https://medium.com/@philgarber/blog
1119blog
Job Hunting
As I continue aging, I realize that soon I will be aging out and that there may be no better time than now to jump start a new career as my old line of work is coming to a grinding halt and there’s little I can do to stay in journalism and avoid from falling off the tracks completely and crash landing.
They say that before you actually start applying for jobs, that you should make a list with the jobs that seem most attractive and then whittle them down from jobs that you may not have a snowball’s chance in hell to get to ones that are looking for a 70-year-old guy who has been a reporter for more than four decades and has essentially no other skills.
Shepherd. I would like to be a shepherd in some Biblical land where I might meet bedouins who have had incredibly spiritual experiences and are willing to show me the light to wonder and perfection. Problem is I don’t like sheep because they tend to smell and aren’t very bright, as far as I know, so I’ll keep shepherd low on the list.
Gumshoe. Named after the investigators who wore street shoes made of gum rubber so they wouldn’t make noise when following a suspect it’s also been called a crimebuster, shamus, sleuth, PI, and bird dog. I’d wear a fedora and chain smoke Luckies. My first job would be to solve the case of the purloined sirloin, involving a gang of mugs who robbed tractor trailers filled with meat bound for supermarkets. I would find out that there was a group led by a mug named Willie the Finger and that Willie the Finger and his boys were known to enjoy a fine cut of sirloin. Willie the Finger and his boys are now doing 10 to 15 at San Quentin, thanks to me.
If gumshoe and shepherd don’t work out, here is my second tier of possible new vocations.
Any job where I could call my colleagues “fellas.” It just sounds so friendly to say “hey fellas.”
Private island caretaker. I could just pick up trash and lie on the sand all day long every day and it would get so incredibly boring that forget about being a private island caretaker.
Yankee Stadium grounds worker. Lately with the pandemic, there’s not as much emphasis on manicuring the grass so the crowds can really appreciate your work because there are no crowds.
Travel blogger.
Bounty hunter because it would be cool to introduce yourself as a bounty hunter though I think it’s just a fancy word for someone who tracks down deadbeats.
Brain surgeon. Can I qualify on-line and if not, is it a profession where I could learn on the job or just make it up as I go along?
President. Forget I even wrote that.
World champion surfer. I could do that but I don’t particularly like being in the water because I’m not confident in my swimming skills and those humongous waves would scare the pee out of me although I do enjoy sitting on a beach chair with a cooler filled with hero sandwiches and many bottles of IPA beers.
Ornithologist. Because I like the way it would sound to tell people I’m an ornithologist even though I don’t know what it is. Yes I do, it’s someone who knows a lot about all kinds of birds so why not call it a birdologist?
Fortune teller. It would seem to be an easy job to foretell what will happen in the future. People do it all the time in many different ways.
Mystic. Not unlike a fortune teller but someone who can commune with spirits and the like.
Lion tamer, sword swallower, clown, trapeze artist, barker and other related occupations that have to do with the circus though I would not really like to be a sword swallower because it seems very dangerous and the same goes for trapeze artist and lion tamer which leaves clown and barker, neither of which really excites me.
Yachtsman for a wealthy trader in peanut futures who sails around the Indian Ocean.
Juggler of sticks that are set on fire.
Croupier in a small nation in Europe where there is no blight or problems with the water and many people gamble all the time.
Glaciologist. But I hate the cold and the winter. Are there glaciologists in Arizona?
Dabbawala. It sounds magical although the reality of delivering packed lunches to workplaces is not what I would call filled with wonder.
Gondolier. Now that is very promising but my Italian is fairly limited to saying “gorgonzola” though I can sing “Oh Solo Mio” or at least the first three words of the song.
Cuidacarro. It is not something to eat nor is it an exotic beach but it is the guy who watches your car while you’re shopping in Costa Rica. Still it has a certain je ne sais quoi, if you know what I mean.
Wish me luck.