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He was 30-something — a bit smug, a bit too fond of his own opinions. But I was seated beside him at a fancy dinner, so I was stuck.

After the salad, I asked how he had weathered the pandemic. “Perfectly,” he announced.

I wasn’t sure that I had heard him correctly. In whose universe was the pandemic perfect? His.

“I didn’t have to go into the office once,” he said. “I worked at home, online. Still do. Best time of my life.”

I made a beeline for the bread basket right about then, so I didn’t start an argument. But I’m about to start one here.

I say the work-at-home craze isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Those who worship at the altar of no-more-office may be happier in the short run, in their sweatpants and bare feet.

But take it from this old guy, who commuted for decades to a workplace where he didn’t also sleep. Work-at-home is a mirage.

Let’s start with the water cooler.

That gushing workplace fountain owns mythical importance among those born around when I was. Ideas were shared and critiqued. Proposals were sharpened. Rants about the Big Boss were exchanged.

Moan about local sports teams? That’s where it happened. The water cooler was a town square and finishing school wrapped into one.

Yes, today’s work-at-homes can create a virtual water cooler via their computers. Many do.

But there’s something artificial and stiff about asking for help via email, and then seeing each other only on a screen. Standing right beside that helper is far more satisfying — and far more productive.

Then there’s commuting.

Today’s work-at-homes say that avoiding rush hour twice each day puts two hours back in their saddlebags and brightens their moods.

But this old crow actually liked commuting, for the same reason that today’s work-at-homes hate it. It took my mind off my troubles, and the world’s, while I was cocooned.

In the morning, it helped me focus my workaday self so I could burst through the front doors, ready to perform. In the evening, it gave me emotional separation from the work I had just done, and prepared me to hug the kids.

My 30-something dinner companion said it makes him a better worker when he can take a break to do the laundry.

“Couldn’t you do that at some other time?” I wondered.

He said he could. “But, hey, what the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he added. Garnished with a wicked, conspiratorial grin.

On behalf of bosses everywhere, I silently cried, “Ouch.”

Here’s a guy in the prime of his working life who just admitted that he’s doing household stuff when he should be doing his job. Yikes.

Would he call it OK to read a comic book at home on company time? To do some cardio to the strains of Taylor Swift? To crank out a dynamite homemade rye bread when he should be cranking out data?

I didn’t say so to my dinner companion, but I believe that work is all about concentration. Work is about tunneling in and getting it done. Rye bread sculpting can wait.

Many of my agemates agree.

Part of it is shared combat. We’ve pounded it out in an office or at a store for all these years, and we stood up to the challenges. Why can’t today’s softies do the same?

Part of it, too, is the notion that everything was better way back when (debatable, but widely believed). And part of it is raised eyebrows about today’s ever-so-emotionally-delicate young adults.

What, the poor dears need their companion kitties meowing beside them when a big report is due? If we oldies had brought a cat to work with us, that would have been our last day of employment.

And yet…

Working at home can save major money on carfare, clothing and lunches. Working at home avoids co-workers who stop to chat “for just a second” — and stay for 15 minutes. Working at home puts you on the job right after you brush your teeth.

And working at home can give you silence. If you once worked in a huge room full of dozens of people, as I always did, maybe all that background noise wasn’t so golden.

So maybe my young tablemate wasn’t entirely wrong (although he was entirely annoying).

Evidence?

Where do you think I wrote this column?

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.