Satire: Career Decision Season: Scrubs, Suits, or Kevlar
College is on the mind of most of our senior class. Alongside this subject comes the question, what’s next? Upon entering college, what major do I want to study? What career do I want to prepare for? Thankfully, my classmates and I were brought up in the age of technology. Through the Internet and contemporary media, we have access to a seemingly endless pool of information, lending insight into thousands of different professions. Indeed one would be hard-pressed to find one among us who has not gained intimate insight into the nature of the life of a doctor or lawyer or investigator – the three major professions of the world, as I have come to understand from the plethora of knowledge that is mainstream television and YouTube.
For my part at least, I have come to see medicine as a very attractive profession (in both a figurative and literal sense). Sure, it’ll be rough at first; I’ll probably be on call my first night as an intern and be faced with some intense solo challenge requiring a skill or decision that may force me to confront a personal shortcoming or moral struggle. But I imagine it’ll all be worth it when solving this medical dilemma allows me to transcend these weaknesses. Of course, by the end of this first shift, I will also have bonded with a gang of other headstrong, screwball interns and hospital personnel, with at least a few of whom I could expect to have romantic entanglements (I mean we all know what supply closets are really for). In the end, all of these trials and tribulations of my medical career will culminate in my meeting Mr. Perfect. But then again, all that medicine could get a bit tedious.
Maybe I could be an attorney. I certainly like the idea ending up with a high position in a powerful law firm, working with high-profile clients, in high-profile suits, closing high-stakes contracts… signed, to be sure, with only the highest quality of pens. Although, it could get tiresome to have to be constantly prepared for a snappy exchange of cheeky innuendo and telling metaphors during my hallway powerwalks. Then, I must confess, I fear I might end up losing some of the subtlest of such conversations so that, upon concluding which metaphorical animal of prey was to “pounce” or “strike” upon which lesser creature and in what manner, I might, shamefully, not fully grasp the practical implications of such a conclusion.
Upon reflection, I don’t think I would want to be a Special Agent either. A few seasons – I mean years – into the profession I would feel as though the course of my life were being dictated by someone who has run out of ideas and enthusiasm and picked up a book of 101 Irrational Plots and Plot Twists.
And I certainly wouldn’t want to be a teacher. The only lucrative department is chemistry and I just don’t think I have the countenance to excel in the particular, err… extracurricular experience and connections that would lead to such profitability, or a life-threatening disease to give me the proper motivation to ensure this profitability.
At any rate, unlike past generations, we can at least rejoice in our superior access to information regarding our potential career options and be confident that when we do eventually find a profession to suit our particular fancies, we will know the reality of what we are getting ourselves into.