A Caustic Welcome to the Workaday World for Some of Those Suffering Professionals

They say that laughter is the best medicine, so as I fight the depression derived from my fifth month of unemployment (and with my wife due to be laid off by the end of the year) I guess I have to thank The Times for its unintentionally hilarious article describing the horrible Angst these professionals are going through (“When the Future Fades,” Oct. 9).

Let’s see--a couple of six-figure attorneys making ultimate sacrifices such as working over 40 hours per week, not having time for their “charities,” postponing remodeling and their cruise (Heavens!) and, God forbid, thinking of selling the Mercedes.

Or the doctor who may actually have to face the fact that the “glory days” of the medical profession are beyond us. Or the other professionals mentioned who have to face the stark reality of working for a living, under an “emotional plane of insecurity and anxiety” formerly reserved for those of us in middle management or blue-collar professions.

I laughed, and then I felt the urge to throw up.

ROBERT J. SCHULTZ

Northridge

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While it was interesting and even a bit illuminating, I must say that I found it rather revolting what the poor abused “professionals” had to say.

It must be sheer hell for some people to actually live within their means and when the means are not so good as they were, actually cut down and stay afloat. I have the sense out of the article that the poor “professionals” must need some sort of new government program to help them avoid the disappointments that one hell of a lot of the citizenry are born with, grow up with and live out their lives with without worry over maybe having to give up the Bentley.

Nothing could be more revolting than crybaby professionals lamenting over not being in the super-rich tier of society. Somehow I think that six-figure incomes really should be adequate for living pretty damned well. Perhaps they could do with lessons from professional poker players on getting by when the cards are not going perfectly right? Or perhaps The Times could organize some charity benefits for these pitifully wailing professional snots and crybabies?

Hey: “Professionals.” Get a job.

JAMES BRACKETT

Los Angeles