Why I’m touchy about being asked what I do for a living

In former times I had acquaintances of long standing, or even friends, who never once asked what I did for a job and neither did I ask them. In the new equitable era I seem to be always introduced to people who badly want to know before proceeding.

Here’s how it goes. We are introduced. We exchange platitudes. I am difficult to place on the social scale, it’s true. The accent, for one thing. The question is shamelessly put just after the off: ‘So what do you do?’

(I complained about it to my American friend Vernon. That’s nothing, he said. In the United States they ask you how much money you make before they let go of your hand.)

I used to tell these social scientists who asked straight away: ‘Fudge packer. And you?’ These days I take a ghoulish pleasure in revealing the truth. ‘Do you mean, what do I do for a job?’ ‘Yes, for a job.’