So, a while back, I was reading a biography. It was one of those struggling artist memoir numbers, in which the main character describes every outrageous, off-the -wall, and menial job she had on her way to international superstar-dom. And she described each of these jobs in enough detail that 1.) You were left in awe: You mean people actually do that? You mean… for a living? They get paid? and 2.) You’re a little shell-shocked. And, they get paid more than me?
(There are coal mine canaries that get paid more than me.)
So, welcome to the first edition of People Who Get Paid More Than Me.
This edition is brought to you by the fine human-interest reporting of the folks at Forbes and the rank stupidity of Jet Blue airlines, which apparently has a “Pilot decides” whether passengers’ clothing is offensive policy.
Yeah, I know. Heaven help you, if you look like the pilot’s teenage daughter, and you show up with your knees showing.
Anyway, moving right along.
About a week ago, on Forbes I read the sad story of Maggie McMuffin who was not allowed to board her (2nd) flight without changing clothes because the (2nd) Pilot thought her shorts were too short. So much for objective, predictable rules about whether a woman will/won’t catch her flight.
I mean, what if the pilot that day was Amish, and I forgot my bonnet?
So, never mind.
Anyhoo….Maggie McMuffin is a burlesque performer. She has a charmingly R-rated website. (Charming, meaning I laughed. R-Rated meaning she’s pretty much nekkid.) It’s here, if you’re curious. And as it turns out, Maggie is a reverse stripper.
People pay her to put her clothes on.
Yeah, okay. There may be some details I’m leaving out. (Or, you know, enormous factual chunks.) But long and short of it, that’s the job. Reverse stripper.
On the one hand, I could do that. I put my clothes on every morning. Admittedly, in my case, it would have to be a comedy show. We could start with over-sized underwear from my over-sized purse and work our way up to burqas and diving suits thrown by the audience, or possibly just assume that mass, traumatic blindness will take over, and do my job for me.
On the other hand, I’m not sure being paid to put clothes on would be good for my self-esteem. Think of all the affirmations I’d have to recite in the mirror every morning. I am a beautiful, valuable–Hey! Put that barrel down! You wanna give me a concussion?
Perhaps I’ll have to keep looking.