Gizza (Silly) Job

I was still very down and wallowing in self-pity over my abject failure to land the job on which I had pinned my hopes (see previous post) when the television "news" this morning helped me begin the healing process - by turning my depression into disbelief and downright disgust.
It suddenly occurred to me that here was I, a bloke who has spent 21 years learning a trade, a trade now about as much sought after as Coronation Day flag-selling, when all the time I could have no doubt been trebling my earnings by being a "life coach", as one woman was described on the programme.
What the buggery, bleedin' 'ell is a fucking "life coach"?..........
"Ok everybody, thank you for coming in this morning. Brenda, the lights please. Right, look at the powerpoint screen. Well, what happened was, when mummy and daddy decided they loved each other very much, daddy put his love pencil into mummy's magic muff and nine months later you were born. After that, you went to school and then got a job. Some of you will get married, some of you will get divorced, some of you will use your own love pencil or magic muff to make more babies, then you will retire, then you will die. Any questions? No? Ok, make you cheques for £2,500 each payable to Money For Old Rope World Domination Ltd, leave them at the door and show in the next group. It's been emotional."
Another git popped up on screen to talk about whether eating too many crisps and chocolate was bad for you. Well, let's face it, you're going to have to gain a few degrees, MScs and PhDs to work that fucker out. That in mind, he was described as, and I kid you not, "an expert". Just think of the opportunities that would open up for you...........
"Well, Mr Pither, I notice you have simultaneously applied for the positions of brain surgeon, mountaineer, Mediaeval painting restorer, astronaut, lion tamer and Dean of St Sorearse College at Cambridge. What qualifications do you have which suit you to all these posts?"
"Well, I'm a fuckin' expert, ain't I?"
"In what?"
"Well, like, in expertise, innit."
The third one which got me gnawing my own foot off was a woman who was billed as "a relationship counsellor"! 'Scuse me, I may be being a bit dense here, but isn't EVERYONE over the age of 10 "a relationship counsellor"? How many times have you been called on to listen to someone else's turbulent emotional life and offer soothing words and advice? Jesus H Christ, my soon-to-be ex-wife gets calls EVERY BLOODY NIGHT from one pal or another about the latest perceived drama in their life. Because STB EW either talks so loudly or sits so close during these exchanges I too have become a fully qualified "relationship counsellor"......
"Oh, I know. I know. He didn't? Oh, never! Well of course you did. Of course. Yes. Well, the stretch marks have faded, love, believe me. No, it doesn't look big in the blue. Hmm. Well perhaps the ointment is for a cut? Ask him. Oh no! Well, I would tell him. Reg is the same."
These dreary counselling sessions ALWAYS end with the same statement. Yes, that one...."They're all the same." Learn that off pat and you've already got a doctorate in the discipline.
The television news was followed by another programme packed with these sorts of wankers. This time they were those people, like Trinny and Susannah, who have dubbed themselves "style experts" and insist they are qualified to tell everyone else what to wear. "Clothes criticisers" I believe it says on their CVs. Believe it or not, this show focused on a bloke trying to organise a group of people into putting up a tent!!! It prompted one of the supposed style gurus back in the studio to comment: "Oh, he's just never going to inspire leadership and command wearing that blue outfit." Aaaarrrgh!!! It didn't do fucking Napolean any harm, love!
If you can't beat them, join them I say. If people can get away with selling themselves as "life coaches, experts or relationship counsellors" then surely I can? Maybe those markets are saturated already? It wouldn't surprise me. I will have to invent some more "jobs", I think. How about "breathing consultant"? Maybe "ambulation adviser", "hair growth co-ordinator", "curtains criticiser" or "coat hanger use instructor"?
I will also get the dogs jobs, just to swell the Pither coffers. Yes, "scent experts" I think.

Yes, the way ahead is clear. In the meantime, to avoid competition, all people with ridiculous, meaningless job titles can go to Grantham.