This week, TBS Agony Aunty Ashleigh assists fellow TBS regular Rainer the Cabbie with some career advice that’s (wait for it…) out of this world (sorry).
Dear Aunty Ashleigh,
I am a very bored cabbie who is constantly getting stuck on the Harbour Bridge in my taxi or sitting at the airport forever to get a fare. According to our local newspaper, a taxi rank is being built at the international space station, 445 km above this lovely planet.
I just wonder if I could get some advice from you as how to apply for one of those spaces to ply my trade. My cab has been in all sorts of conditions and survived, with a bit of duct tape and the air con turned on full it should be suitable for the job. As for myself, however, I’m not too sure as how to apply for the job.
Does being a bit of a space cadet help my application? David Bowie’s Major Tom is one of my favourite songs, will that help me? I’ve always been great at floating in the surf, seen plenty of stars on Saturday night so space shouldn’t be much different and I can hold my breath for a very long time. Will these be good points in my resume?
Your advice on this matter is very much appreciated.
Recalibrating my meter with anticipation
Rainer the cabbie
Here we go again. Every time a Russian leader pops his head up, those Americans want to do something silly in space.
Now, I’m no astronaut, but I know enough to know that space taxis are a bad idea. I tried LSD once in my younger days (I was quite the Beatles fan, you know). I’m certain I travelled to space on what we called a “trip” in those days. There were all sorts of alien hooligans menacingly hovering about. It was quite a harrowing experience and certainly not something I’d care to do again. Besides, how long would I have to wait for the “next available” space taxi to come and get me? I’m an old lady. I don’t have light years to waste sitting around, waiting.
Look, I know all of this intergalactic travel is not meant to cater for people like me. I don’t know what sort of shenanigans goes on up there beyond the clouds these days. I’m sure they’ve come up with all manner of intergalactic discotheques and space drugs to lead the young folk astray. I’m far too old for that nonsense but have you really thought this through?
It’s hard enough being a cabbie here on Earth. My late husband drove a taxi and he never stopped whinging about his day. I mean, do you really want to be cleaning Martian vomit from the ceiling of your taxi or be putting up with intoxicated aliens engaging in lewd and unsavoury acts in the back of your cab? How are you going to track down the fare dodgers? Space is a very big place, you know. And if you think the traffic is bad down here, wait until you have to put up with all of the UFOs up there every day. There must be millions of them. My brother swears he’s seen five of them with his own eyes and he tells me that alien driving skills leave a lot to be desired. (He also tells me that they’re quite thorough with their medical examinations, but that’s another story). I bet after a couple of months in a space taxi, you’ll be wishing you were back sitting in traffic on the Harbour Bridge with your air conditioner and your David Bowie cassette tapes.
No, Rainer, the sky is my limit, and that’s quite alright with me.
So my advice to you is this: if you like to float about aimlessly, are a bit of a space cadet, constantly hold your breath and are good at coming up with duct tape solutions, you should try your hand at politics. I think you’d be very well suited.
Yours truly,Aunty Ashleigh
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