"We learn about salamanders so you don't have to." That's not the official slogan of the National Association of Rad Herpetologists, but it could be (had we not just made that organization up). Herpetologists are like all other biologists when it comes to their primary function: Learn about living stuff, and then tell other people about it. When it comes to herpetology, that "stuff" just so happens to be reptiles and amphibians.

"Hey honey, sorry to bother you again, but we just found this little guy in the backyard. Do you think it's dangerous, or..." (Source)

Perhaps best described as biology wizards who pulled Slytherin from the Sorting Hat, herpetologists use their knowledge of animals to practice medicine and ecology, steward zoos and museums, and put Mom at ease when she sends frantic texts of "poisonously colored" snakes while she's gardening.

For you, understanding newts and toads may be its own reward (don't worry, we're not judging), but it's of vital importance to the rest of us, too. A city filled with practicing herpetologists can ward off the collapse of an important ecosystem or stop a species from becoming endangered...including our own. The study of amphibians and reptiles has proven time and time again that it can help humans to better understand disease and find the tools to cure it. It's an important job, and you'll probably make around $50,000 dollars a year doing it (source).

Funny thing about herpetology, though: As important as it is, there are no herpetologists.

Boom.

That was the sound of your mind exploding, wasn't it? Don't worry, we'll give you a minute to glue those brain bits back together before we explain.

Without herpetologists, how would we know that kissing frogs doesn't magically produce monarchical heirs looking to get hitched? Like, how would we really know? (Source)

You see, all herpetologists are actually something else: a biologist, a zoologist, a chemist, an ecologist...there are a hundred different job titles that a herpetologist could have other than "herpetologist." And it only gets more complicated from there.

You can't major in herpetology, and you can't have a masters in it. So what can you do? Focus in it. Yes, just like wee fairies who sprout translucent green wings every time a child believes in them, a herpetologist becomes a herpetologist every time a wannabe herpetologist decides to be an actual herpetologist by writing a thesis about fire-bellied toads...or teaching someone how to properly handle a snake.

Still confused? Simply put: Herpetology is what you know, and your job title is what you do with it.

It may seem a bit wishy-washy, but don't worry. Your path into working as a fulltime herpetologist is about as straightforward as an alligator's thoracic vertebral column every time an unsuspecting raccoon chooses the wrong pond to wash its apple in. No matter what career path you choose, all roads to toads involve education...and a lot of it. Remember, you're becoming an actual expert in something, so you'll need lots of degrees and book-time in order to get there.

Now, that may sound like a drag, but having a step-by-step map to your ultimate career goal is actually a major plus. If you're a herpetologist, people tend to judge you by your time in the field since that typically means you know even more stuff. Maybe even stuff you didn't learn in school because when you were there, that stuff hadn't been discovered yet. Why not? Because you're the one who just discovered it...you lizard master, you.

Once you've got that hard-earned PhD in hand, you can finally be the one who runs to the center of the crowd after someone collapses and another yells, "Is anyone here a doctor?!" Just be delicate in how you go about explaining to everyone that your doctorate expertise is actually in gleaning information from contaminated snake blood instead of CPR. 

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