Who Owns The Key To Your Golden Handcuffs?

Golden Handcuffs

My boss mocks me.  He dangles the golden handcuffs in front of my face before locking them securely in place.  My arms pinned behind my back, I am impotent.  I struggle despite my obvious helplessness.  I swear that if I can get a grip on his neck, I will squeeze till the blood drains from his face and his eyes bulge.  Then I’ll let go just before his oxygen levels drop too low and spare him from passing out.

Sounds cruel?  Right? That’s exactly what he is doing to me.

Metaphorically.

He squeezes every bit of ingenuity from my sleep deprived body.  Extracting water from stone, he somehow always gets ten percent more.  Optimization is his rallying cry.  As my number of patient visits goes up and my collections sky-rocket, he smirks his greedy smirk.

Initial Attempts

At first, he met my inquiries of early retirement with an all-knowing air.

Surely you don’t have enough to retire! You will need at least ten million!  The market is about to go bad!

His statements were not backed with science nor arithmetic.  His notions were pure speculation.  They rolled off his tongue with an emotional lick.  Playing on my fears, he went for the jugular of any financial independence enthusiast.

You would hate to have to go back to work when your earning potential is no longer as good?  How about just one more year?

He knew the best form of golden handcuffs is fear.  Scare the employee out of ever leaving.  Convince him of the utter peril of leaving his job.

But he wasn’t ready for my spreadsheets and meticulous calculations.  He had no counter to my Mustachian ingenuity.  His apocalyptic fairy tales could no way stand up to the rigor of my FireCalc scenarios.

Dream Projects

My boss, however, is savvy.  He quickly pivoted away from fear and moved to passion.  My attempts at escape were then thwarted with an offering of the most prime consulting gigs.

He knew my love of teaching, and setting up nurse practitioner programs for nursing homes and assisted living communities.  He withdrew some of the burden of direct patient care, and sent me off on a wild goose chase of consulting opportunities.

Before I could count to ten, my calendar was overly full again.  My mind bending to the will of each new project.

My boss sat back contentedly, until he noticed the look in my eyes.  The itch was coming back, and he was all to intent on not letting me scratch.

Fools Gold

And at last he offered me the money.  Too much money.  $500/hour for medical expert work.  $200/hr to build up a new primary care practice.  Another medical directorship at a new nursing home.

My back stooped, my eyes watered, and yet I jumped at each opportunity.  Maybe out of habit.  Maybe out of greed.

My boss is a wily opponent.   After many years of studying me, he knows my weak points.  His golden handcuffs are emotional and economical, surely not physical.

Invisible Restraints

We rarely talk to each other anymore.  I am too busy hustling between patient care and consulting opportunities.  Our paths no longer cross.

One recent morning, I stopped by the office at six am to pick up my jacket before doing early morning rounds at the nursing home.  I thought I heard a rustle in the break room, and walked rapidly in that direction.  Upon peering through the opened door, I caught sight of my boss and growled.  I could see him growling back.  His face was reflected in the mirror ahead of me above the bulletin board.

I turned off all the lights and locked the office front door.

No one was due in clinic till 9am.