I'm a boss.
There, I said it. I guess it didn't hurt as badly as thought.
But it still doesn't feel very good.
See, there were four things I promised myself when I graduated from college in 1986. First, that I would never again live in a house with more than two broken windows. Second, that I would get a job that paid enough to upgrade my beer from Schaeffer -- $3.19 a 12-pack and worth almost every penny -- to a pricier brand, like Old Milwaukee, Genesee, Robin Hood Cream Ale or Goebel's.
Third, I would never take a job where I would be bossed around. Finally, I would never myself boss anyone around.
High standards, to be sure. …