Me: Good, you?
Man: What's with this weather?
Me: I don't know! I'm from California, I don't understand the cold...
I was at a bar having your standard string of small talk. At the time, I recently moved to New York and was in my "I'll talk to anyone because I just moved here" state of mind. The guy seemed friendly enough - in a button down stripey shirt, sleeves rolled up, black slacks, so-so black shoes, silver fossil watch (all of you have met this guy, I know).
Man: So what do you do?
Me: I'm in school. FIT studying jewelry design.
Man is silent.
Me: No, I'm not 18. (I knew what he was thinking) I changed careers, I was once in corporate finance and now I'm studying jewelry.
Man: Ohhh, you're doing the starving artist thing...
What is that suppose to mean? Why, because I didn't own a 70" flat screen TV, am still wearing clothes I bought in 2003, and don't have the latest gizmo-gadget-iphone-stormberry - this makes me "starving"? He's at a bar, on a weekday, coming from work in his robot work clothes - I'd say his happiness is the one starving.
But I shouldn't be so hard on him because I was once him (well, not exactly him, I'd never wear that outfit, and I never judged other people's lives). I thought because I was climbing to the top, because I was doing something I'd been trained to do, that I thought I'd been wanting to do my whole life made me "successful". Because even though I use to work endless hours, I justified it by having enough miles to go on exotic vacations, eat Nobu like they're my personal chef (I didn't really do this), and live the life my parents always wanted me to have...
Douchebag: So why change from finance?
Me: Because I didn't love it.
~The END~
I'd love to hear your take on this - please comment!
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