Once upon a time I worked at a famous BB bank in an electronic trading shop. I had joined from a 10 year military career as technology specialist. I had a chummy colleague introduce me in the elevator to a peer in a different but related functional. Upon the introduction, I made eye contact, stated 'Hello it is great to meet you and I am excited to collaborate with you' and extended my hand for a handshake.

He gave me a look, scanned me down-and-up, and then looked forwarded at the elevator door. That concluded the social interaction. He had attended Dartmouth. I had attended a nonIvy.

Reading OPs first paragraph with that experience in my mind, it conjures the question 'has this Ivy grad (multiple times over) possessed the curiosity to know about other lifestyles? If not, why? Did he think himself above? Is it possible to navigate one's entire life without knowing how to empathize with a man who is a tradey? Was he not a Red Sox fan? Did he not celebrate the same rapid fire successive championships that Boston had acquired in the 2010s across football, baseball, and hockey?' And then I posed myself the question 'Why am I reading this random elite author? Why am I not reading about the Plumber? What is the motivation of the author to portray his privilege as a detriment and disadvantage?'

Ultimately, this kind of writing, at least for me, is a reminder to keep grounded and be blind to class to see people for who they are.

> He gave me a look, scanned me down-and-up, and then looked forwarded at the elevator door.

I would have burst out laughing at the absurdity of that experience. And then I might have apologized, because man how awful it must feel to be inside the head of someone like that.

> He gave me a look, scanned me down-and-up, and then looked forwarded at the elevator door. That concluded the social interaction.

Jesus, I think you have to smoke a bit more than ivory to be that condescending.