Lady Macbeth tendencies

My cack-handed employers have instigated a scheme at work for thrusting young go-getters.  The anointed cohort will be given an 18-month grand tour of the business, whilst presumably the rest of us see to their quotidian duties, during which they will become acquainted with all aspects of what it is we do.  Thereafter, they'll be nurtured into leaders of men.  

So far, so good.  However, one of my young colleagues has been selected for this programme.  And he is, take it from me, a time-server.  Nothing more.  I attach no scorn to that term, by-the-way.  I would characterise myself as a time-server.  That's to say, I do my job and do it well.  But I am not going to sell my soul to the company.  They pay for my brains, education and time.  It's a commercial transaction.  To pretend it's anything more than that is disingenuous.

Their selection of this colleague has annoyed me in a way I never thought possible.  I don't want to go on the sodding scheme; I can scarcely think of anything worse, to be honest.  And yet, I would usurp his place on it in a heartbeat.  I have become ambitious for something I don't want, simply to deny it to another.  What is happening to me?

What's fuelling this malice is anger at my being ignored by my bosses.  I work in a small department, and without wishing to overplay my hand, I am the organised clear-thinking one.  My boss is a winning combination is disorganised and incompetent.  He's been sacked from more jobs than you can shake a stick at.  But apparently the senior management in this company cannot see past his winning smile to divine this.  And the other colleague is a nervous and physical wreck.  He only stops yawning so he can chew his fingernails down to the marrow.  I do all the intellectual heavy-lifting, but because I don't bleat about it, I get continually taken for granted.  Well, no more.

If discharging one's duties in an unfussy, methodical and intelligent manner is not enough to receive some professional attention, I'll change tack.  I'll wrench the spotlight from the also-rans instead of waiting my turn for it.  It appears to be the only way.  Very well.  I refuse to be ignored any longer.

Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers.