Parties. You walk in, you navigate the sea of unfamiliar faces, and then it starts. The interrogation. ‘So, what do you do?’ What do I do? I breathe, I eat, I sleep, I try to figure out what’s the deal with airplane peanuts! They want to know my *job*. As if that’s the most interesting thing about me! And then they follow up with, ‘Oh, that’s… interesting.’ It’s not interesting! It’s a job! It’s what I do to pay for my apartment! And then you’re stuck, trying to escape this conversational cul-de-sac. You nod, you smile, you make eye contact with the exit. It’s like a social minefield. Can’t we just talk about something normal? Like, why do they make shampoo bottles that are impossible to open with wet hands?
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