You watch your boss on the green, hunched over his small, white ball. He lines up and practice swings once, twice. The ball comes to rest about a foot from the hole. The old man approaches the ball and taps it hastily towards the hole. Again the dimpled sphere stops shy, only an inch or two this time. The old man grunts and coaxes the ball into the hole with the toe of his cleated shoe.
"Write that down as a three," your boss instructs.
You nod and write down the lie with a frown your boss could easily notice if he cared enough about what you thought to look at you. He always does this shit. You've stopped trying in your little "games".
Three holes later, the old man doesn't even bother to hide himself picking the ball up out of the sand trap and dropping it on the fairway. As he bowls the ball into the hole, all his clubs in his bag, you repeat your mantra:
125k a year is worth endless amounts of bullshit
125k a year is worth endless amounts of bullshit
125k a year is worth endless amounts of bullshit