If my quick skim of the 200 Best Jobs in America is right, English professor doesn’t even rate. That seems about right. I often contemplate a career move into taxi-driving or roustabouting. Just think–I’d never lack for small talk again:

“And what do you do, sir?”
“Sir, I am a rrrrrrrroustabout!”
“(Gasp!) Darling, please take our daughters for a turn in the courtyard. They look as if they need air. (Turning back to the interloper)–You, sir, should have known better than to mention the thing. And in my own domicile! In front of the ladies! You shall have to leave, sir–immediately!”

BUT, if I classify myself as a “literary historian,” my fortunes improve dramatically. Suddenly I’ve got the seventh best job in America. I am a lucky man, except where small talk is concerned.

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