The old joke about gentle compromise of an unsatisfying relations goes: My boss pretends to pay me, and I pretend to work.

Jobs not only oppressively dominate where someone lives, the hours they sleep and rise, and the entire structure of their days, but then workers take the stress of their jobs home for no practical reason and in many cases put in additional hours via phone and email.

But considering functionally, a job is a goof, not a serious task of any value to society. It’s a silly made-up duty we perform to fill the day, barely different than requiring convicts to smash rocks or dig holes and fill them.

Because a job is just something we do for money like prostitutes, we should summon enough aspirational counter-culture to interpret going to work like working a pirate ship. You go someplace to pillage, in this case a corporate office, then secure its income for a year or two, and take as much as you can to support your family until moving on to the next target that offers a better opportunity.

You are no small bandit, but a professional looter boarding rich targets. You take money from companies for 30-40 years, becoming progressively slicker at taking until you’ve had had your fill, quite comfy with your spoils.