Amy brought home some tapes her mom had recorded, and mentioned to me that there were a couple of things on one of them that she thought I’d be particularly interested in.
The first, from the History channel, was about the history of toys and games. YES.
The second, also from the History channel, was about the history of robots. OH FUCK YES.
I settled in to watch these television masterpieces, when I saw something that particularly excited me: the robot show featured commentary by a robot historian. A WHAT? I didn’t even know that sort of job EXISTED. Obviously, somewhere along the line, my guidance counselor really fucked up, and luckily, I think I can explain exactly where everything went awry.
In high school, the guidance counselors made a big deal about going from classroom to classroom, administering a test that would clarify, without a doubt, what our future career paths should be. A few weeks later, we received the results, and I tore mine open, excited to see what my future held.
This test, this infallible test, proclaimed that I should be: a mime, a puppeteer, or a horse breeder. A what, a what, and a WHAT? Perhaps the test detected some self-loathing and wanted to maximize its potential. Even combining all of those things wouldn’t make for one GOOD job. Dressing up in stripes and pretending to jack off an imaginary horse doesn’t sound like fun to m–ok, it sounds like fun for approximately 10 seconds. You were wrong, test! Where the fuck was ROBOT HISTORIAN on my list?
While I was furiously pondering these things, Amy mentioned, “It’s really too bad that robot historian isn’t cute, because you guys would totally hit it off.”
I’m inexplicably attracted to him, anyway. Robot Historian, if you ever read this, come do me. Might I kill you and take your job afterwards? Well…isn’t that the risk everyone takes?