I’m home with the kids this summer. Suddenly, three miniature employees staring at me blinking. One sucking her thumb. Hmm.
It IS like being a Advertising Manager again. The differences are that this team has fewer marketable skills and hopelessly poor time management. And they have to be reminded to brush their teeth.
As a workforce, there’s not much civility. Emerging conflict resolution means they still kick, punch, bash. But they say they’re sorry, hug and hold hands.
There’s little rationality or predictability. One moment it’s all fun, the next, there’s obstinacy and full-throttle screaming.
I’m weary of lunch-hour debates about projectile vomit and the historical relevance of the word “fart”.
One clear benefit of being head-honcho here is that they also mistake me for Queen of the Universe, adoring and worshipping me. I am cuddled with, thanked, praised.
I see myself in these employees, which is alternately sweet and horrifying, but always reaches deep in the soul and keeps me from quitting my job.
And this office has mandatory naptime.