The pay is non-existent and the hours are long. Yet it’s a “job” many would give their right arm to have.

Why?

Because office holders are usually “kept” men or women, who live like princes or princesses, and the “long hours” usually entail whiling away the small hours at cocktail parties thrown by the rich and fabulous.

But calling it a job is just a little bit “common”, don’t you think? So let’s refrain.

Besides, being Just Over Broke does not make for a good socialite, now does it? Plus office gossip just doesn’t rate when compared to A-list gossip.

You do not study at university, or trawl the classifieds looking for “openings”, to become a socialite. Either you are born into it, talk your way into it, or marry into it. Period.

So what’s it really like? You know, what’s a day on the (for want of a better word) job all about?

You know, it really strikes me as being like acting. Like a movie star. But you substitute acting ability for pretense. There are air kisses, superficial greeting hugs, and gratuitous use of the word dah-ling (if that’s even a word) aplenty.

I used to live next door to a socialite. I never met her, though I considered it a privilege to catch a fleeting glimpse of her dashing out of the building, and into a waiting taxi limousine.

I think she had a closed circuit TV that monitored the hallways of the apartment building, and she only made an entrance to exit, as it were, when the “coast was clear”.

She was also the only person in the building whose apartment had a balcony, so being a socialite obviously has its advantages when it comes to deciding “who” (such a FAB magazine, by the way, dah-ling) is allocated balconies.

I used dread her parties though, and you had to watch your step if you were walking below her balcony when she was entertaining her (non A-list) friends, lest you were hit by the wayward cork of a campaign bottle.

Incidentally an idea of the grandness of the previous (simply enchanting) evening’s (simply delicious) frivolities could be gauged by the number of discarded corks that littered the courtyard in the morning.

Wait up though. A socialite living in an… apartment block? Yes indeed. Who would have thought it?

But that also says something about being a socialite, doesn’t it? It’s all about appearances and how you carry yourself off. It’s about the face and the cocktail dress. And the ability to explain away unknown quantities.

“I live in an older style apartment building, you understand. Classical yet quaint. But without an elevator. Something to do with the building’s heritage listing, you understand. Therefore makes my place unsuitable for entertaining, you understand.”

Enough about my brush with celebrity though.

Is being a socialite for you? Well if you can handle the A list, the champaign, the tax havens, learjets, and hanging out with movie stars, rock stars, and fashion photographers, then maybe.

And appearances aboard Royalty yachts, and at polo matches don’t bother you either? Brilliant! So if you have that certain something, and the gift of the gab, then go for it!

Any down sides to this sort of “work”, you ask? Well, yes, unfortunately there is. You can never, ever, apply for the unemployment benefit. And that has nothing to do with shame, or pride, either. Unfortunately the welfare office just won’t buy it when you try and tell them you are an “unemployed socialite”!

Soooo sorry, dah-ling!

Ok, here’s a fun one. Who wouldn’t want to be an Astronaut? It’s pioneering and groundbreaking work. You get to blast off into the wide blue yonder and go places most people (expect for those with a lazy few million dollars), wouldn’t have the remotest hope of coming within several billions miles of.

And then there’s having fun floating above the Earth in a gravity free environment, trying to spot things like the Great Wall of China, and the Sydney Opera House (which should be visible if they’ve kept its tiles pristine white).

And if you’re really lucky, and can get rostered aboard the right rocket, you might even be the first person to set foot on another planet. And that could prove a short cut to your next career, as a celebrity, you know, a star who travelled among the stars, if you play your cards right.

Tempted then are you? Ok, so how does one become an Astronaut, I hear you ask. Well, there are one or two prerequisites.

First up you should at least have the ability to pilot a Jumbo jet (Concorde would be a bonus but is not essential), plus also be familiar with the flight modes of a couple of the latest model jet fighters.

It would also help to have the mental agility of Albert Eienstein, and the constitution of a championship triathlete. You should also be prepared to undergo intrusive medical tests daily, and look forward to “tumble runs”, where you are locked in a small pod, which then is spun around the room at amazing velocity!

You should also enjoy living in conditions akin to a sardine can, and in very close proximity to other people. If you like privacy, and stretching out on the sofa at the end of a long day (whenever days actually end in space - does anyone know?), this job may not be for you.

And if you thought airline food was bad, wait till you try the rocket ship variety. It’s not really food though, it’s a kind of liquid pulp, which you slip through straws out of plastic bags. Mind you, they say it tastes ok, and at least there are no dishes to wash afterwards.

