Labeling People, a Little Thing I Hate

There’s this little problem of how we value a being.

Something I hate, when you meet someone and they ask, “So what do you do?”

What do I do when?

What do I do when the children quarrel? What do I do when the smoke alarm goes off? What do I do when I’m alone in the woods?

I know they are asking, “What is your primary economic arrangement?” But they don’t ask that. Or, maybe they are asking something more general, “Where are you kept during the daytime?” But then what? Am I being asked about my roles? Which one: graphic designer, mother, aunt, sister, neighbor, friend, ex-wife, student, volunteer, etc. And sometimes, there are these rare individuals who want to know what church I go to before they ask me what I do. I’ve learned to avoid them and give them a dollar.

What would be even more enlightening is asking me where I am kept at night, and what I do then. But no, people ask, “So what do you do?” And I just smile and say I do whatever I enjoy at the moment and watch them wrestle with that.

As for me, I could care a less what occupation anyone holds or where they’re going to school. What I do care about is what makes them enthusiastic about life. I care about what makes them laugh and what makes them cry, I care to know if they like tomatoes and onions and what music they listen too. I can tell on my own how long it’s been since they’ve picked up a book.

Most of all, I care about what they do when no one is looking.