The Ulltimate Job

EVERY YEAR there is an abundance of undergraduates who decide to become doctors, lawyers, or assorted corporate workslaves because they can't think of anything better to do. They tend to be generally intelligent, in a wishy-washy nonspecific Harvard liberal arts sort of way, and mortally frightened of the unappealing prospect of not being wealthy.

I too am afraid of not having money after graduation--especially for pizza--and am forced to consider gearing myself toward one of those alluringly lucrative jobs that doesn't excite me beyond the bucks. In my dreams, I envision myself in several possible "secure" occupations.

IN THE FIRST dream I am a Lawyer. My client is an innocent man accused of murder. He's on the stand, being grilled by the opposing attorney who is facing me with his eyes closed, caressing his chin in dramatic silence, weighing carefully his next move. His face cringes suddenly into a terrible scowl, and he swings his body violently toward my client.

"Ah ha! So you did kill the victim! Ah ha!"

I don't think that's allowed. "I object! Corpus Jurus Secundum! No ex post facto! The counsellor is leading the witness! Habeus Corpus! Philosophae Naturalis Principia Mathematica! I'm hungry! Where's my money?"

The judge cuts my defense short.

"Over-ruled, the attorney for the plaintiff is not making any sense. The accused is guilty as charged and shall go to the electric chair tonight! And no television before his last meal."

I leave the courtroom and turn to my wife who is the most hideous creature I have ever seen--an unsightly cross between Joan Rivers and Tammy Bakker. As my client is led away to death, I sob uncontrollably into my hands--"Will I still get paid, and why did I marry this horrible woman?" I wake up screaming.

IN THE NEXT dream I am a Doctor. My dream opens as I happily rake in the dough from a steady stream of rich old hypochondriacs whom I have advised to visit me every day. Everything is great until a real patient walks in...

"Doc, my wife and I just had sextuplets and they depend on me. I didn't want to tell you this; my wife made me come here; I told her it was nothing, but, well, I do have kind of a bad cold--in fact, well, I tend to sneeze so hard that pieces of my vital internal organs fly violently from my nose, often striking well dressed people with dangerous velocity. I'm scared, Doc, am I going be all right?"

"Hmmm...it sounds as if you are going to die. I think it is best to get plenty of rest and acquire a nice big insurance policy. Do you have many assets? My wife, Broomhilda, works for Allied Life and I think perhaps we could work out a deal that would be mutually beneficial."

My grotesque wife comes in holding a contract, ready to offer a deceptively cheap policy. I wake up screaming.

IN MY NEXT dream, I become an Investment Banker.

Boss: O.k, son, I know you've been spending your youth working around the clock in a small office hunched over a computer terminal and piles of financial documents--and I would just like to congratulate you for it. You really know how to think ahead! Although now you have no time at all to enjoy any of the pizza money you're earning, just think how many pizzas you'll have accumulated by the end of your life. Now get back to work on that "Simpson and Shmuck" deal.

Me: Oh, you mean the deal that I really don't care about, but will make me lots of dough if I devote to it countless hours of my limited time here on earth?

Boss: Yea, that's the one.

After the boss leaves, I’m alone in the office. I'm secure all right--secure in the knowledge that I probably won't be leaving this office until my 60th birthday. Then perhaps I might take a few hours off to walk my dog, who by that time will undoubtably have died from a rupture bladder.

I wake up screaming. I think my wife is still ugly and mean in this dream, but I didn't see her often enough to remember.

AT LAST, I begin to dream of The Ultimate Job, which combines my true ambition with the incidental security of never being hungry.

Boss: Son, we at "Peter's Piping Hot Pizza, Inc." need someone like you to hang out and eat pizza all day in order to help us detect any lapses in quality. We are dedicated to producing the finest product, and we think you would be an invaluable asset to the team.

I wake up smiling. In the dream I live happily ever after with my beautiful wife, although I am now quite ugly because of pizza grease-induced acne.