At the end of 10th grade, after when we had turned in our papers on time and not chewed any gum, she threw us a party. By party, I mean a liter of Coke and a bag of Hershey's Kisses. Then she patted us all on our backs—awkwardly—and told us how proud she was of our performance. We were teenagers, and thus stunned. We couldn't believe there was a human being inside there. But there is always a human in there, even with rigid, terrifying bosses at work—and eventually, that human comes out. That human may not give you a huge, all-cash raise and buy you Jell-O shots every Friday. But she may leave you an anonymous latte on your desk on the day your boyfriend dumps you or praise you for nailing the presentation (in her office with the door closed so that nobody can hear). Now that you're an adult, your job is to know this will happen one day, and be less freaked out by the tall, scary, loud people. Once you do an excellent job for them, they will soften. Understanding this will make your life—and theirs—more, well, human.