My Favorite Question

"So. What do you do?" A standard, boilerplate question, tried and true, used to abate the awkwardness of social mingling. For most of my life this question presented no challenge. I met it with ease, replying in kind with a standard blurb about my life of academic slavery, eliciting bored but polite nods from my cocktail clutching interrogator. Lately, however, I find myself struggling with this question.

What is it that I do, exactly?

I graduated from law school over a year ago. Since, I've spent much of my time fondling diamonds and South Sea pearls in an office on the ostentatious Rodeo Drive. At one point I tried my hand at being an attorney, but soon realized court appearances were not my forte. After a few weeks as an attorney, I found myself spending my Friday nights bawling over gin and tonics in the arms of the bus boy at the Roosevelt. Soon I realized this was the manifestation of my misery, the 8 to 8 job that had consumed my very soul and left me waking up at night drenched in sweat. I lasted 6 weeks.

I'm normally not a quitter. No, really. But I do believe in loving, or at least liking what you do in life. So I quit like Jerry Maguire. It was rather terrifying but also exhilarating to for once in my life just walk away from something. Perhaps considering the current economy, my act might be considered foolish by some...or many. But I've been living in a state of bliss ever since."So. What do you do?" Do I proceed to answer this question by launching into the saga of my brief stint as bankruptcy litigator slash jeweler?

The economy tanked in perfect synchronization with my admission to the bar, at long last the seemingly untouchable profession, that of the lawyer, came crashing down and broke its crown. The future doesn't look bright, as every six months a new swarm of newly minted esquires jostle for rank amongst those already waiting for that entry level job to launch their careers.

Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

I love working at the jewelry company. An office of one man and an ever evolving staff of women (11 at last count), every moment spent there is packed with popcorn-worthy entertainment with a fascinating cast of characters all of whom I've fallen in love with over the past 18 months. Plus did I mention the diamonds? If it paid enough to fight the monster of Sallie Mae, I’d stay forever.

On the legal front I sometimes Clark Kent as a temporary attorney. Document review, who knew? Document review attorneys are generally regarded as the untouchables within the legal community. But I love love love love love it. I pay the bills by reading salacious materials subpoenaed from the black heart of your hard drive. When things get dull I blog, do a crossword, participate in the occasional Disney sing-a-long. It's a unique culture, created when you herd a large group of bored attorneys into a confined area with a highly repetitive task to perform. Such a scenario tends to bring out the immaturity in everyone. Gossip is a welcome and fascinating respite. The stereotypical bad rat is not just a stereotype; he does exist and will circulate the rooms, attempting to sabotage his more trusting co-peons in a hapless bid to impress somebody. After a while, there is the inevitable drama resulting from the variable preferences in sunlight, volume, food and inappropriate subjects of discussion. Bondage, drugs, politics, religion, UFOs, animal nights, anything that might create a hostile work environment is fair game after only a few days of boredom. It is, in a word, amazing. Maybe I'm crazy, but I really do enjoy it. Stress free and characters welcome. It also gives me the luxury to figure out what I REALLY want to be when I grow up. Yes, my current status as temp attorney brands me as the black sheep of a rather pretentious profession. But that's surprisingly ok.

"So. What do you do?" I really have no better notion of how to answer this than does a fluffer presented with the same. I could lie just to get it over with. "Mortician" should do the trick. On only one occasion did my answer of “lawyer” result in a man abruptly darting away with his canapé. More often, “lawyer” breeds more questions with uncomfortable answers, and there is something about the truth that doesn’t quite mix with dirty martinis between strangers.