Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.

My nightmare job

Last night I listened to a podcast about Australia's recent tourism public relations coup, disguised as a contest to win The Best Job in the World. The host of the show invited people to call in with their dream jobs. It got me thinking about what my nightmare job would be, and I think I know what it is.

A realtor.

In no particular order, here are the reasons why I could never be a realtor:

1. The phone calls. OH, the phone calls. I hate the phone with a passion (kind of like Eevi). Having to actually pay attention to it when it rings would be so irritating to me. It's bad enough that I have to do that now, temporarily, in case anyone ever calls ahead for a viewing. I can't imagine having it be that way all the time. People leaving messages, having to call them back, having to make appointments with complete makes me anxious just thinking about it.

2. The driving. Taking people across town, back and forth, especially in a place like Tucson where it's all dysfunctional surface streets and it takes forever to get anywhere, sounds something like my idea of hell.

3. The style. My understanding is that to be a realtor, you have to be chipper, well dressed, and beautiful. I just don't think I could look the part.

4. The financial calculations. Buying and selling a home involve some of the most complicated money math I've ever encountered in the real world. I don't think it's because I have no skills in this area - I do our family's taxes and I took AP Cal back in the day. But start talking to me about escrow and transfer fees and appreciation rates and watch my eyes glaze over.

5. The unpredictable schedule. (Strangely, this is one of the things about motherhood that I find to be very challenging. But that is another blog post.) Apparently, I like to know what my schedule is going to be ahead of time. I don't really appreciate last-minute changes to plans that have been set in place for some time (unless it involves positive events with friends). I don't think I would take kindly to having a relaxing weekend interrupted by some seller's sudden need for something.

So we've established that I'll never be a realtor. Did I miss any other evidence?

What is your nightmare job?

Happiness overload

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