IF you're an adult human there's a good chance you were also once a child human, which means there's an extra good chance that you were asked what you wanted to be when you grew up.
It would have happened about 500 times daily for most of your fledgling existence, and shot up dramatically to around 7000 times on occasions such as birthdays, Christmases, miscellaneous life milestones or whenever you were in a 15-metre radius of an old person.
You would say you wanted to be a builder or a ballerina or an astronaut and your parents would nod proudly knowing the chances of you actually delivering on your 4-year-old whimsy were about as high as the likelihood of you sprouting wings and turning into a fruit bat.
The problem is that once those free-thinking, joyful juveniles morph into malleable, glamour-seeking teenagers the childish dreams melt like a Mallowpuff in a glovebox. You see, teenagers these days are taught not only that academic employment is the only meaningful way to earn a crust, it's also where the money is.
Aside from Bob the Builder, who is a shining example of the modern day craftsman, the only time we see electricians, builders or plumbers on TV and in films is when they are having sex with a stay-at-home "mom" with a propensity for see-through nighties and gin for breakfast.
This is arguably a hugely beneficial stereotype for tradies to leverage off, but it's undeniable it's not them who hold the power, or the money, in the fictional world. That position belongs to hot-shot lawyers, hot-shot doctors or hot-shot heirs to the Iron Throne.
And don't even get me started on female tradies, because if you asked a Hollywood producer what a female construction worker was they would a) laugh, b) stare blankly or c) ask if female construction workers typically have large breasts. The whole misguided mess is aggravated even more in schools where the Dux is the flickering light of hope in every teacher's eye and scholarly pursuits are second only to being to captain of the 1st XV which as we all know is a sacred and holy rite bestowed only on those who are actually Greek demigods disguised as pimply teenagers in knee-high socks and polar fleece.
Never mind if they can string a sentence together or not, because if rugby takes them far enough the only cranial demands required of them will be to pronounce "110 per cent", "yeah nah" and "full credit to the boys".
So it's either facts or the field, but what if you're not good at either? It's this sort of attitude that leads starry-eyed teenagers who aren't good at rugby through the university gates in their scores. If they're lucky they leave with a relevant degree perfectly suited to an enjoyable in-demand job which showers them with so much cash their first pay cheque makes their eyes bleed.
If they're not so lucky they end up with a $50,000 student loan, a joint degree in auctioneering and poultry science and a substantial amount of bourbon-induced memory loss. There are far too many of these people and quite frankly not enough poultry auctions to go around.
My partner is an apprentice in a trade and earns nearly twice as much as me. I don't mind this because I love my job but what about the people who don't? Those who became calculus majors instead of hairdressers because it would make mum or dad proud, the aspiring sparkies who studied geography instead because there was no support for them at school? Those are probably the student loan defaulters who fled overseas in search of enlightenment and who the Government is now trying to haul back.
If you're in your last few months of high school, having a mid-life crisis or just can't figure out what you want to do with your life, consider this:
An art history major might be able to tell you whether the soggy patch from the bathroom leak looks more like Lady Godiva or The Scream but they won't be able to do jack about the 7 metric tonnes of excrement spouting from the drainage. They probably won't be able to pay for it either.
Kristin Hall is born and bred in Rotorua and is a former Rotorua Daily Post columnist. She is now a reporter for TVNZ.