Artists Among Us

I remember once, a long time ago, my youngest uncle (still in college or maybe even high school at the time) speculated that his perfect job would be to work as a hired observer. What you would do is follow one of these high-powered, too-busy-to-notice-life executive types around throughout their day, and at the end of the day report to them the little things they didn't notice: the sparrow building a nest in the big letter "A" of a merchandise store; or the little child walking down the street holding its mother's hand, a three-scoop ice cream cone leaning precariously toward disaster; or the missing button on a secretary's jacket; or the reflection of a crowd in the window of an idling taxi.

This occupation does exist, but it doesn't pay well.