Tales of an Urban Newbie: February 7 - 14, 2011

After a full week of apartment sabotage, job interviews, and getting lost multiple times, I’m surprised I had any energy left in me to make it another week (okay, I’m a little melodramatic).  Somehow, I made it through, and secured three jobs in the process. 

I began my first week in training for a position as a call centre agent.  I greedily accepted this position with the intention of quitting after my training week so that I could move onto a more respectable position as an HR interviewer for a background checking company.  After spending a week in training, making a few friends, and realizing that the job wasn’t as evil as I’d anticipated, my opinion started to sway. 

During the week I got closer with my training group, met some of the other call centre agents and staff members, and tried to catch my next concert, the Weakerthans that Thursday at Le Cabaret du Mile End.  My roommate, her sister and I left for the Cabaret at around 6:30 pm – which should have been plenty of time, even considering that we were going for smoked meat at the world famous Schwartz’s Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen and I had to meet up with Ms. Charles to sign our contract for CollectivelyBeautiful. 

But when we were outside the Laurier Metro station after filling our bellies and signing the contract we were asked by a kind, young stranger if we knew where the Brasserie Artisanale Dieu Du Ciel was.  I could hardly pronounce it, let alone locate it on a map.  After collaboratively inspecting the giant city map outside the Metro we realized we were going in the same direction, so we all decided to walk together. 

When we got to the Brasserie, our new friend invited us in to have a beer.  In the spirit of making new friends, we thought “what the hell, why not?” and decided to join him and his friend (for anonymity’s sake, I’ll call them Shawn and Rick.  Rick had recently moved to Montreal, and Shawn was planning to once he found work, so we all bonded through our common lack of friends in the area.  After about 45 minutes, we decided to head to the concert and bid our new friends farewell.

Arriving at the Cabaret was like déjà vu.  I could hear the music, I sprinted up the stairs, but when I got to the top no one asked me to pay admission and the people in the crowd gave us really strange looks.  About thirty seconds later the band announced that it would be their last song of the night.  (If you’re counting, the current score for concert attendance is Montreal - 2, Allie - zero.)  So, I figured at least at this rate the next concert I’d go to that I would see three songs, minimum.  You have to celebrate the small victories.

Now, by the end of the week there were a few things about the call centre that slowly won me over.  One of my biggest complaints about my last job in government was that it was really difficult to make friends there who had similar interests as me, since the vast majority of my co-workers were married with children.  So the fact that the call centre is made up of a predominantly young staff was really appealing to me.  I was already making friends in a new city in my first week – more than I’d made in Edmonton in two and a half years. 

Also, probably for the same reason that it was easy to make friends, it was a really laid back environment – I could wear leggings and a hoodie to work, which I can’t say the same for any of my jobs since I stopped babysitting.  My co-workers all shared a similar cynical sarcasm for life in general and I felt like I fit in almost immediately.

Finally, my schedule at the call centre had the ability to be extremely flexible.  The company used an online scheduling system that lets employees check their schedule, drop shifts, pick up shifts or trade shifts, request time off, and check when other employees are working.  Being an internet junkie and techo-geek, the idea of having my schedule at my fingertips really revved my engine.  Another small win-over was the potential for commission – it wouldn’t be much, but probably enough to make a small dent in the month bills.

My final decision was made when I called the other job to find out if I could get time off before I started – I needed the following Friday and Monday off: that was it.  When the woman called me back, she left a message saying that if I couldn’t make training they would have to offer the job to someone else.  Now, it wasn’t necessarily what she said, but how she said it that I was offended by.  Her tone came across “holier than thou,” like my very survival was in her hands alone, and the attitude turned me off more than the fact that they wouldn’t give me the time off.  My roommate’s twin sister was in town that week and I ended up forgetting to call the other job I’d been offered until Sunday.  When I called I mentioned not only would I be declining the position due to my scheduling conflict, but also that I’d been offered another position. 

This seemingly harmless voicemail would eventually give me the age-old “foot in mouth” syndrome, but I’ll save those details for week six.

Tales of an Urban Newbie: The Trials and Tribulations of Acclimating to a New City

(This series of articles about my getting to know Montreal is also featured on the website www.CollectivelyBeautiful.com, along with many other useful, interesting, and thought-provoking pieces - take a look!)

So, although I’ve visited Montreal several times before, and have visited countless other cities, I’m still incredibly directionally challenged.  And that’s just the icing on the cake.  Add in the fact that I’m most familiar with running on New York time (where just about everything begins at least 45 minutes after it’s supposed to) and it’s a recipe for disaster.

Firstly, I’m not sure if it’s just my apartment, or apartments all over Montreal, but I’m fairly certain that everything in my apartment, from the front door locks to the knobs on the stove, work backward.  I arrived to my apartment after a 20-hour train ride from Nova Scotia, I had 9 pieces of luggage with me, and was stranded in the hallway because I couldn’t unlock my door.  

