I’m unsure who coined the term permanent job but it’s a misnomer. There’s no such thing as a permanent job. If there is such a thing, then David Hasselhoff will someday win an Oscar and I’m the Tooth Fairy. As my daughter recently lost her first tooth, technically, I am the Tooth Fairy. But I’m not buying the other premise despite Hasselhoff’s brilliant appearance in the Sponge Bob movie.
Speaking of the Tooth Fairy, there’s a potential permanent job if ever there was one. There’s no shortage of kids and no shortage of teeth. Considering there are kids all over the world, you could employ a staff of Tooth Fairies. Since we’re talking teeth, maybe we can somehow make it part of the new healthcare plan and employ a whole bunch of bureaucrats, as well. Economic stimulus aside, it’s a job idea worth evaluating.
In terms of skill set, all you’d need to perform the job is the ability to stuff money under a pillow and the ability to use GPS to find a home. Sure, you’d have to sneak into homes wearing a fairy outfit, but that’s a small price to pay for the world’s only “permanent” job.
As with any job, there’d be competition for positions and, of course, potential freelancing opportunities. I could envision tooth extraction consultants combing the neighborhoods for kids with loose teeth.
“Listen, kid, I’ll pull out that loose tooth for say, 40 % of your Tooth Fairy money.”
“What’s a 40%? I can count to 20. Wanna see?” a confused five-year-old responds counting on his fingers.
“If you look under your pillow and the Tooth Fairy left you $10, you’d give me $9 for pulling out your tooth. That’s 40%, also known as capitalism.”
But getting back to reality, the real Tooth Fairies (i.e., parents) have a difficult job. Once a tooth is loose, you never stop hearing about it.
“Daddy, I think it’s ready to come out,” Lexy says.
I touch my daughter’s tooth. “Yeah, it’s loose.”
Twenty minutes later.
“Mommy, Daddy, it’s ready to come out.”
The tooth wiggles but doesn’t come out.
Twenty minutes after that. “Daddy, are you in the bathroom? I think my tooth is ready to come out. Right, CJ?”
“Daddy, can we come in?”
“I’m kind of busy.”
“CJ, that’s the wrong tooth. Stop touching!”
CJ decides to touch it again. A loud smack and crying ensues.
“Are you going to do something about that?” my wife asks.
“I’m in the bathroom.”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Do you really want to know?”
A few hours later, the hysteria has died down but the loose tooth remains the hot topic.
“Joey got $50 for his tooth.“
My wife and I look at each other with frustration knowing neither of us has $50 handy. This brings me to my next question. What is the fair market value of a tooth? (If it’s $50, do you know anyone who wants to adopt a 40-year-old willing to suck food through a straw for a fat payday, i.e., me?)
A couple of days later, the tooth came out and our fair market value made Lexy the second richest kid in the neighborhood—next to Joe, who received the $50, of course. Unfortunately, I’m not the second richest parent in the neighborhood. However, as soon as that Tooth Fairy position opens up or I find a rich couple willing to adopt me, that’ll change.
Copyright © 2009, Brad Manzo