The Question

Moving to a new place usually involves meeting a lot of new people. Meeting a lot of new people usually involves going through standard introductions. Standard introductions usually include the asking of many generic questions. One of those questions is almost always, "So what do you do?"

Right up there with "What do you want?" and "How are you?" this has become one of my least favorite questions ever; not only because I don't have a stock answer to give, but also because I find it so restricting, so definitive; as if the poser of said question feels they will attain all they need to know about me, will understand me and be able to place me into one of the little schematic constructs in their brain based on my job, school status or career choice.

I've toyed with the idea of creating a list of unconventional answers and randomly spitting them out when approached with the "What do you do?" question. So many people don't really pay attention to the answer and have no intention of engaging in a relationship with me after the initial introduction; I may as well add some interest to the day by responding with, "I'm a model at the KC Art Institute. I pose for nude paintings," or "I work on the line for a plant that manufactures nipples for baby bottles," or maybe something really out there like "I'm an industrial engineer, will soon be making six figures, and am actually using the degree that I earned in school." But I never follow through with this idea. I don't think quickly enough to do so, and even if I did I risk being asked follow up questions to which I can't create convincing responses.

Instead I usually answer, "I just finished a youth internship and am looking for a job," or "I'm a freelance writer," which is often enough. Rarely do I give the honest response that also satisfies the "What do you want?" question, which is "I don't really know." I don't really know what I do or who I am or what I want to do or have or be or become or get out of life. I also don't know how to find a job, manage my time, or budget a non-existent income. "I don't know" soon becomes "I don't want to tell you." I don't want to tell you what I do because I'm not all that satisfied with what I don and I don't think you really care anyway. I don't want to tell you what I don't do because I feel you'll judge me the way I judge me and then I'll feel deficient.  I don't want to tell you that I'm unemployed because I equate that with being irresponsible, and despite the fact that I don't know you, may not care to know you, and will probably never see you again, I still want to impress you because I am, at heart, insecure and desirous of your approval, not your pity.

In light of my own emotionally-charged answer to this question, I've taken to asking different questions. Questions like, "So what's your story?" or "What brought you here?" or "What do you do with your time?" Sometimes these questions and the responses they generate are just as conventional and annoying as "So, what do you do?" Sometimes the response doesn't change at all. But sometimes these questions cause me (and my unsuspecting conversation partners) to think about the answer and to acknowledge the part of humanness that is more about being than it is about doing. It's completely possible that I'm trying to skirt needing to explain myself and my situation to one more person, but I'd like to think my motives are a little more altruistic. Maybe that's "what I do" for the time being.