Pop Culture Careers: But I don’t wanna be a Pirate!

I think we all have our dreams of what we would really do if we had unlimited time, resources, and could get out of our own way. The alternative to the 9-5, clock-in, clock-out, wax on, whack-off routine we often surmise is periliously close to insanity while in a world full of inept managers and co-whacker sycophants. Instead, we sit down at night, and maybe check out what our alter ego lives might be – if we understand those boobs aren’t real either, and their acting chops aren’t necessarily all that. But these are a few of the work situations I wanted to be in for a while:

Lawyer. It isn’t very droll to be a man of the law. To seek out the truth, Perry Mason style, and get your killer to breakdown on the stand in front of millions of people. But Raymond Burr did it for a long, long time – longest in history. He did it so well, that the Oz man (Ozzy Osbourne) cut “Perry Mason” in tribute.

Who Can We Get On The Case?
We Need Perry Mason
Someone To Put You In Place
Calling Perry Mason Again, Again

ER Doctor. There’s a long history of putting medical shows on the tube – to increase awareness of how hard these people work, and their lives on the front lines of tragedy, technology and dating gymnastics. As shows go, I liked ER the best. Supported by a real life doctor, Michael Crichton, who seems to be nearly a success at everything, including techno thriller writing, ER has finally ran its long course, long after “The Clooney” (right) parted for mega money, power-ball style on the big screen. (Michael Clayton…gotta see. Leatherheads, well, I might be interested. ) But the role of doctor on this show usually involves using some fast action to keep a patient flopping, and then later, some horizontal bopping with a very smart, but seemingly unaware of the doctor tango, nurse or nurses. Granted, it keeps the show on the air, since sex sells, but are all ER Doctors, that interested in the female anatomy of their coworkers? (Since I’ve seen some not so pretty nurses…)

Medical Examiner. I want to say Quincy, M.E. was the first of his kind, TV wise. The crime fighting examiner of the after the crime took place was CSI before really cool technology was around. I was only a young kid, but I thought Jack Klugman was pretty cool doing his due diligence in actually getting to the bottom of a situation. He was an ass chaser too – not that that should be a perk – but that was only after he got his man or woman.

The corporate clog. Yes, this is what Uncle Sam and the Illuminati want us to be. The good ole push-the-broom, run-the-copier-machine, type until carpal tunnel takes over worker bee that keeps the taxes flowing in and the misery flowing out. Where a feudal lord at heart never gets too upset to see his peasants doing the tasks assigned to make the coinage come in. Working was a TV show that I related to in that sense. (Since I was just starting out on the Road to Never-Do-Wellville.) This comedy made so much sense to me…that it probably meant I had no cents. (Or sense…)
But Devo had a nice revival on the TV Theme Song, “Working in a Coal Mine”:

Well I been workin’ in a coal mine
Goin down down
Workin’ in a coal mine
Whew about to slip down
Five oclock in the mornin’
I’m up before the sun
When my work day is over
I’m too tired for havin’ fun

It is not that I really wanted to be a corporate clog…but it is so easy to slip into that little drainage ditch of society. We breed and teach this at an early age, the whole, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Tons of books on it too. I read some of them. Learning about Flight Engineers, Astronauts, Firemen, Lawyers, Business Managers, Baseball Players, etc. On CNBC, they have a show called the Millionaire Inside where a rich real estate lady pretty much summed up the idea that people were indoctrinated to work for betters, for the good of their will and their ideals from almost birth. We are educated that way.

And lo, what light through yonder window breaks, but your ass working for THE MAN.

So when asked again, “what do you do for a living?” Say, “I’m a Pirate. I cut throats for me gold and don’t serve any master.” (Then, prepare for the committal to your local Bellevue mental ward.)

But you could just say, “I Don’t Wanna Be a Pirate!” and go on watching TV and pretending you are not just another bee in a hive. And Uncle Sam will check his numbers, and see, that yep,
134, 567, 891 people are slogging away on his fuedal farm…Gotta love Capitalism!

Devo’s song: