The week, when everybody was talking about American companies moving call centers overseas, was the week some fool face-to-face told me Mitt Romney was going to be the Republican nominee. I had hoped to hear that news from my television, while drinking beer, maybe while drinking gin ... out of the bottle.

I never tell people I have a "career." I get a paycheck, so I figure what I have is a "job." When you have a career, your money comes from less identifiable places, and it doesn't come in a check someone hands you. Also, I have 30 minutes for lunch and I get two 15 minute breaks per shift. When you have a career, you don't get timed breaks.

On my way to being a working reporter I was, by turns, a laborer, a bartender, a security guard, a hotel janitor, a laundry worker and some other jobs I don't like to remember. I've been part time, full time, freelance, temporary and seasonal help. I've worn a uniform, and I've gone to work in a tie. I've been night shift, day shift and swing shift.

And one of the things I've learned working is that, if the guy who works next to you quits, gets fired, retired or dies, they may or may not hire someone to replace him, but if the boss meets a similar fate, he or she is always replaced.

And God help me, but when I look at Mitt Romney, all I can think is "the boss is running for president."

This does not make me happy.

I suppose it's a form of bigotry, but in a working life that's spanned four decades and four states, I've learned to pick out a boss.

And Mitt Romney has got "boss" written on him the way a factory man's room has dirty words written on the walls. Trust me, I've read 'em.

Let me tell you a story.

On every bad job I ever had, I was saved only by the charity and loyalty of older employees — people who were, in the most exact sense of the word, trapped.

They were fat-bellied, wheezy men on loading docks. Redneck hotel maids named "Ina." Black guys I pushed a broom with who couldn't read.

They protected me, schooled me, taught me how to work that particular job, taught me the tricks. Sometimes, they showed me where to hide, how to loaf. They were kind to me.

It used to amaze me that, if I told one of them I was in college or graduate school, he or she would invariably say: "Good. You stay in school. Don't end up like me."

It nearly made me cry the first time someone said that to me. What point in your journey have you reached when you actively warn people away from your own life? It's the saddest thing anyone ever said to me, and it was said to me dozens of times.

And one day, in a plastic-chaired employee break room, I was sitting with an older woman, drinking coffee on our break, and a tall man in a dark blue suit walked into the room and looked at us. Then, he looked away.

"Must be the new boss," the woman said to me.

"I think you're right," I said.

"I'm not gonna like workin' for him," she said.

I was young and simple.

"Why not?" I asked her.

"Jeez," she said. "Just look at him."

I did take a look at him, and I looked at him every day for a year while he made 200 employees dread coming to work. Then, he got promoted. I memorized the look on his face because I was pretty sure I'd see it again.

Which I have. Many times.

In my 50s now. I'm a little scuffed-up, another old guy hanging on to a paycheck.

But I've met Mitt Romney, and I've talked to him, and I've heard him speak to other people.

And every time I do, I'm back in that break room.

To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.