The Cynical Career Counsellor Explains Your Future As

An Aircraft Mechanic (by request)

An aircraft mechanic? You're the kid who put that lawnmower engine on the skateboard, right? Well, it's probably not a bad career, if you can hack it--it will probably work out like this:

You'll have to do all the basic grease monkey wannabe stuff--put in the hours during high school and go for apprenticeships right after--you'll have to work in a regular garage for a little while you wait to hear, but eventually, maybe you'll get in if your grades, references and bribes all fall within the acceptable range. It won't be easy--there's way more parts on a 747 than on your average Hyundai, and if you botch up the car, it doesn't plunge 350 people to a fiery death.

The social life isn't that great--you think you'll have prestige, but the first time you get brushed off by a stewardess will teach you otherwise--heck, you put Brad Pitt in a set of blue coveralls with his name in the little red oval on the front and they wouldn't even give him the time of day. It's okay--you'll spend so much time logging overtime that you'll get to know all the concession ladies well--and when their marriages collapse, you'll pick up the crumbs that fall off the table.

You'll never be truly "comfortable" in your job--even your basic Cessna is a delicate instrument--so you never get to have an "off" day. You will need to learn everything there is to know about simple prop engines and advanced jet aircraft. Then, if you are fortunate enough to work your way from the hellhole bush plane outposts into a major commercial airport, you'll also have to learn to play amateur secret agent--you see, you are one of the last lines of defense against the terrorists' plots to blow planes out of the sky. You must be able to look at an engine and tell if something doesn't look quite right.

You're also going to be the scapegoat if something awful happens--and at some point in your career, it probably will. Face it, they aren't going to insult the pilot's memory and offend his family by publishing the discovery that he had 6 martinis before he crashed the plane full of orphans into the side of the mountain--it will be blamed on "mechanical error"--that's you, bucko. When that happens, you'll be out of a job, and eventually the military will find you--they'll know the real story, and make you an offer you'll be desperate enough to take--fixing helicopters and transport planes in some crappy desert airbase until some would be martyr blows up enough of your anatomy to qualify you for a disability pension.

Still--you get to drink lots of $8 cups of coffee along the way...