Okay, we’ll spill the beans: your local barista couldn’t care less about your guava-soaked, Honduran single-estate cup of joe. He’s just trying to cope with the horror of the morning rush, the finicky customers (‘This extra-hot latte is too damn hot! I’m going to sue!’) and the horror of whatever sub-Jack Johnson musical abortion is being piped directly into his head from the good people at Cool Breeze FM. Do him a favour next time and order a large green tea.
2. Estate agent
To most people, estate agents are just money-grubbing idiots who couldn’t get a job in a bank, but really, they’re modern-day saints. They have to spend every day explaining to bored couples what stamp duty is and why it’s more expensive than the actual mortgage. Yes, they get to use the word ‘gazumped’ a lot, which is a cool perk, but they also have to walk you through a house while you hold hands with your adorable partner, talking about what colour you’re going to paint the skirting boards (Off-white? You mavericks!). Every mind-numbing dinner-party conversation about buy-to-rent and property prices, that’s their whole life. And they still live with their mum. Think about that. Saints.
3. Editorial intern
In an industry filled with hungry grads, the tea-brewing chosen few are regularly taken for a ride – one where you work 25/8 and earn less than an Abu Dhabi panhandler. So why do they do it? For the exposure, dummy! Your writing, the suits promise, will be published on (gasp!) the internet! In fact your work is read less than a ‘See Terms & Conditions’ page and the only exposure you get is of the frostbitten kind when your gas and electricity are cut off.
4. Silver statue dude
Imagine if your job was to stand totally still all day, dressed like an effeminate Tin Man, as a mix of silver paint and sweat drips from your every pore and a gaggle of Spanish schoolchildren jeer and chuck their old pesetas into your upturned hat. And you’re not even allowed to move or cry or attack them. You thought your three years at Rada would set you up as the next Cumber-sodding-batch, or at least you’d be the star of an Oak Furniture Land ad. But you’re not. Youíre a living statue. And it’s a living hell.
5. Mayor of London
That air of posh befuddlement isn’t a ruse. BoJo is genuinely in distress. Imagine being born to rule, then spending every day at City Hall being harangued by some chippy Trotskyite about affordable housing. All you really want to do is snuggle under your Churchill duvet and picture yourself rallying the troops and touring the ruins. Then to top it all off those rotters in parliament stick an embargo on your bloody water cannons. It’s not fair!
By Michael Curle, who actually has very little sympathy for estate agents.
Take a look at the top five jobs Londoners secretly want.