Ever notice that the elite are not as nice as ordinary people?

It all began with an after-work chat with a couple of colleagues. Tired as we were of work, our talk still revolved around it -- office politics, gossip and the like.

I poured my heart out about a senior colleague, who recently openly (and wrongly) judged my work as inaccurate -- in front of my direct supervisor.

"Who does he think he is? He's not my boss, he has no right to say things like that," I said, feeling unresolved anger surface.

My friends just laughed and said, "Ignore him, it's his job to be annoying". Apparently they think of him and his mouth as harmless.

This was not the first time Mr X had made groundless comments -- and so, stories were told of previous encounters with his vicious tongue.

I explained, as it turned out, my work was accurate and I had proof of that. "I felt like shoving it in his face, but I was afraid that I might explode right then and there, and mess up the work atmosphere," I said.

They defended his behavior (was that what they were doing?), saying that his sharp comments had helped develop their abilities. He is who he is, and I should accept that.

"Besides, he's like the second smartest person in the office, you know." That one comment stood out among the clamor of defense and for me, ended the discussion.

I was flabbergasted. Where does it say that if you are smart, you are allowed to say mean things? To completely disregard other people? To not be nice?

Isn't it everybody's job to be polite during office hours? Not just people in the "lower" positions -- those who are less smart, less experienced or younger?

These questions bugged me through the rest of the evening and well into the next morning, when evidence was thrust before me that, indeed, the community values achievement over amiability.

I was having a TV breakfast when an advertisement using a familiar children's song was aired. But the ending was unexpected. Instead of the original lyrics "that shows that you're a nice student", the ad used "a successful student".

There it was, the resounding message: It's better to be successful than nice.

I am the type who always strives to do the best they can, and I hope one day I can fill Mr X' shoes (his work is -- I must admit it -- brilliant, or even better).

But there are so many examples of people who, upon realizing their superiority in certain fields, treat others like doormats.

For example, a friend of mine, who is a superb director, has become a bit of a golden boy since returning from his studies abroad.

Never mind that he changes his mind more often than Paris Hilton changes her clothes, and the slightest resistance infuriates him.

People apologize for him and scorn those who sound out their irritation at his childish behavior. "You know how he is," they say, rolling their eyes, but playing along.

Believe me, I have many other stories about successful people turning into horrifying personalities. Considering that I am as fallible as any other human being, I got to thinking: Would I be like that too, later on, should I be numbered among the successful?

Will I be able to escape that trap?

My confidence in the "premium class" was restored after I met Anggun, the local-turned-international singer.

Anggun is beautiful, has a distinctly alluring voice, sells millions of CDs around the globe and, as my boyfriend put it, has every reason to be big-headed. "I wouldn't blame her for that," he said.

But there she was, this totally down-to-earth personality, whose eyes still shone when I told her that my boyfriend, her friend in high school, said hi.

And when she called him up, she said "Don't get strange on me, OK. I am the same old me."

Then I knew -- and I have the proof too -- that it all boils down to us, and who we choose to be.

And really, we should stop apologizing for the elite and their negligence of others, just because they may have achieved more than us. -- Sonja Francisca