Rue Duluth

I used to work on Duluth. Those were hard days of labor, and the conditions poor. In the early morning, when we got off, the staff would eat a meal together, and in those exhausted moments I was happy.

I work now on Mayrand. It is a great job, and I am much happier than I was at the restaurant, but I do feel that I have lost something precious. The grime and heat, the grueling hours and the horrible aches from my back and legs, despite all of that, I worked with Québecois and I spent my time immersed in the culture of la belle province. My French improved and I learned a lot about the incredible people of this nation within a nation.

My coworkers on Mayrand are Canadian, but they are not Québecois de souche. I get no long-winded explications on the proper method of making tourtière or expositions on Québecois nationalism. And I miss that, because anglophone culture is so similar to American culture that I feel like I went to a foreign country and then that foreign country was taken over by Americans.

Last week, the President who will remain unnamed visited Montréal. My boss took a full day off of work to go to the private, invitation-only luncheon to hear him speak. This same guy listens to Rush Limbaugh and watches every New York Giants game.

I have some ideas for reconnecting to the culture - mostly they involve bars and hockey - but I have yet to find the time or the will-power to step out of a full and comfortable life in English and delve into French headfirst.

I hope that even in my admittance of having nothing to write about, you can find something interesting. And, by “you,” I am referring to my mom, since I know she (and maybe no one else) will read this.