The Cynical Career Counselor Explains Your Future as a

Chauffeur
Oh thanks for getting the door--not everybody around here's been taught basic courtesy; nice to see your folks brought you up right. You're my 9 a.m., right? Sorry, I got caught up in traffic on 20th and... anyway, I'm here now. Let's see, what's on the menu for this morning... Chauffeur? Okay, here's what that road will look like.

First, you need to make sure you've got pretty much the same training as a journeyman mechanic. You don't see it much in the movies, but when that touring car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, Mr. or Mrs. Big Bucks ain't gonna want to sit around waiting to ride in the cab of some smelly tow truck. You need to be able to spot problems before they happen--replace every belt, hose or anything else every year so they just can't wear out.

If something does go wrong, you'll need some long gloves and an apron, or maybe those disposable coveralls. It sounds stupid, but rich folk don't forgive you looking dirty--even if you got that way making sure they can get to their meeting or flight.

It's a ridiculously hard field to break into, but if you're completely ruthless, your best bet is to hire some goons to attempt to carjack the limo you want to drive, then you jump in with your martial arts training (did I mention you need that) and save the day. The limo driver will be hurt just enough to need to go to the hospital, and you'll offer to drive. In the brief conversation you have with the rich person you want to work for, you mention that you are a trained mechanic and you currently drive for a limo service. (Did I mention you'd need to get that job first?)

You'll be hired and the guy you got beat up will be paid off to go quietly. Your job will be as much about polishing the car and waiting around playing solitaire as it will be about driving. Even more boring will be the waits downtown while your employer is in meetings.

You'll wish for boring, though, at times. Like when your boss's son or daughter commandeer the limo (and you with it) for partying with their friends. It will take particular skill to clean up vomit and still keep your uniform pristine. More stressful yet are the times your discretion is most needed.

Your powerful employer seems happily married, but you will see the depths of his depravity as you cruise the seedier hooker drives, finding him willing partners for his disturbing personal preferences. The privacy window and your headphones will become your best friends on those days.

You never really know how your boss earns his money, but there are certain "meetings" that don't take place in any boardroom. You pick up a number of rather sketchy-looking types every week or two and they spend an hour or two in the limo as you drive around aimlessly. You hear bits of conversation when they yell at each other, and you soon realize that they're operating some businesses on the shady side of legal. You are paid to be discrete, though, and would never think of mentioning anything to your employer.

One day it goes further than yelling, though, and you are ordered by your boss to drive up to an old gravel pit. He informs you there's a shovel in the trunk and you are to start digging a hole. One of his less fortunate associates is soon tossed in, and you try not to let the others see your hands shaking as you shovel the dirt onto the grave.

The trauma of this experience makes you more agreeable when, a few days later, federal agents come calling and ask you to spy on your boss. You wear a wire and even plant a microphone in the back of the limo. It only takes a week for the authorities to gather enough evidence to put your employer away for a long time.

You worry that there may be repercussions, but you suffer nothing more serious than temporary unemployment in the months after the arrest. Eventually you find a job driving one of those airport-hotel shuttle vans. One morning you recognize one of your passengers coming in on flight from New York. He pretends not to know you, and agrees to wait in the van when an emergency call comes in from your kid's school--seems your child was late coming in from recess, and although it seems like something terrible may have happened, before the call is over your kid's safely back in class.

You thank your passenger for waiting, and he says nothing. When you drop him at the hotel, you don't notice the small remote he pulls out of his pocket. The explosion closes the downtown core for three hours--mostly so they can pick up as many pieces of you as possible.

Have fun.