So I did this career makeover thing at the Career Center last semester. I applied, and the staff sifted through questionnaires until it found the five students who were, career wise, in the worst shape.
Basically, it was like, "Congratulations! You suck at finding jobs!"
I wasn't insulted though. Because I did suck at finding jobs. When I told most people about it, I would say, "I got this really great spot in the career makeover program where they will help me make job hunting a piece of cake."
All my roommates heard was: "Blah blah blah MAKEOVER blah blah CAKE." I spent the whole semester trying to explain to them that no, I was not actually getting a makeover. And even though I was the only guy, it was about careers and stuff.
And no, they did not serve us cake, there was no cake whatsoever.
One of the first exercises we did was to make a list of all the careers we wanted when we were little kids.
I made the list. When I finished, I immediately became depressed.
For the first time in my life, I realize that I have no chance of achieving most of these careers. When I was in kindergarten, the world was full of possibilities. I could be a billionaire or a scientist or a surgeon.
I hang my head now as I realize that I have absolutely no shot of ever becoming an astronaut. It's not going to happen. I wanted to space walk sooo bad when I was a kid. At Cape Canaveral, I dreamed of being weightless and what it would be like to eat jellybeans while floating.
When everything is weightless, you can spill something and walk around it, check your e-mail, and then go clean it up before it hits the ground. Which is, you know, awesome. But even at that age I was lazy, so my space shuttle would have floating puddles of root beer everywhere. Man, I wanted to be an astronaut. I could drink a slurpee out of the air.
Fifteen years later, I'm about to have a degree in communication and film, I have no physical stamina, and I'm prone to motion sickness. No shot.
I panic easily, too. If I was on the space station and something went wrong, I'd flip out. I'd be screaming, "Get Gary Sinise here. I am not doing a damn thing until Lieutenant Dan is in that control room telling me which switch I need to flip. Have you been in here? There's like 200 things to flip and all of them are flashing. Even the airbag light is on. Oh, and if you can get Ed Harris that would be good, too."
I'm also not going to be a spy, or even an assassin, which I'm very depressed about. I can't go kill people.
For one thing, I'm way too passive for killing. I also have a weak bladder, and I couldn't just go sit behind a sniper rifle waiting for whomever to come out of his or her house.
And I have huge feet. You can't have size 14 sneakers and be a spy. Who could I spy on? There isn't much of a demand for spying on elderly women or on Lou Ferrigno.
Westward expansion and industrialization have killed my chances of becoming a cowboy. In addition, this just in - something I overlooked as a fourth grader - horses and cows smell. Quite bad. The odors associated with cowboy activities and general cowboy-ness are offensive and unacceptable.
I have since learned that professional video game player is not actually a job, but is a lifestyle associated with recreational drug use and an overall lack of a profession.
Pro basketball player ... enough said there.
Being a pro clown is out too. My shoes are the right size, but I'm not strange enough to be a clown.
I've always wondered what life choices result in a person becoming a clown, or worse, a rodeo clown. When you take an online career test, what do you punch in to get rodeo clown?
"Oh let's see, I like the outdoors. And animals. I like to smile. Oooo I do enjoy running. Let's see ... rodeo clown? ... SWEET!"
I took one of those tests in high school. It said I should be an agricultural specialist. I stood up in class, "So, it took a $100 piece of software and a $1,000 computer to tell me that I should be a farmer?"
Becoming Donkey Kong is clearly out for obvious zoological reasons.
Becoming a rock star nowadays doesn't mean you have to be good at a musical instrument, so I'd be OK there.
But you do have to look really really cool while you are faking it, which is an area in which I might struggle. Plus, I get jumpy around fireworks and other loud noises.
Veterinarian - I don't know why I ever wanted to do that. Maybe I was a quick learner and just wanted to impress the elementary school ladies.
The list goes on. But in the interest of time and space on this page, I'll end it there.
There is, however, one more feasible profession left on the list. I'm proud to say it's still not out of the question that I become: president of the world.
Skeptical? Just wait for my first State of the Earth address.
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