After 45 minutes of turning one lock, then the other, then turning them back again, I finally managed to make my way inside.  I’m used to locks that unlock when you turn the key counter clockwise, and lock when you turn them clockwise; however, my new door does just the opposite.  I don’t know any other person who has broken a sweat unlocking their front door, but I somehow managed it. 

One can’t live in an apartment without food in it, so I decided it was grocery time.  I headed down the street to the local Metro to pick up the usual basics and everyday items.  What I didn’t realize upon exiting the store was that there are, in fact, two entrances/exits in two different sides of the building.  I, of course, exited out a different door than I had come in, without realizing it, which resulted in me walking four blocks in the wrong direction with five heavy bags of groceries.  When I realized how lost I was, I gave up and called a cab.  I had walked in the precise opposite direction of my apartment.  Five dollars, and less than three blocks, later my less was learned.

Now, I was starving.  I hadn’t eaten since the night before on the train when I had a miniscule egg sandwich with couscous, which was grossly overpriced.  I put a pot of water on the stove and waited for it to boil.  This attempt gave me a whole new appreciation for the saying, “a watched pot never boils.”  I waited, and waited… then waited some more.  Nearly an hour passed and the water was still just barely warmer than room temperature. 

What I didn’t realize, that my front door lock and stove knobs had conspired against me.  For every stovetop appliance that I’ve used in recent memory, you turn the knob counterclockwise, to turn it on, and as you continue to turn, the temperature will get hotter and hotter.  This was not the case in my apartment, but the complete opposite.  And, to make matters work, only half of the burners on the stove are functional.  I’m surprised I didn’t pass out from exhaustion by the time I finally managed to make my meal.  Needless to say, I expected the worst when I went to take a shower later that night.  Thankfully, showers are pretty fool-proof.

That weekend I had planned to see a band called the Radio Dept. that I’ve been waiting to check out for about a year now.  They were playing at a little venue that is inside a bigger venue, on Rue Prince-Arthur.  Tickets were only $15, and even though there was a blizzard outside, my roommate and I decided to brave the weather for some good live music.  We left our apartment at 10:45 pm, expecting the headlining band to go on around 11:30 pm or so. 

My assumption was based on the usual schedules of shows that take place in the greatest metropolis in North American – New York City – and this assumption couldn’t have been farther from actuality.  After trudging though the snow with the wind howling past us, we arrived at the venue.  It was around midnight and as I ran up the stairs the anticipation continued to build, but when I got to the top of the stairs and sprung through the door, the venue was empty, the stage was torn down, and the music was no where to be heard.  I asked the bartender what time the bands usually come on.  She helpfully responded, “Anytime”.  “Yeah, thanks,” I thought, “That was really helpful.”

I sulked my way to the other, larger venue there, since we’d already paid cover.  It wasn’t exactly the live rock I’d expected, but we made the most of it anyway.  After evading a creepy Swedish man who was clearly on mood-enhancing drugs, watching a young guy spontaneously projectile vomit next to us, and dancing and laughing more than I previously considered humanly possible, we headed home. 

It was a successfully unsuccessful first outing in Montreal and a solid way to end my first full week in my new home city.  Though, I was hoping that my skills and timing would get better as time went by.

This is the kinda wave that I'm on

So, my next pin on the map was to be Pensacola, Florida. Technically, the Pensacola Interstate Fair, in Belleville, Florida. Just a hop, skip and a jump away from the beautiful Gulf coast. The great thing about my Dad and Lorraine working this fair was that, during the week, it was only open from 4 pm to 10 pm and on weekends they split the 10 am to 10 pm shift, so there was lots of down-time to do running around and adventuring and beaching.

Hangin' ten, obviously.

Thursday and most of Friday were spent getting set up: the booth, the trailer, my tent, groceries, gas, propane, etc., but once the weekend rolled around, I started giving considerable attention to figuring out how to get to the beach sans vehicle (since Lorraine and Dad would be pre-occupied with the booth). 

I had two options. The first was looking for a folding bike on Craigslist (because without anywhere to put a bike rack, it's kinda hard to transport a full-sized bike). The second was public transit - a slightly more likely option that turned out to be just as impossible as finding a used folding bike.

Unfortunately, because it's "off-season" this time of year, the public transit from the Fairgrounds to the beach only ran twice a day. In the morning the bus came around 7:00 am and would get me to the beach by about 8:30 am. The next bus that came wasn't until 4:30 pm. I can honestly say, I love the beach, but not enough to be there for 8 hour straight with no company. Plus, the last bus of the day would get me back to the transit terminal, where I would need to catch my connection back to the trailer, a solid half an hour after the last bus of the day. And that put an end to that.

