to clap… while quietly adding another sticky note to my “reasons I need a new job” list.