“You a lawyer, Frank?” “Me? A lawyer? No. Why?” “Hoping you might be, is all. I could use a lawyer. Whaddya do, then? Advertising man, or what?” “No. I work

“You a lawyer, Frank?” “Me? A lawyer? No. Why?” “Hoping you might be, is all. I could use a lawyer. Whaddya do, then? Advertising man, or what?” “No. I work for Knox Business Machines.” “Whaddya do there? You design the machines, or make them, or sell them, or repair them, or what?” “Sort of help sell them, I guess. I don’t really have much to do with the machines themselves; I work in the office. Actually it’s sort of a stupid job. I mean there’s nothing — you know, interesting about it, or anything.” “Interesting?” John Givings seemed offended by the word. “You worry about whether a job is ‘interesting’ or not? I thought only women did that. Women and boys. Didn’t have you figured that way.” “Oh, look, the sun’s coming out!” Mrs. Givings cried. She jumped up, went to the picture window and peered through it, her back very rigid. “Maybe we’ll see a rainbow. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” The skin at the back of Frank’s neck was prickling with annoyance. “All I meant,” he explained, “is that I don’t like the job and never have.” “Whaddya do it for, then. Oh, okay okay –” John Givings ducked his head and weakly raised one hand as if in a hopeless attempt to ward off the bludgeon of public chastisement. “Okay; I know; it’s none of my business. This is what old Helen calls Being Tactless, Dear. That’s my trouble, you see; always has been. Forget I said it. You want to play house, you got to have a job. You want to play very nice house, very sweet house, then you got to have a job you don’t like. Great. This is the way ninety-eight-point-nine per cent of the people work things out, so believe me buddy you’ve got nothing to apologize for. Anybody comes along and says ‘Whaddya do it for?’ you can be pretty sure he’s on a four-hour pass from the State funny-farm; all agreed. Are we all agreed there, Helen?” - Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road