I have an accursed small mouth and non-drinking parents (not accursed), with whose powers combined make me a very awkward element at professional luncheons.
Gordon and Denise at Sierra were kind enough to take me and Kirstie (Christie? Kirsten?), another Foundations keener, to lunch yesterday. I'm grateful for that part, no doubt -- I don't usually order $9 burgers for lunch or get books on environmental law every day of the week -- but I think the entire meal just reinforced how little I like alcohol and red crushed velvet.
The place was Honey, next to Wild Rice and across from Tinseltown, in that area I usually ignore in favour of Hon's and steamed buns further down the street. It's done up in dark wood, crushed velvet, lounge chairs and overstuffed pillows. I felt like I should have been gambling, smoking, and/or serving opium to the disillusioned masses. And to compound the aie-factor, all three of my Caucasian acquaintances ordered martinis. At 12:30 PM.
Ordering iced tea never felt so rude. Realising that I had only finished half my burger when everyone else was near done didn't help much either. (Accursed small mouth! It's the reason I can't smile with teeth, too.)
These people "work to live", as opposed to "live to work". I was surprised, actually -- I always expected that people working with non-profits would have some kind of near-religious zeal for the causes they're supporting, but hardly so; these guys do what they need to do and take off for a week to go ice-climbing.
Maybe that was the truly alien part. I grew up idolizing people who made their work their lives, or had the two so intertwined that they were nearly inseparable. My dad, for one -- he rarely talks about work, but I could never separate what he did from who he was. The reams of people on the street that recognised him kind of reinforced that, too. It's inconceivable to me that someone could choose a line of work for nothing more than income, and spend their lives doing other things.
As for the awkward part, I think this New York thing carries more buzz on its own than anything I have to add to it. Ch/Kirsty's going to law school too, in Victoria, but it seemed like the entire office knew about me -- weird, because the only other person I talk to besides Gordon would be Tina, the legal secretary. Weirder when Denise starts introducing me to new people as "This is Daphne. She's going to law school in New York. Her residence is in Greenwich Village."
Not quite the resume I was hoping for.
Gordon and Denise at Sierra were kind enough to take me and Kirstie (Christie? Kirsten?), another Foundations keener, to lunch yesterday. I'm grateful for that part, no doubt -- I don't usually order $9 burgers for lunch or get books on environmental law every day of the week -- but I think the entire meal just reinforced how little I like alcohol and red crushed velvet.
The place was Honey, next to Wild Rice and across from Tinseltown, in that area I usually ignore in favour of Hon's and steamed buns further down the street. It's done up in dark wood, crushed velvet, lounge chairs and overstuffed pillows. I felt like I should have been gambling, smoking, and/or serving opium to the disillusioned masses. And to compound the aie-factor, all three of my Caucasian acquaintances ordered martinis. At 12:30 PM.
Ordering iced tea never felt so rude. Realising that I had only finished half my burger when everyone else was near done didn't help much either. (Accursed small mouth! It's the reason I can't smile with teeth, too.)
These people "work to live", as opposed to "live to work". I was surprised, actually -- I always expected that people working with non-profits would have some kind of near-religious zeal for the causes they're supporting, but hardly so; these guys do what they need to do and take off for a week to go ice-climbing.
Maybe that was the truly alien part. I grew up idolizing people who made their work their lives, or had the two so intertwined that they were nearly inseparable. My dad, for one -- he rarely talks about work, but I could never separate what he did from who he was. The reams of people on the street that recognised him kind of reinforced that, too. It's inconceivable to me that someone could choose a line of work for nothing more than income, and spend their lives doing other things.
As for the awkward part, I think this New York thing carries more buzz on its own than anything I have to add to it. Ch/Kirsty's going to law school too, in Victoria, but it seemed like the entire office knew about me -- weird, because the only other person I talk to besides Gordon would be Tina, the legal secretary. Weirder when Denise starts introducing me to new people as "This is Daphne. She's going to law school in New York. Her residence is in Greenwich Village."
Not quite the resume I was hoping for.