And while pilots will tell you landing a plane is the trickiest part of their job, taking off is the least fun for an Astronaut. Unless you like the feeling of a dozen elephants standing on your chest as you accelerate to Earth escape velocity.

So is it for you? And just going back to the point about being an instant celebrity. Well no, not quite. While the rest us can look forward to 15 seconds of fame, an Astronaut is limited to just ten seconds. That’s the length of the final countdown sequence. After that, I’m sorry, but we’re all watching the rocket, not you!

If you want to be an accountant you go to university for three years. If you want to be a lawyer you go for six. There’s a lot to be said for these university type places isn’t there? Do a degree in your field of interest, and then get a job in your field of interest. Easy, right?

But not quite so if you want to be a… Rock Star. And that’s unfortunate because there’s a lot of people who would like the idea of becoming a Rock Star by doing a degree, in er, Rock Star-ery. If only it were that simple.

But no, it’s just a little harder than that. You need talent, ambition, persistence, charisma, and preferably an ability to work the media. Like Oasis used to. Bigger than the Beatles? Heck no, but did they stir up controversy (read: publicity) with those comments, or what?

As a Rock Star you also need a thick skin. And not just to stop bags developing under your eyes after partying for 21 days and nights non-stop (which is compulsory in this line of work, but the way). You need it so that when (your former friends) the media trash that “difficult second album”, you’ll take all it with a smile, and say “Well, third time lucky, then.”

Being a Rock Star isn’t just about zapping around the world, in a Learjet, playing sell out concerts in super-sized arenas. It’s about dealing with your fans ever declining expectations, as each album succeeding your brilliant “the next Beatles” like debut, slides further and further into mediocrity.

Being a Rock Star isn’t about penning Led Zeppelin “Stairway to Heaven” type classics with each and every album, it’s trying to work out there the creative spark went, and why you can’t write a single decent chorus, let alone song, anymore.

Nor is it about flying to tropical island paradises to record albums, or having queues of groupies waiting outside your hotel room, but rather never being able to walk along the street unrecognised, or being able to buy a coffee without getting mobbed. In fact, you can’t even enter the meat tray raffle at the local pub anymore, because if you win the press will say you rigged the contest!

So I ask, is it really for you? Being a Rock Star requires cool and attitude, something a university degree can neither teach, or impart.

Then again Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones considers the iconic band a business enterprise, not a creative collective. How’s that, then? The original bad boys of rock were in fact working to a business plan, not a desire to rebel.

Righto then, I’m cancelling the guitar lessons, and if I’m quick, I just may be able to grab one of the last places in this year’s accounting intake at the local university…

Acting has to be best job ever, right? I mean you get to work with all those stars, socialise with all those stars (and go to all those decadent parties to boot), and maybe even marry one or two (or five) of those stars. (Just not all at the same time though, please!)

At other times you travel the world, and visit exotic locations to “work”, and stay in five star hotels each night. Then there’s the times you walk the red carpet on premiere night, applauded by an adoring public. Doesn’t leave much time to work on that acceptance speech should when you win that Oscar!

Well all of that may be true, but first you’ve got to get into drama school. (And sometimes that in itself is harder than landing a role in a movie!) Then you have to complete the course and graduate. Then you have to compete for the attention of a casting agent. That is compete with all the other acting graduates, not just from your acting school, but all the other schools as well!

To say nothing of the competition from the experienced actors! And while we’re on the subject, how many out-of-work actors are there again? Why do so many actors refer to that something called their “lucky break”? Even the best known ones? I thought lucky breaks were for other people, not actors!

Sure acting is fun, challenging, and glamourous. Finding acting work however, may not be.

But then again, what’s so glamorous about all those late night shoots? And the early morning shoots? As in 3-am early, shots? How about having to lose 20 kilos for a role? How about having to gain 20 kilos for a role?

And how about all those fans? How about the extra persistent ones, who seem to somehow get hold of your mobile phone number, your address, and your private photo collection, and try and auction the whole lot off over the internet? Ah, the price of fame!

How about having the paparazzi camped on your doorstep, day and night, waiting for that candid, and often less than flattering photo “op”?

So, no, I’m not saying discount acting as a career, (seriously!) if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be, but honestly winning millions in lotto just might be easier!

Of course a Hollywood talent scout may be working undercover at your workplace and has already informed his superiors of your hilarious antics at the water cooler.

Excuse me, have to go, I think that is the phone call I’ve been “waiting for”…