Laurie: I wanna be a weatherwoman. I think the fancy name is meteorologist, but whatever you call me, I would have a job where I would be expected to be incorrect. How cool is that? I could say whatever I want, pick a bogus percentage to boost my forecast, and still be considered an expert no matter how many times I am wrong. A big snow storm, maybe the biggest ever to reign down on the world, was supposed to hit Manhattan this weekend. I watched all the multi-colored charts that indicated how many inches each section of the East Coast would get, and after seeing a 4-6″ band floating across my neighborhood, rearranged all my plans for Saturday. It snowed for two hot minutes, one of those wimpy little snows that doesn’t even bother sticking to anything, and then the rest of the day was clear and dry. So tomorrow I run around trying to fit in all the things I canceled today, but tonight I will be in front of the television waiting for the weather report for tomorrow. Do we ever learn? I guess not. We’re still asking some ground hog in Pennsylvania how long winter will be.
elizabeth: I must say that if I was sleeping all cozy and warm and some fool in a top hat dragged my naked self out and paraded me around to see if I saw my shadow…well, let’s just say they would need assistance getting around for about six months. But how can you get mad at Al Roker? To predict the weather means never having to say you’re sorry because you have direct deposit. For the storm of the century this weekend, I shopped for food early and got cut off by some frantic people who thought the world was coming to an end. Not me. I was thinking. “screw the carb-free diet”—bring on the bread and pasta and don’t stop till I no longer have a pulse.
Laurie: Or maybe I want to be a psychic. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in psychics (hell, I believe in meteorologists). My one goal in life is to save up enough money so that I can spend it on a 30-minute meeting with Sylvia Brown who currently has a waiting list of five years. Obviously I’m not the only person who believes in psychics. But psychic prediction is one of those enviable professions where you are wildly applauded and praised if you happen to get it right (kinda like the weather). And for the majority of times when you are incorrect, it is easily explained away. And even more mind-boggling, people come right back at ya to get another probably incorrect prediction. What a racket! I want in.
elizabeth: You want to talk to psychic Sylvia Brown … the psychic who sounds just like actor/playwright Harvey Fierstein who might be a psychic because I saw him wear a turban once. But I think he was in drag. I think I would rather go to Harvey for a reading because after he does his best Sylvia impression, we could go shopping for killer heels.
Laurie: Granted I am in a profession where “reframing” is highly condoned. What? Your leg fell off? Well, let’s look at the positive side. You said you wanted to lose weight, your socks will last twice as long, you can count on getting the sympathy vote, and people will wait on you hand and foot (no pun intended). That’s all very creative but it’s not half as cool as being in a profession where I’m expected to get it wrong, I keep my job and even get raises, and I am considered an expert in my field and people keep coming back for more. Now that’s the career for me.
elizabeth: Okay. I think I have found my next career. I like your job description and I know I have been wrong and wronged before. My fellow Americans, after discussing this with no one in particular, I will be throwing my hat into the mix and I will be running for a congressional spot in the midterm elections. I need the great health insurance benefits some of those knuckleheads get for screwing people over while being completely dressed.