Culture Shock, Part 2.
It's like being on safari, or in a zoo... except I'm in a cage too, learning how to grimace for peanuts.
The guy who sells me cigarettes congratulated me on the new job and said, "it's better than driving a truck, eh? Office job is office job... office job is good job! No cold, no sweat, no hurt yourself." Can't argue with that logic. He's right: I've had way, way worse jobs than this and I don't mean to complain... it's just so fuckin' weird. Not bad, just bizarre.
The ambient surreality isn't helping either: St. Laurent is eerily quiet at 9:30, giving the lie to it's nickname. Maybe it's The Main for bagels, overpriced "vintage" clothing (AKA bought for peanuts at Sally Ann and flipped for %200 to trend-obsessed hipsters), eight-dollar lattés and funky streetlights, but when it comes to productivity this place is a joke. Every day I walk up from the métro station and I see a borough still dozing -- and it's after nine! On a Tuesday! Surreal and yet comforting, in a weird way. I love this city even (especially) when its anachronisms and inconsistencies are front-and-centre.
To date, my days at the new job have been precisely augured by the sky's non-colour, a vaguely yellowed grey unique to January and wholly appropriate as the backdrop for my training up on the tenth floor. A co-worker has already warned me that the company's mandatory training will be "the most soul-sucking two weeks of your life."
Fucking awesome.
The guy who sells me cigarettes congratulated me on the new job and said, "it's better than driving a truck, eh? Office job is office job... office job is good job! No cold, no sweat, no hurt yourself." Can't argue with that logic. He's right: I've had way, way worse jobs than this and I don't mean to complain... it's just so fuckin' weird. Not bad, just bizarre.
The ambient surreality isn't helping either: St. Laurent is eerily quiet at 9:30, giving the lie to it's nickname. Maybe it's The Main for bagels, overpriced "vintage" clothing (AKA bought for peanuts at Sally Ann and flipped for %200 to trend-obsessed hipsters), eight-dollar lattés and funky streetlights, but when it comes to productivity this place is a joke. Every day I walk up from the métro station and I see a borough still dozing -- and it's after nine! On a Tuesday! Surreal and yet comforting, in a weird way. I love this city even (especially) when its anachronisms and inconsistencies are front-and-centre.
To date, my days at the new job have been precisely augured by the sky's non-colour, a vaguely yellowed grey unique to January and wholly appropriate as the backdrop for my training up on the tenth floor. A co-worker has already warned me that the company's mandatory training will be "the most soul-sucking two weeks of your life."
Fucking awesome.
posted by Labris @ 7:29 p.m.
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