Jobs

There was a rooftop party in Tribeca last night. It was so hot that the Chinese fans they handed out as favors barely did anything. Everyone there was involved in one startup or another. I had no idea so many startups even existed because, as a commoner, I haven't heard of any of them. These days, I feel like all my friends work for startups. It's like the dot-com gold rush all over again. As night fell and the Christmas lights were turned on and the first keg ran out, people got more talkative over the chip bowl (or maybe just I did). I felt pretty lame telling people I was a "communications director." Nope, no sexy, endlessly cool startup--just a stable, well-paid, behind-the-scenes wordsmith.

Certainly, nobody in my family understands what I do. There isn't even a Farsi word for it. All they care about is the amount of the paycheck, which my Persian mom and dad are happy about. They don't understand how people could want anything more. Relatives kind of nod their head and smile when I tell them what I do because they have no clue what it means. It's a well-known fact that Persian parents always want their sons and daughters to be doctors, engineers or successful entrepreneurs. It's always doctor doctor doctor. The latest thing is the dentist craze. Kids who don't want to go through the whole medical school thing go to dental school instead because it's shorter and you still get "Dr." in front of your name. I know way too many Persian dentists. And it's gross! Seriously? You are going to dedicate to spending half your life inhaling other people's bad breath just so you can tell people you're a "doctor"? I don't even think you make that much money with all the insurance and equipment you have to buy, not to mention the glut of competition. It seems like a big sacrifice to make. But anything for a Persian mom and dad...

Me? I guess I don't care much, as long as I'm invited to the parties. That is the one Persian thing about me.