January 1999 smoking jacket by Gregory Alkaitis-Carafelli |
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Dream Jobs for Sale
I'll never forget the disturbing moment when I ran into a former high
school teacher behind the sales counter of a discount chain bookstore I
happened to wander into. Bang! Like having your mom, naked except for
a few pieces of leather bondage gear, wake you up one morning; or
discovering a nun in full black and white habit filling in for the
regular bartender at your neighborhood watering hole. It's just not
right: the worlds of education and retail don't belong together --
after all, this was a woman with a Ph.D. in literature cheerfully
ringing up people's Steven King and Danielle Steel paperback
purchases. Had she lost her mind?
It's not like there isn't historical precedent: people with high
stress jobs often go crazy and have done so through a disturbingly
wide range of history. French philosopher Charles Fourier believed the
sea would eventually turn to lemonade and that people would live to be
one hundred and forty-four years old, one hundred and twenty years of
which would be spent in the unrestricted pursuit of sexual love. Nobel
prize winning economist John Forbes Nash Jr labored under the
impression aliens from outer space were recruiting him to save the
world. Dr. William Minor, august contributor to the first edition of
the Oxford English Dictionary, murdered a man believing in his
delusional state militant Irish nationalists embroiled in a giant
conspiracy were trying to execute him.
A teacher deserting the classroom for the storefront is hardly on the
same level; I'll be the first to agree. But I was suspicious of a
cracked mind anyway, especially since she was full of cheer, which I
never once remember during English class, not even the barest hint.
But now -- she liked her job! There must be something wrong.
Apparently not; I found out later she had just had enough. Now she no
longer has to deal with bratty, know-it-all kids, their bratty
know-it-all parents, late slips, hall passes, grading insipid student
papers -- all of it gone replaced by a cash register and a job that
stays right where it belongs, firmly between working hours.
Unfortunately this was a few years ago, and now instead of being rare,
workforce slumming has now become cool and mainstream -- Barbara
Ehrenreich recently ditched her white middle-class life to be a
welfare mom for Harper's, although it became a bit too much and she
had to just sort of trail off mid-project, much like David Foster
Wallace in the middle of a four hundred page novel. If you're thinking
of casting your profession away to live stress free somewhere in the
anonymous folds of the service economy, hopefully you'll have more
success than her -- but there are a few obvious danger spots to avoid:
Bookstore "customer consultant,"
Waitress:
Sanitation Engineer:
After careful consideration, however, I have found a few job jewels,
which, if you're lucky enough to find employment, will leave you
blissfully stress free and full of vivre for the party weekends.
(Although no actual warranty or promise of happiness is made with this
list):
Bicycle messenger:
Florist:
Hairdresser:
Oh if only I weren't color blind -- I'd be handing in my resignation
in a flash, off pursuing my dream of shaping the hair of the stars.
Thankfully the nun, her white head wings nodding sagely, counseled me
otherwise at the bar last night, slipping me a double Jack on the
house. Hey, she's OK; she can be my bartender any day.
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