But I wasn't about to give up on enjoying the warm Florida sun, so instead I propped up a lawn chair and caught a few rays by the trailer, for all those who were riding "The Cat" to see! I have no shame.

I also have no shame in admitting that I have a new love: frozen, chocolate covered cheesecake. Fair food at its finest.

Luckily, the Pensacola Interstate Fair had a few more attractions for those who aren't into livestock, unlike the Arkansas State Fair. There were two art galleries, one for photos and one for paintings, drawings, sculptures and other pleasures. There was an antique car exhibit, a motorcycle exhibit, a model train exhibit and a rocks and minerals exhibit.

Art Exhibit

The next week was hot and humid. Inland at the fair it was almost unbearable. I couldn't even sleep in my tent at night because the cloud cover didn't allow the temperature to drop below 25 Celsius (about 80 Fahrenheit) and humidity was at 95% or above. So, I slept in the trailer. No biggie. 

I tried going for a run, since I was planning on, and almost succeeded in, going for a run every second day. I managed to only run off-and-on Tuesday, but for the last half a mile I couldn't help but walk. The humidity was suffocating. Although I hadn't over-exerted myself, and even though the sun was hidden behind clouds, when I arrived back at the trailer I was slick with humidity, my hair was dripping wet, and I'm pretty sure my earphones short-circuited. Luckily, I managed to fit in a run every other day, and I've gotta admit: I sure wouldn't have a difficult time staying in shape here. Running outside, past palm trees and plants, was motivation enough, despite the odd dead possum on the shoulder of the road.

Oddly enough though, as soon as you drove toward the coast, the humidity cleared up considerably, the cloud cover all but disappeared, and the sun was shining on down. So that's just what we did.

Giant Pensacola Beachball

It was about a half hour drive from our site to the beach. Down the freeway, across a bridge, and through a toll booth. One American dollar is a small price to pay to enjoy the beauty that is Pensacola Beach. White sand, turquoise water, sun, surfers and seashells!

The water was some of the best I've been in - even compared to Cancun! The surf was just high enough (about 6 to 10 foot waves) with almost no undertow. Both days we spent at the beach I maxed out my enjoyment playing in the waves and body surfing, strolling up and down the beach, watching the surfers, and rotating front to back, soaking up the glorious Gulf Coast rays. 

On both of my walks, I even saw a couple different jellyfish, including a Portuguese Man-of-War. I saw this other quasi-jelly looking thing. It was as if a jellyfish and a piece of coral had a love child. If anyone has any idea what it might be, I'd really appreciate the insight!

WHAT IS THIS THING?!

So, anyway as I was saying. We spent Tuesday and Wednesday at the beach until around 2:30 or 3 pm everyday, then we headed back to the Fair for the night shift. Dad and I ran some errands while Lorraine went into the booth for the first parts of the night. Then, Thursday it rained and Friday it got "cold" (read: 20 degrees Celsius or below, plus "windchill".. ha!).

Saturday Dad and I decided to go do a little sight seeing. There is an area in Pensacola called the Historic Seville District. It was designated a historic area in 1970 under the U.S. historic district legislation, but restoration and preservation began in the early 1960's by a group of local preservationists. The area is quaint (Pensacola is only a city of 50,000) and speckled with lots of patriotism, churches and local cafe's and restaurants. Although I wasn't there at night, it seems that the area is chock-full of music venues, theaters, art galleries and studios, and even boasts the areas only opera house. It's a great little stroll with lots of beautiful architecture, landscaping, and some shops as well - though, sadly, there were a lot of empty storefronts which were no doubt an indication of the current economic state of Florida overall.

By Sunday, since the fair wasn't that great business-wise, we were all ready to hit the road. I spent the afternoon in my new-found sanctuary: cuddled up on a blanket with my iPod on top of the trailer, feeling the sun and the breeze. Dad and Lorraine split up the shift throughout the day and at 9 pm we all met up at the booth to tear down and hit the road. Unfortunately, after having torn down and taken the Suburban over to pack up, someone backed into our spot by the trailer so we couldn't hitch up to leave. By the time they moved their vehicle, it was too late, my tent hadn't been taken down, and we were all too tired and frustrated to bother with it. We'd just have to wait until the morning. 

View from atop the trailer

After packing up, we realized we were a little behind schedule, so we nixed the coastal drive and hit the I-10. And we drove for the next 8 hours. Past Tallahassee. Past Gainesville. Finally into Leesburg.

A shower, a queen-sized bed, central air, and some blogging later and I was ready for dreamland. 

But wait. What was that noise? 

You'd think that after having slept in a tent for the past month, sleeping in a house would make me feel safe and secure, and maybe it does, from the things outside. But that's when my imagination and too many episodes of the Outer Limits comes into play.