Ever wondered what your life would be like today if you had become what you wanted to be when you grew up? Three writers spent a day living their childhood career dreams.
Zoo Keeper
Trading magazines for mammals, Harriet Sim channels her inner Irwin child in a quest for purpose
It’s 10am on a Monday and I’m already ankle-deep in shit. No, this isn’t office speak for unmet deadlines or a crisis-worthy error, but real animal faeces.
Today, I’ve decided to swap out my comfy corner desk and the luxury of working at a glossy fashion magazine in order to chase a childhood dream of being a zookeeper at Sydney’s Taronga Zoo.
As a pre-teen, I often fantasised about dedicating my career to caring for a Noah’s Ark of doting creatures. I envisioned sauntering past the leafy enclosures and beaming happily at zoo-goers as a fuzzy koala nestles into my cargo-clad shoulder, like the Irwin kids at Australia Zoo.
As I entered my teens, I discovered the pages of my favourite magazines were filled with just as much escapism and wonder as I’d been craving. Plus, I was never overly fond of reptiles (the faux-snake skin boots on the runway were far more appealing). So I pursued journalism instead.
People often describe their jobs as having “no two days the same”, and while at times this is true in magazine land – with its last-minute interviews and photoshoots – for the most part I can tell you exactly where I’ll be each day: at my desk, sipping a lukewarm tea from the communal kitchen.
But on this day, after spending the morning shovelling warm excrement in the bongo enclosure and pinching my nose through the pungent refrigerator where the penguin food is stored, that the average cup of Twinings has never been more appealing. It’s at this point, as I try to extract the mud from my boots and wonder if I’ll ever get the fishy tang off my vintage Saint Laurent waistcoat, that I’m just about ready to call it quits on my childhood ambitions.
Then, something magical happens. The zookeepers are ushered into the next enclosure, where thick iron gates glide back to reveal one of the largest living land mammals: a stoic Asian elephant. Standing at almost three metres tall, the towering creature bows its head and catches my eye. I turn to my fellow junior zookeeper and spot a single tear fall down her face.
There’s been moments in my career when I’ve been lost for words (regular writer’s block doesn’t count) – watching ethereal garments flitter down the runway at fashion week; interviewing French film stars in an opulent hotel in Paris – but no other experience has come so close to being spiritual.
I cast my eyes over the elephant’s tough skin, with folds that make it look centuries old. As we give these formidable giants their bath, I’m told the matriarchs of the all-female herds share stories and knowledge with the younger generations.
Perhaps it’s the fresh air talking (or a lack of human interaction) but spending the day among oversized mammals, big cats and aquatic critters has given me a new sense of purpose. While I might not be ready to trade fashion for fauna, I leave Taronga Zoo with a clearer understanding of my role on this planet.
Though there are times when my job can feel materialistic compared with others, I am fortunate enough to play a part in sharing and immortalising stories that need to be heard. And similar to the matriarchal elephants, I carry that responsibility with me every day.
Florist
Samantha Stewart loves roses just as much as the next girl. Early mornings, not so much.
Is everything OK?” my best friend answers my call at 5am with sheer terror in her voice. Her cause for concern is that – while she’s an early riser – I am not a morning person. I struggle to understand those who thrive before 9am.
Yet here I am, calling her before the sun is up, wearing pyjamas and Birkenstocks under a floor-length coat, about to drive across Sydney for reasons I am coming to regret. I explain to her that I am fine, technically, if you don’t count my growing remorse and the fact there are no coffee shops open. I’m doing a challenge for work, I say, that requires me to spend the day living out my childhood dream of being a florist. The reason I’m up so early is to go to the Sydney Flower Market with the rest of the industry. Her response is roaring laughter and a sarcastic, “Good luck!”
When I was a little girl, I had many career aspirations – often inspired by the latest Barbie I’d received. When I was six, Flower Shop Barbie entered my world. She came wearing a pastel pink top, floral skirt and green apron, and was holding a watering can and a basket of flowers. She seemed happy, fresh of face, working with flowers and running a successful business.
I loved that for her. Except, when I played with her, a 4am wakeup call wasn’t part of the storyline.
Aside from the rude time of day, when I arrive at the market, I still naively believe this assignment will be a literal bed of roses. But as soon as I walk in, like a pin (or perhaps a rose thorn) to a balloon, my imagined experience of the market – where I’d be surrounded by baskets of flowers and chirping birds – quickly bursts. Instead, there are tightly packed crowds yelling, haggling and shuffling along damp floors through aisles of flowers in buckets. It’s muddy, it’s chaotic, and Birkenstocks were a bad choice. I get what I need and make a break for it.
