By Brian Cormier
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Moncton Times & Transcript
I often wonder what career I would have chosen had I not gone to journalism school and then made my way into the communications field. I love my career and am in it for the long haul, but I often wonder what else I could have done with my life.
Lately, I’m thinking that I should have been a lawyer.I would defend the downtrodden and get justice for those who’ve been wronged. In court, I would be a force to be reckoned with. Judges would defer to me, surely realizing that my superior legal intellect far surpasses their own knowledge. I would yell at them and make them rule in my client’s favour every time. They would quake in fear.
That happens in real life, right? No, probably not. A boy can dream, though. The couple of times I’ve been in a real courtroom have been pretty intimidating, actually. The lawyers were very reverential to the judge, as they should be. I guess all that talking back to the bench only happens on television. I’m not sure it would end well if they tried it.
Maybe a personal injury lawyer is more up my alley? ‘So you stubbed your toe at the mall? Well, guess what! Now you own the mall!’ If I were your lawyer, the settlement would be nothing less. Of course, there would be the small matter of my fee. Does $1 billion sound fair? Yeah, there’d be tax on that, too. It’s always the taxes that get you. And don’t forget the $2.50 for those photocopies. Can’t forget the photocopies.
That happens every day in the legal field, right? Am I delusional? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Actually, I’ve always wanted to be an emergency room doctor, too. It would have to be in the trauma ward at a large inner-city hospital – somewhere where they get people coming through the doors with little chance of survival. That is, until they hear who their doctor is. ‘Dr. Cormier will make your booboo all better, sir. Yes, I realize the only thing left after your accident is an earlobe on a pillow. We’ve seen worse.’
I’d probably get my own primetime network television show, too. Dr. Cormier: Miracle Worker. Every Thursday at 9 p.m. Watch as the good doctor brings a package of hamburger back to life with his bare hands. A couple of zaps from the defibrillator and the next thing you know, that package of hamburger is back in the field eating grass and mooing contentedly. Not the prettiest cow on the farm, though. Looks a bit rough around the edges.
If I were in the hospital, the first thing I’d ask the doctor is if they’ve ever seen anyone in worse condition than me. Now, normally, that answer is always yes no matter what’s wrong with you. Every doctor would have their own horror story no matter in which field they practise. The one answer you don’t want to hear from a doctor after asking if they’ve seen anyone worse is, ‘Oh, you’re pretty bad.’ That’s not very comforting and is pretty much a polite way of saying you hit the jackpot in the ‘worst they’ve ever seen’ category.
I’m not sure I’d be able to not react, so perhaps a career in the medical field is not for me. The last thing someone with a bad sunburn wants to experience is a confetti cannon going off in their room and a line Rockette dancers doing their trademark high kick after being told they have the worst sunburn the hospital has ever seen. Not great bedside manner, although seeing the Rockettes in person would be pretty cool.
And who hasn’t dreamed of being a singing superstar? I think I’d be good at that. Perform concerts in every city and sing the same songs every night? How hard can that be? Well, I’d have to have songs people want to hear first, I suppose. That could take some work. And even if I managed to do that, wouldn’t singing the same songs all the time drive me nuts?
I always feel sorry for singers with long careers who try to perform songs from their new albums at concerts when in reality everyone is just sitting there waiting to hear their old favourites. ‘Shut up and sing The Green Green Grass of Albert County!’ the crowd would yell when I would just want to sing my latest hit, I Used the Bathroom in the Middle of the Night and When I Came Back, My Baby Was Gone.
I often wonder about those one-hit wonder singers who are only known for that one colossal hit. It must be the definition of hell to sing that same song over and over and over for 40 or 50 years. I’ve seen a couple of these singers performing at shows. Their eyes were dead like they were just waiting for an aneurysm to take them into the sweet embrace of death right there on stage.
OK, so if not a lawyer, doctor or singer, what else? Ballet dancer? I think not You know, because I wouldn’t want to embarrass the others by being too good of course. How about child beauty pageant coordinator? ‘C’mon, Tiffany! Don’t be a crybaby! I know you’re only two and we’re on our 12th hour of rehearsals, but that’s no reason for a tantrum. And didn’t I tell you to spit-shine that Barbie tiara?’
How about a baker? No, I wouldn’t trust myself around all that frosting They’d find me a week later unconscious, naked and covered in icing sugar in a ditch somewhere. It would be like putting a dingo in charge of a daycare.
Maybe I should just stick with what I know – at least until I get used to raking in the millions that I’m making now Yup, just until I get used to that.