My Boss Said We're a Family, So I Asked About My Inheritance

The Favorite Child

My boss said "we're a family here." Great news. Wonderful. I've always wanted a large, dysfunctional family with a strict hierarchy and mandatory fun. So I did what any loving family member would do: I went to HR and asked about my inheritance. If we're family, there should be an estate. I would like to see the will.

While I was at it, I requested a raise on the grounds of being the favorite child — I have the coffee order memorized, I never take the last donut, and I laugh at all the right jokes in meetings. That's textbook favoritism material. I also inquired about the family discount on dental, because families share benefits, and my molar has been making a weird clicking sound.

We Don't Talk Anymore

We don't talk anymore. HR escorted me back to my desk with the gentle firmness of people who have done this before. My boss now refers to me as "a valued team member," which is corporate for "please stop." The family metaphor has been officially retired, replaced with "we're a team," which lasted until I asked about the team bus and whether we get matching jackets.

Look, I don't make the rules of family. If you tell me we're family, I'm going to act like family. I'm going to borrow money, show up unannounced, and bring up that embarrassing thing you did at the holiday party. That's what families do.

Families Are Complicated Like That

The whole "we're a family" speech is supposed to inspire loyalty, late nights, and unpaid overtime — all the warmth of kinship with none of the inheritance. It's family when they need you to cover a Saturday shift, but suddenly "just business" when you ask for a raise. Funny how that works.

So here's my proposal: we can be a family, or we can be a workplace. Pick one. And if you pick family, I'm telling Mom — I mean, HR — everything.

The Family Handbook

Since we're family now, let's review the family handbook. Chapter one: "We're all in this together" — which apparently means I do the work of three people while the actual family members take a long lunch. Chapter two: "We wear many hats around here" — translation: your job description is decorative. Chapter three: "We're like a family" — the kind of family where love is conditional on quarterly earnings and Thanksgiving dinner is a performance review.

Real families don't make you request time off to see a doctor. Real families don't have an HR department. And real families — this is the big one — don't lay you off with a cardboard box and a security escort while saying "it's just business." You can't have it both ways, Deborah from management. Either we're family or we're business. Pick one.

The Inheritance Meeting

Which brings us back to the inheritance question — a perfectly reasonable inquiry, given the premise. If we're family, where do I stand in the will? Am I the favorite child or the disappointing one? Is there a trust? Who gets the good parking spot when the founder retires — sorry, when Dad steps down?

HR did not appreciate the line of questioning. There was a meeting. There were forms. Someone used the phrase "at-will employment," which is a fascinating concept for a family — imagine telling your actual teenager they're an at-will child. "We've decided to go in a different direction with our son." In the end, the family had a restructuring, and I was restructured right out the door. We don't talk anymore. Families are complicated like that. The severance package, however, was not remotely like an inheritance.