I used to work at an art museum, where I got to know the nonexisting value of art. While I was working on my bachelor thesis I was worrying more about my future than about the philosophical questions of my thesis. Shortly after getting a university degree I felt it was high time to just get some job, when I imagined the resumés of my more zealous peers. I love art and nothing else and felt the need to start working.

I assisted the museum guide, when I started working there. Employees of the tax office were on an excursion. One of them, an older man, who was wearing a shortsleeved, colorful, checkered shirt, which was tucked into his jeans, pointed to one of the exhibits, which was a heap of crumpled paper.

"Is this art?"

"No, that's not art", answered his colleague. He was wearing the same outfit.

"What is those artists' job?"

They turned to me, as I was introduced to them as an employee of the museum earlier. We were standing next to an artwork of an artist, who cuts out the squares on squared paper with a knife.

I said: „This artist works on this full time, as far as I know. She cuts paper all day."

"That's not a job."

"The artist who did the big wall installation downstairs works as a professor at the Academy of Fine Arts."

"Yeah, that's work!" The man who asked turned to his colleague. „Being a professor, that's something, but this", he pointed to the holed out squared paper on the wall, „I don't know..."