A while back, I was moving into an apartment in Jersey City. The landlord noticed the copious amounts of books I had and asked, in broken English, if I was "a professor."
This amused me, of course. I was working in book publishing at the time and had developed an animosity towards those who didn't read. My logic was that, if more people read, my job wouldn't pay so blessedly little.
"Imagine being so disconnected from books," I said to my friends, "that one assumes that anyone who has them must be some sort of college instructor." This was invariably followed by a snide laugh.
Then I got to thinking on it. This man was born in another country and not only owned the house I lived in, but at least a dozen more. It was I who gave him money every month--not the other way around. Who was the one who should be condescending? So, I stopped telling my little story.
You might be thinking that at that point, I abandoned the publishing industry and began buying property. No! That's the lesson a smarter person would have taken from the incident. Instead, I'm still renting--probably from somebody who reads at a tenth-grade level--and still carrying around a boxcar's worth of books.
I can only imagine how much better off financially I would be if I hadn't accumulated all the books, CDs, Phillies memorabilia, and DVDs that I now have. However, my life certainly wouldn't be anywhere near as fulfilling as I've found it thus far. :-)