Sticks and Stones - The Christmas Party Insult Edition

A couple of weeks ago I was at a party where our host--the genial father of a college friend--was interrogating me and a party-crasher from London about our professions.

First came the Londoner: I work in banking and spend most of my time in Russia making deals with the oil-igarchs.

This elicited approving head bobs and murmurs of 'new markets.'

Next it was my turn: I am an architect here in New York.

More head bobbing, but with this evaluation: Now there is a profession where you really have to work for your money. Hard work and plenty of it for little pay. Now, it always seems to me that the ones who are well paid are the interior decorators. They do pretty well for themselves.

I was chagrined at this little observation from our aging host. Granted, the smell of private equity in the morning tends to put me off my coffee, but I don't like having my unprofitability rubbed in my face. I managed to stammer out something about striving for permanence: I like to do work that can't be erased by something as feeble as a spackling knife.

I don't know if that really got the point across, but it didn't really matter. I was deflated. I left for home soon afterward. To add insult to injury, the coat check girl gave my scarf to someone else.