We’ve all got these canned conversation pieces that can be pulled off the shelf each time we’re getting to know a new person. They’re one-liners that are useful because they not only provide a brief character sketch of who we are, but they also help to furnish an atmosphere of reference points between you and this new person. 

But even with this cocktail hour utility, I find the task of answering the question, “What do you do?” to be a rather unfair one. I say this because while we know that the questioner seeks a response that is delivered in under five seconds, such word economy can never do justice to you as a complete person. Further, I have found that it is only after your initial answer is judged to be sufficiently interesting that you can then elaborate and lead the person down the additional and detailed rabbit holes of your life.

I do not enjoy fielding this preliminary question because it can be hard to whittle oneself down to one or maybe two qualities. And even though it can be hard to choose, it’s a task that we must do every day.  For people like me, it’s far easier to simply say, “I’m in the Navy” and be done with it—even though I know that “naval officer” isn’t exactly the top description I’d pick when attempting to define myself. I’m in the Navy, but come the weekend I’m ready to paint my nails a non-regulation color and go learn about the finer details of woodcut artwork. But offering such an answer is also an easy way out—especially for introverts who aren’t keen on talking about themselves and would rather spend time listening to the other person. Because other people are truly interesting if you can get past the first five minutes.

But in this modern-day quest for simplification, I feel even more disdain when forced to sum up a person I know who doesn’t fit neatly into a pre-existing and comprehensive mold. Take my siblings for example. The oldest one is pretty easy to describe: “Sister X is a firefighter paramedic,” I say this with confidence, even though I know that there are far more interesting and entertaining things that I could say about her. But my youngest sibling, he has always been harder to capture when I am striving to depict him appropriately. Invariably, I’ll rattle off five different things he does in an attempt to capture his unconventionally (and admittedly admirable) modus operandi. He’s a carpenter, a goalie, a photographer, a mechanic, a pool guy and there’s even some Air National Guard stuff sprinkled in for good measure. If you want to buy some of his stuff just click here and you’ll start to get an idea. 

And these components of my brother, while they are all true, I still don’t feel comfortable in laying them out as a sort of laundry list. It’s almost because by mentioning them all at the same time, I’m effectively diluting the power of each one. The lack of an absolute majority almost serves to zero everything out in the head of the other person—likely a person who has just provided me with an easy-to-digest description of who they are. 

My brother John is like the world’s best junk drawer—even though I know that the characterization is unjust. Not so much unjust for him but rather for the drawer itself. Why do you put things in a junk drawer? In my experience, you do it because each item performs a unique and precise function that is unusual but still holds practical meaning and thus critical everyday value. For some reason or another, you don’t have a dedicated place in the house for this array of unrelated items, but you would also like to have them all at the ready. And preferably in a reliable place. It’s not a junk drawer at all—but we still call it a junk drawer because these are the kind of things that will never be snuffed out by the KonMari method. Glorious junk.

But even as I focus on my brother’s multi-usefulness, I believe that there is actually mass application to his mode of living. John is easy to pick on because he masters so many diverse disciplines with ridiculous ease. He has also been picked on by four older sisters for all of his life so I know he can take it. But returning back to the question of “What do you do?”, I think that most of us prefer to vest our brain power into one or two labors that not only help to focus us but also help to better explain to others who we think we are. But at the same time, we all own some version of a junk drawer, and each one tells a bit of our story.

In compiling this simplistic pre-coffee theory, today I went to have another look at my own junk drawer. Since I live in a small London flat that fits little more than my human hamster wheel, the drawer is actually pretty tiny. Inside I routinely mash a collection of extra ink cartridges, my Garmin watch and charging cord, my Road ID, and some other stuff that you wouldn’t be interested in stealing. 

Whether it be a smart idea or not, I also asked my siblings back home to share what they’ve got rolling around in their kitchen drawers.  Their answers came back with things that were largely mundane. But at the same time they also bore the hallmarks of being a Hallinan: X-Acto knives, UFO Ball instructions, surgical scissors, big ass screws, elastics and hockey pucks. And while the contents included plenty of stuff that looked familiar to me, at the same time, each drawer was different. In their own way, each one provides a window into that particular household. 

Some people might think it’s too invasive, but I kind of wonder if we should dispense with the whole “What do you do?” question. Perhaps instead we could start conversations with, “What do you keep in your junk drawer?” — because I think it might be more fun. And selfishly, I think it could make these sorts of conversations feel a little less painful.

With this kind of question, you are now presenting a person with a potpourri of acceptable options as a response. And with each answer, you can choose to mention something mundane, like the dozen D cell batteries or— if you are feeling extra froggy—you might mention the hockey pucks. Either way, you never have to feel as though you are painting yourself into a corner, or worse, labeling your forehead in Sharpie with an identity that doesn’t feel completely you. One thing’s for sure, when I think about my own junk drawer and contrast it with what I normally tell people about myself, I’m pretty sure that the messy jumble does a far better job of explaining what I do.