NURSE? Office worker? Mobile hairdresser? It’s easy for you to find love at work. But there are vocations that refuse to accommodate a meet-cute:
It’s hard to charm a lady at 5am when you’ve woken them up shouting about the location of their wheelie bin, and nobody’s at their best when bespackled with rotting chicken and wet cardboard. Perhaps you and a co-worker will lock eyes one morning over a tub of clinking wine bottles?
Long nights driving long-haul are lonely, but eligible singles don’t hang out at motorway services waiting for Cupid’s arrow to strike. Not even fancy ones with an M&S Food. The chances are also against hooking up with gorgeous ladies at the Eddie Stobart Seasonal Ball. You’ll have to order one online.
It’s an honorable profession and we’ll all need one someday. Yet, unfairly, the living tend to avoid those who spend their days working with the dead, and it’s considered bad form to give the grieving a call and tell them they looked amazing in that little black number at the funeral.
Taking this job is admitting that Tinder’s not really working for you. If you’re suited to it then you’re probably not the type to pull even if you spent every waking moment in bars. You have self-consciously limited your romance options to angry seabirds, though there’s always mermaids.
Feminism has yet to see women rush in to lucrative jobs in nickel mining. Fantasies about your hands brushing while operating a boring machine 2.42km below the surface, and passion sparking over the ore-crusher, will remain just that.
The stereotypical astronaut has an anxious wife in an apron watching the rocket launch from home, but if you’ve got no-one? Are you secretly hoping all those Star Trek episodes were true, and your capsule will soon be boarded by green-skinned alien woman in silver bikinis? Or something more exotic made of sentient boiling silicate?