Because we both minored in sociology, Carrie and I have developed a foolproof, 100% accurate way to establish what type of job you have based on your wine preferences. If you happen to be in a different job than the one listed below your favorite wine, we suggest immediately changing jobs. Behold:
Ever since you went to that Burmese restaurant with your friend Paula, you've been describing yourself as a "foodie" on Facebook, and in conversations with the free-sample people at upscale supermarkets. You’re a part-time life coach, but full-time life lover.
You're not like "most people." You try to take the path "less traveled." In fact, you have that poem framed in your (half) bathroom. Also, you went wine tasting at a place that uses stainless steel barrels last week and just learned this term. You're a semi-retired celebrity dietitian.
You know you love it because you had it that one time while studying abroad in Lyon. Because of your taste in sweaters, people assume you don't speak French, and they're right. You work in the corporate office of a chain of for-profit cat shelters. Or as you think the French might call them, un refuge de chat.
You used to play professional tennis, mostly mixed doubles on clay, but now you're a tennis pro at a small club in Westchester. You married another tennis pro. Both of you have alarmingly tan forearms, and a tendency to tell people about tough break points you faced in national mixed doubles tournaments. You speak with a vaguely European accent even though you grew up in Missouri.
Your family owns an English horse-riding school. In New Jersey.
You're a third-grade public school teacher living that single life and loving it while all your colleagues get married and have babies around you. You bring your own bottle of white zin, which you drink with two cubes, to all their showers and Tinder in the corner. You love sunny days and puffy paint picture frames for friends. You keep telling yourself you're not bitter.
You're a full-time mom, but you don’t let that define you, so when the kids are at school you bring your laptop over to the Panera by the Buffalo Wild Wings with plans to work on your bildungsroman, but end up spending most of your time reading a fall 2012 Redbook someone left in the bathroom.
You're a full-time mom, and you’re kind of cool with letting that define you.
You're an apprentice hair stylist at one of those malls that hasn’t really turned "upscale" yet.
You have one of those stores that sells Christmas-related knickknacks, the kind of store that immediately causes people who walk by to instantly ask each other how you manage to stay in business. The answer is drugs.
You're an administrator at a very finely regarded boarding school in New England. I'm not at liberty to say which finely regarded school, but let’s just say it has educated many of the most powerful people this nation has ever produced. Including presidents. Like, presidents of the United States. OK, fine it’s Andover.
You have a good job at a mid-level bank, approving home mortgages. You read literary novels and once got a poem published in Ploughshares. You spend more time than you'd care to admit having to tell people about the upsides of putting wine in boxes.
You consider yourself to be more of a 60 Minutes woman, rather than reality TV, but you just can’t get enough of The Bachelor. You work in investor relations for a mid-sized financial firm and claim to hate wearing heels but secretly like the way they make your calves look.
You spent two years working as an English teacher in Spain, and now you pronounce Spanish words with that lisp that is somewhat off-putting to an American ear. When you don't drink Rioja, you spend a lot of time tasting other people's sangria at restaurants and deeming it "inauthentic" (sans lisp).
You work in public relations, but for educational software. Everyone at work says you do a good Anthony Hopkins impression, but you know in your heart of hearts it is only OK.
You're either a hipster (with a job guerrilla marketing vegan sausage) who recognized that the irrational hatred of merlot in the US after the movie Sideways makes it just the type of wine you can smugly drink ironically, or post-ironically, because it actually is pretty damn good. Or you're a conservative housewife in the Southwest with a husband who seems like he’s been reading Bill O’Reilly’s book Killing Lincoln before bed for the last six years.
You run a private networking site that helps rich white men in their 40s meet rich white men in their 50s. You know an embarrassing number of lines from Wolf of Wall Street by heart.
You have whatever job Steve Carell’s girlfriend in 40-Year-Old Virgin had.
You're a retired nurse who doesn't have occasion to drink much anymore these days, but will still enjoy a glass or two when the kids come home on those precious, rare holidays. Weddings though, are always an opportunity to overdo it.
You work in the corporate offices of a major department store, and think bringing a double bottle to your coworker's potluck absolves you of any cooking responsibility. You used to be into pinot grigio but now consider it too basic, even though you can't actually taste the difference. You only ever drink a glass of white, even in beer bars. Anything else makes you much too bloaty.
You're either a 20-something female social media coordinator who is comforted by the familiarity of seeing rosé on a menu, or a 20-something male CPA who's barely balding at the crown and relieved the wine's recent popularity has made it OK, even cool, in your mind for you to like pink drinks. Either way you HATE socks.
Ever since you got back from the year you spent in Argentina you've been really into big, bold reds and environmental advocacy. Though your commitment to the latter is only seen through Instagram regrams. You swirl your wine at group dinners the longest, and don't care much for wine pairings. You also might not have a job at all, but no one knows for sure.
You have to admit, you mostly only drink shiraz because it's what the Trader Joe's-brand boxed wine is, and you love all things Trader Joe's. You work at Whole Foods.
Your family is Sicilian. Or Tuscan, you're not quite sure. But farm people, definitely, which means you grew up drinking the blood of Jove... in Central Florida where your grandmother relocated the family to from Poughkeepsie in the early '80s. You're a financial analyst... for now.
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