November 22nd, 20:34 | Apparently I walk the walk
So I'm in Montreal (read: Canada's answer to L.A.) again, and this time people are trying me in French first, then swapping to English if I'm too tired to answer in French. (Or, as in the case of Workplace's Flotsam office, when I'm too bewildered to figure out how to ask for a "guest VOIP ID" in French. Look, some things they just didn't teach us in highschool, okay?)
Anyway, so the locals are trying me in French first, which I take to be a tremendous compliment. Why? Because I am a girl, and I am in Montreal. You may need to be from out here to understand that, but it's a fairly widely-accepted "fact" that of all the places in Eastern Canada (because those hippies on the west coast just don't really count for this particular contest), the girls are most put-together here in the home of smoked meat, Montreal.
I don't know what it is, but pretty much everywhere I go, mention the girls of Montreal, and guys everywhere start slavering. (And I'm pretty sure it's not just the strippers, since apparently Timmins holds that particular honour.) Is it that they dress up more fashionably? Maybe. I did see more than my fair share of Angrily Pointy Shoes on my brief walk downtown. My theory is just that the girls here spend more time on the hair/makeup thing than Ontario girls (my main basis of comparison). This theory is backed up by my discussion with a (shorn) receptionist today, wherein she confided that prior to shaving it all off, she'd usually spent somewhere in the region of an hour every morning wrangling with her hair. An hour, people. This is considered sane?? I promptly told her that Montreal would forever weild the sceptre of Fashion round these parts because dude, we Ontario girls? Do not have time for that kind of crap. I don't know whether it's sleep or Getting Shit Done that we value more highly than being perfectly coiffed but I also don't care. I'll take it.
Anyway, so before I got sidetracked berating the Montrealais for their superficial preoccupation with appearance, I was saying that I take it as a compliment that folks 'round here are assuming I'll speak French. The reason for this is because I shallowly assume that that means that they think I'm from Montreal, thereby implying that I'm better put together than my usual (read: jeans and an oversized hoodie). I'm probably not up to True Native standards yet, as I haven't mastered the art of lacquering over my face with Rimmel, but maybe one day. Really. *cough*
All told, I've had fun today, from my early-ish start on the train (upon which they fed me what I think must be the single largest meal I've ever had included as part of my transit -- and this was breakfast; I'm a little afraid to speculate what getting dinner on the train is like), and starting on The Kraken Wakes which is shaping up thus far to be f-ing great, but that's no surprise; I know my man John wouldn't let me down. Got into Montreal 11-ish, and booted it to the partner site, where yours truly proceeded to be So Very On for three presentations. I feel bad about bailing on my host a little, but I needed some downtime alone with my teammates, the interweb, and a quiet office. The hotel is more floral than I remember it being, but then again, I'm also sober this time around. Ahem.
To be honest, while I kind of enjoy the freedom of the travelling, I don't know how my dad (back in the day) and all those consultant types in the world do the constant business travelling thing. I guess it's different when you have for-real hosts taking you out to dinner and things. I know I love going to the conferences, where it's basically school during the day, and then party with my team at night. Tonight, though, being bone-tired, and then eating woefully alone in the hotel restaurant just made me feel very... Loserly Business Traveller Type-y and a little lonely.
Back and safely cloistered in my room, I'm pondering my novel (I'm doing shockingly well, but running out of steam; goddamnit), but know I'm too lazy to get it done (I mean it, I am exhausted) so I'll probably flip through crap TV (hey, Boy: you know I can watch the Habs, or the Leafs here, but not the Sens?) give up and keep reading my Wyndham.
Tomorrow morning, I am going to order room service yoghourt and granola for breakfast (what?), and will probably haul ass over to the office around 9:30ish. Tomorrow night should see me back home and whining to The Boy about our lack of brownies. I don't really mind the travel, so long as it's short, I guess. Sleep tight, world.
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