Finally, I arrive at my office for the day: Haven and Sarah florist in Avalon on Sydney’s Northern Beaches. The sun is shining, the cafes are open, and things are looking up for my day as Flower Shop Barbie.
Walking in, I’m greeted by a divine scent from the mountain of roses, hydrangeas, lilies and peonies in the centre of the charming store. I want to bottle it and wear it every day. It’s exactly what I’d been imagining.
Ready to be put to work, I tie on my apron as head florist and owner Sarah Cowley teaches me the art of “petal flipping”. I learn two important things here: first, roses don’t grow with each petal fanned out; second, flipping them must be done as quickly as possible. With my long nails, it takes me longer than the required 20 seconds per rose.
Once I’ve somewhat mastered that, she schools me in constructing the perfect rose bouquet. I enjoy this thoroughly: it’s relaxing and it’s a skill I’ll be taking home with me. Except, when you’re a professional, you can’t really spend 30 minutes on one bouquet. I look around and notice the team have completed several in the time it takes me to create one. So, while I’m hardly coming up roses when it comes to a career switch to floristry, I can at least (slowly) craft a professional- looking bouquet for my home. And that feels like a skill worth having.
Actress
Starlet Francesca Hartley prepares for the role of a lifetime on the set of hit TV series Heartbreak High.
As an ostentatious child with a penchant for melodrama, I always felt I was destined for a life in the spotlight. In my childhood bedroom, beloved musicals Grease and Hairspray were on heavy rotation, and while other kids were dragging muddy soccer boots though the house, my well-worn Bloch jazz shoes were supporting my soles through pirouettes and pliés.
However, once I realised that the biggest crowds I was drawing were residents of my local nursing home and not the prestigious concert hall patrons I had envisioned, I turned my attention to acting.
With a dream of making it big still burning inside, I signed myself up to a casting agency and enrolled in a series of acting classes. Inevitably, after failing to land a single audition, I decided to park my silver screen ambitions alongside my leather dance slippers.
When I left school, I channelled my creativity into the beauty industry, where my itch for glamour, celebrities and luxury was finally scratched with a Chanel emery board. That was until the opportunity to step onto the set of Heartbreak High presented itself. Initially I was reluctant, having spent more than a decade squashing my acting ambitions. But I realised
I owed it to my nine-year-old self. And hey, what if I get scouted?
My first day on set starts at 7.30pm, where I’m greeted by a fluorescent orange traffic cone being forcefully hurled towards me across a dimly lit carpark. Fortunately, I’m able to dodge it. On the other end of the traffic cone is actor Thomas Weatherall, who plays the lovable Malakai. “Cut!” the director yells, and I realise this isn’t a targeted attack but part of a scene.
After it wraps, the silence is broken with a flurry of chatter, and I’m ushered towards a marquee. Inside, a group of producers, writers and directors’ assistants huddle together to play back the scene and listen carefully through oversized headphones. We watch Thomas throw that same traffic cone so many times that I feel as though I’m watching a gif.
In between takes, I overhear conversations between the crew and find that the banter is not too dissimilar to that of the marie claire office. “Macca’s on the way home?” asks one crew member.
I’m told a single scene usually takes two to three hours, and that the more elaborate scenes involving the whole cast can often take days. How tedious, I think to myself, reflecting on my fast-paced schedule back at the office, sampling products and writing beauty reviews.
I start chatting with Asher Yasbincek, who plays Harper. She tells me her call time this morning was 8am (it’s now 9pm) and we joke about work hours. For a moment I forget she’s an AACTA-nominated actor on one of Netflix’s most popular shows, not a colleague.
Towards the end of my day, I venture over to the touch-up station, where I chat with a group of makeup artists. We instantly connect as I gush over the Euphoria-esque beauty looks (Harper dons a killer turquoise eye shimmer) and I feel as though I am back in my element.
I head home just after 11pm, waving a pitiful goodbye to the cast and crew, who still have another two hours left of filming. In the back of my Uber I reflect on my five seconds of fame and decide that no awards or red carpets are worth the long hours and late nights. I feel a sense of closure in realising that my dreams of stardom never really did extinguish – instead I discovered that I can make my own shine. All it takes is a good highlighter.
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