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While nobody wants to be pigeon-holed (unless it’s “good luck charm”, “life of the party” or “chick magnet”) most are happy to have a highfalutin’, more-important-sounding-than-it-actually-is, job title.
Which is why we now live in a world of garbologists and traffic supervisors.
But then again, who would argue against having a touch of gravitas applied to their otherwise rudimentary occupation?
It’s why reporters would rather be known as journalists, and cooks would rather be chefs. Even though they’re both essentially reporting, and cooking, when it all boils down to it.
I first noticed this need to tart up your job title when Tom Cruise took Renee Zellweger out for dinner in Jerry Maguire, and her young son is left in the hands of a nanny.
“I prefer child technician,” the nanny says, a touch wounded.
We’re all aware that titles, especially in the celebrity world, now come in the double header variety, like “model/actress” or “presenter/DJ”.
But it raises the question: is it difficult to know which job title to go with first? Does it depend on how much time you devote to each craft, or is there a Darwinian order of importance?
It also poses the question: do these celebrities use these tenuous titles on their tax returns?
It’s a bit like people who grant themselves a nickname; the kind of pretentious douche who is just a tad too keen to be seen in a particular light.
How do you know? Well, these people usually go by the name of “Muscles” or “Ladies Man”, so they’re not too hard to spot. And they’re usually totally bereft of humour or irony – the whole point of the exercise in awarding a nickname.
I once played cricket in Scotland against a bloke like this, and our first meeting was a little on the awkward side.
“Hi, Ben’s my name,” I said with hand outstretched.
“John, but people around here call me Magic,” he replied, totally deadpan. But not in the funny, dry as a cinder, Scottish tradition.
Sure they do, you tosser.
I’m sorry, but nicknames are a bit like birthday presents. Sometimes, it’s actually better to receive than give.
Admittedly, most of us avoid such nihilistic behaviour, but the media fuels this desire to put everyone in a box.
In football, a player is either a “jet”, “journey man” or “trade bait”; just like some tailenders in cricket are “no mug with the bat”, footballers are lauded for “knowing where the goals are”.
Which is odd, because surely you wouldn’t draft a player who couldn’t see four posts sticking out of the ground, at either end of the oval.
So as far as labels go, I thought I’d seen and heard it all until I saw 6.30 with George Negus last week.
There was a story about some Indonesian bloke who once trained the Bali Bombers.
According to the story, we can all rest easy because he’s seen the light and hung up the box cutter and ignitable shoes. In fact, Channel Ten went as far as describing him as a “former terrorist”.
However stupid, a precedent has been set. So now I’m hanging out for the day Nick Maxwell has the graphic “former commentator” below his name, or “former antagoniser” under Kevin Sheedy’s.
The most comfortable person I’ve ever met in terms with his place in the world was my former boss.
Driving to the building site one day he said “Mate, I’m just a roof tiler, that’s all I know how to do.”
That’s not 100 per cent accurate, he was a thrifty roof tiler, who often didn’t bother with scaffolding while tiling two storey houses, but his words left a mark.
We are who we are. And no fancy titles, inherited or otherwise, can change that.
Ben Cameron
Glorified opinion giver.
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