In my own personal ranking of all human professions, I split them into two simple categories:
- The ones that actually do something
- And the ones that just kill
The first group is easy — crystal clear. If someone made the chair you’re sitting on, then congrats: they’ve made something useful. If someone harvested the food you’re chewing right now — same deal.
Now, the “kill boredom” crew? That’s where it gets spicier. Because as much as it sucks to admit, in our short-ass lives, boredom is a real thing. Painfully real. Especially if you’re not Jeff Bezos throwing zombie ferret jousting tournaments in your backyard.
If you’re a regular dude or girl, you’ve only got so many pleasures to pick from: food, booze, drugs, sex, sports, and a few other usual suspects.
Honestly, if people hadn’t been bored out of their minds, we wouldn’t have had great discoveries or epic voyages. All those Cooks and Magellans didn’t sail because of some noble dream — they were just sick of staring at rocks. No gadgets, no TikTok, no dopamine. Just leopards chasing your ass and poison darts flying at your face.
So yeah — today’s entertainment industry gets flak, but I say it’s damn important. It keeps people from throwing themselves out windows out of pure ennui.
Actors, musicians, writers, amusement park workers — they give us dopamine hits, selfies by weird monuments, and stuff to talk about with family and friends. Most of all — they give us memories.
And memories, as far as I’m concerned, are still one of the most valuable currencies we’ve got.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Now, what comes next might offend some folks. Honestly? I don’t give a shit. Who am I to you? Your mom? Your sister? No? Then stop puffing your cheeks and getting triggered by this piece of streetwise belletristic chaos that never claimed to be Tolstoy.
Anyway, the deeper I dove into the bizarre zoo of human professions, the more they all started looking... well, pointless.
Not saying I personally hate these jobs — I’m just talkin’.
Let’s start with history. In theory, it could be useful and entertaining. But as we know, theory and practice rarely get along.
Yeah sure — archaeologists could dig up something game-changing. Like, a laser cannon in Egypt. Or warp drive tech buried in your backyard (if your dog doesn’t find it first).
Or maybe a cryo-ship under Antarctic ice from Kepler-1649c packed with meds to cure every disease, including your receding hairline. (Though, you could also just go to Turkey for that.)
That’d be huge, right? Instant fame for those dusty old historians. But... it hasn’t happened.
As for the entertainment part — maybe you’re into documentaries asking whether Alexander the Great was actually that badass, or if Catherine the Great really banged a horse. Helps take your mind off your crap job. And like I said — that’s a valid service.
But unfortunately, most history work is just a soul-crushing parade of trivia. Like how many calluses Charlemagne had or what Denisovans ate in their caves. Or what Maria Medici whispered to her maids in 1623. Sure, it all ends up in books, but nobody outside their circle gives a damn.
Except maybe a couple of history geeks.
Still, these folks rake in grants and research money, spending their whole lives studying Tutankhamun’s armpits. For what? Beats me.
Now, let’s run over some sociologists.
Who actually needs them, besides politicians? Seriously. Politicians read their little polls and pretend they know what people want. But these polls? They’re often crap. Tiny sample sizes, rushed answers, social desirability bias, blah-blah. It’s all just noise.
And if we’re talking about public opinion, shouldn’t they be interviewing literally everyone? Not just cherry-picking 15 bored people in a mall?
And don’t even get me started on authoritarian regimes — those polls are just plain comedy. Who the hell tells the truth when they think the Men in Black might come knocking at 3am?
And then we have the folks who dedicate their whole lives to Goethe. Or art critics who stare at a Joan Miró painting and analyze every brushstroke like it’s the Rosetta Stone.