What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Do you remember that question? Because I sure do. And I remember every answer I had (usually it was "a firetruck" or "Grover"). But like Trent said in "Swingers," "Baby's all growns up." Nigh three months I will be out and done with this place, and perhaps even a functioning member of society.
So what's next when I become a grown-up this May 21? The answer is: I DON'T KNOW. I just don't know. And it's not like I haven't been thinking about this - I have. In fact, since the age of four I have been thinking about it, and since the age of four I have always had an answer. Until now. Below is a chronological progression of my ever-changing career ambitions.
Age 4: Garbage man. Simply the coolest, sweetest job any four-year-old could ever want. You get to ride around hanging off the back of a huge truck all day picking things up and throwing them into a big bin. Every morning I would stand on the couch and lean against the living room window to watch some big, greasy guy with a moustache dump our trash into the back of the truck. He looked like he was having a great time.
But there are negatives to the sanitation engineering business. Sure you get to ride on the back of a cool truck all day, but what about waking up at 4 a.m.? What about the exposure to disease? What about having to marry an ugly chick because, let's face it, hot chicks don't dig garbage men? But at four that was where my life was heading.
Age 6: Archaeologist/paleontologist. I have a feeling I was not alone in this. Our generation enjoyed more media exposure to the field at a young age than any other generation in the history of mankind: "Jurassic Park," "Indiana Jones," "Denver, the Last Dinosaur," and of course "Jem and the Holograms."
I could tell you everything about dinosaurs: the average length of a diplodocus from head to tail, the number of teeth in the average allosaurus' mouth, and how many triceratops it took to screw in a light bulb. (Four, but it's a trick question: they didn't have light bulbs back then, stupid.)
My kindergarten teacher Mrs. Thomas, bless her heart, even gave me a fossilized shark tooth for my birthday. I promptly took it home, buried it, and subsequently conducted an excavation. Why a fossilized shark tooth would be found one-and-a-half feet deep in a suburban Connecticut backyard I do not know, but man, was I excited to find it.
A few years later I realized that archaeology doesn't pay very well and requires a lot of reading. Two huge negatives.
Age 12: Ballerina. Middle school was a very confusing two years for me. I don't really want to talk about it.
Age 14: Phil Collins. Every child has a "rock star" phase and I was no different. But let's face it, after playing the trombone for two years in fifth and sixth grade, I was no Jack Morrison or Michael Jagger, no sir. So I aimed low. What's lower than Phil Collins? Not to disparage the super-talented rock-stud and former Genesis front-man, but heroin-addicted-groupie-abusing-self-destructive musical genius he wasn't.
So I wanted to be Phil Collins and spent a few years writing really cheesy progressive rock and '80s pop music. And before you judge me, my friend who wanted to be Billy Corgan shaved his head, started a band, and sang really melodramatic, whiney alt-rock. I ask of you, which is worse?
Age 18: Lawyer. After realizing being Phil Collins was an almost impossible career aspiration (it turns out you can't actually assume someone's identity), I turned to the most noble of noble occupations. And after the clergy turned me away - apparently you have to actually BE Catholic to be a priest (I'll stay away from any Catholic priest jokes. The Catholic church deserves a break, even in spite of centuries of persecution of the Jews, its rigid inability to accept scientific fact, the Crusades, the Inquisition...you know what, screw it. Catholic priests like to touch little boys.) I turned towards an even more dignified calling: LAW.
As Shakespeare once said, "it is noble to be in the service of God, yet it is nobler still to be the benefactor of man's quarrels, and charge them $200 an hour for consultation in addition to courtroom fees and, in certain cases, travel expenses." Okay, he never said that, but imagine if he did.
So law was where Saj was left the last he checked. Then one magic day earlier this year he spun around in a circle three times, smacked his head against a wall, and found himself at...
Age 20: Employed. No more specific ambitions. No more garbage men, ballerinas, Phil Collinses, or lawyers. Just a job. That's all I want. And I suppose that's the moral of today's column. You can't always choose what you want to be. We all have certain limitations in what we can and cannot do.
If I had my choice I'd be a professional baseball player or Miami druglord. Or yes, even Phil Collins. Instead I'm just going to peruse MonsterTrak until I find something that sounds even a remote bit better than death.
Now, if you'll excuse me, my Grover application is due in a few days, and I have to finish my cover letter.
Saj Pothiawala is a senior who is majoring in economics. He can be reached via e-mail at sajid.pothiawala@tufts.edu.
