Jobs for the boys: Career path conundrums
Sunday, 19 April 2026
Mike White is a senior writer and columnist.
OPINION: Leon had a natty hat, a trimmed moustache, and a wonderfully chatty personality.
As he drove the shuttle bus to the airport, he pointed out locations of intrigue and interest, while interspersing his commentary with thoughts on life.
Leon also drove the school bus, loved the kids, and took great interest in their futures.
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As they walked out of school, and stepped off his bus for the final time, Leon would ask them what their plans were, and they’d often mention they were heading to university.
And he’d ask if they’d thought about what job they might get at the end of it, and whether their course had a practical application, or was just an interesting irrelevancy, like “Tibetan dance theory”.
Then he mentioned how his daughter and her husband, who’d been schoolyard sweethearts, had declared when young that they’d be millionaires by their mid-30s, and retire.
Leon’s son-in-law became an electrician, and ended up working on oil rigs and in gold mines, with his company now contracting to big firms; while his daughter was an entrepreneur.
And sure enough, by the time they were 35, they were millionaires, owning a house on Waiheke, another at Taupō, and a third in Tauranga.
Meanwhile, their schoolmates were still paying off student loans for esoteric university courses that had little real-life relevance.
The moral of the story was, Leon said, choose something with a job at the end: think practical, not fanciful.
At the other end of my flight, Sukhjit picked me up in an Uber, and I admired the back of his sharp haircut as we drove into town.
He was taxi driving for a few hours before going to work at a bar in the city centre.
It was a good bar, he reckoned, better than the ones he worked at in Levin for six years where you were never sure if you’d be punched or stabbed.
Here, the biggest problems were kids who’d been pre-loading before hitting town at 11pm, and everything went pear-shaped from there.
Sukhjit understood how this all worked, and was patient and polite with them, but in reality was done dealing with tanked up teens: he was giving hospo the heave ho.
So, this year he’d enrolled in a course to become an electrician, and was loving it.
He reckoned by the end of the year, he’d know pretty much all of the theory of being an electrician, and just needed to find an apprenticeship to put it into practice.
Once that was done, there were so many electrician jobs, Sukhjit said, he’d be spoilt for choice.
Leon would have wholeheartedly approved Sukhjit’s sensible career move.
The next morning, Jack picked me up in his modest and slightly scraped Uber.
He’d gone to culinary school in Indonesia, then worked as a chef in England, then Dubai, and then the Cook Islands.
But his wife didn’t like island time on Aitutaki, and pined for the city’s beat once more.
So Jack packed up and went to Australia, and then New Zealand.
He’d been here for 16 years, and loved it so much.
“I call it home, now.”
He worked as a chef, but last year was made redundant when the restaurant shut its doors.
“Best thing that could have happened,” Jack said, as we drove back to the airport.
Last Christmas was the best he’d ever had - no big functions to cater for, no split shifts, no unsociable hours. “Too old for that,” Jack said.
Jack was 46.
But he wasn’t too old for a complete career change.
So, while he drove taxis to make ends meet in the interim, Jack had applied to join the police.
Why?
Well, because ever since he was a kid growing up in Jakarta, he’d wanted to be a policeman.
And also, “because I want to give something back to this country. To serve it”.
He’d already got through two interviews, with a final one scheduled shortly.
Then he had to pass the required physical test, so he was hitting the gym twice a week.
“I have to get rid of this,” Jack said, pointing at his paunch, bulging a little over the top of his seat belt.
He knew that being a cop was one of the toughest jobs around. Cops were asked to be saints and seers in the most high pressure situations, mediating emotional extremes, and dealing calmly with horrors.
But Jack remained excited about becoming a cop.
He had life experience, he had desire, he had commitment, he had a history of hard work.
“Be a good cop, Jack,” I said as I pulled my bag from the boot of his car at the airport. “I’m pretty sure you will be.”
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