You're hired, right out of medical school as an audiologist for one of your state's smallest school districts. Your days consist of getting up early, gathering your tools (the loans of which you're still paying off), and making sure you hit all 10 of the schools and 6,500 students you need to test before the semester is over.
You've moved up—if even just a bit. You did a good job with the school district, and used the superintendent as a reference as you applied—and got—a job as the only audiologist at a long-term care facility. Your work is rewarding and all the elderly residents think you’re quite adorable and have crushes on you.
You must leave your crush-ridden old folks' home when you end up with a good job at a private clinic as one of three audiologists (each of you with your own specialty—implants, balance disorders, impaired hearing-caused learning disorders—where there's no shortage of patients that you see.)
You've set up your own practice and several of the patients you had at the audiology clinic have shown great loyalty and followed you. You're able to pay the rent of your office, have an office manager and an assistant. You're getting a good many references from general practitioners and speech pathologists and you're paying off your medical school loans at a nice clip.
You have your own practice and you're one of most renowned experts in your field. You're at the top of your game (and your salary suggests that as well). People come to you from all over the world and you're asked to speak at audiology conventions as the keynote speaker every year (all expenses paid, of course).