Thursday, February 24, 2005
The longest coffee in the world
This morning I went to Tim Horton's (it's a daily thing now, I can feel myself falling under the spell... my name's Suzie and I'm a Timaholic) with Joe and his boss.
Three hours later, we left the place. Holy mother of mercy, can Joe's boss talk. He didn't just talk for Canada, he competed in the Talking World Championships and won twenty laps ahead. He took up 90% of the conversation, yakking mostly about himself (punctuated with unnecessary winks and that thing very very annoying people do with their fingers when they're quoting).
Well, some of it was interesting. The guy has a cottage in the Bruce Peninsula (on Lake Huron), native home of the brown and black bears. Most Canadians go their whole lives without seeing a bear, but in more northerly areas they leave an obvious trail of devastation (bears, not Canadians). A local bakery, for example, lined up its collection of front doors outside its shop, all wrecked by teeth and claw marks made by hungry bears. Apparently those things can break into a car if they know there's food inside. And don't try to outrun one, because they can outrun you, climb trees, swim, everything. Basically if you see one it's lost its fear of man and is either hungry or insane - either way you're dead.
On a lighter note, Joe's boss didn't seem to get my sense of humour, something he shares in common with most other Canadians. Most of my jokes are met with blank stares (the Italian-Canadians are more receptive), which I guess I'm getting used to.
There is the terrifying possibility that I might not actually be funny, but if that's the truth then at the moment I don't want to hear it. Because another thing that comes with moving to a new country is low self-esteem. A lot of the knowledge you've built up in your own country, everything about infrastructure, culture, politics, history and customs, is useless in the new country. Your awareness is therefore (temporarily, I hope) reversed to that of a 12 year old - not the best thing for your confidence. I feel like I've lost all my common sense! Maybe I never had any, but at least in England I managed to hide it.
Anyway, this entry is getting way too long. I'm getting cramp and I've visited this internet cafe so much that the guy behind the counter noticed I'd cut my fringe over the weekend (my husband only noticed this morning!). I think I need to get a life....!
Three hours later, we left the place. Holy mother of mercy, can Joe's boss talk. He didn't just talk for Canada, he competed in the Talking World Championships and won twenty laps ahead. He took up 90% of the conversation, yakking mostly about himself (punctuated with unnecessary winks and that thing very very annoying people do with their fingers when they're quoting).
Well, some of it was interesting. The guy has a cottage in the Bruce Peninsula (on Lake Huron), native home of the brown and black bears. Most Canadians go their whole lives without seeing a bear, but in more northerly areas they leave an obvious trail of devastation (bears, not Canadians). A local bakery, for example, lined up its collection of front doors outside its shop, all wrecked by teeth and claw marks made by hungry bears. Apparently those things can break into a car if they know there's food inside. And don't try to outrun one, because they can outrun you, climb trees, swim, everything. Basically if you see one it's lost its fear of man and is either hungry or insane - either way you're dead.
On a lighter note, Joe's boss didn't seem to get my sense of humour, something he shares in common with most other Canadians. Most of my jokes are met with blank stares (the Italian-Canadians are more receptive), which I guess I'm getting used to.
There is the terrifying possibility that I might not actually be funny, but if that's the truth then at the moment I don't want to hear it. Because another thing that comes with moving to a new country is low self-esteem. A lot of the knowledge you've built up in your own country, everything about infrastructure, culture, politics, history and customs, is useless in the new country. Your awareness is therefore (temporarily, I hope) reversed to that of a 12 year old - not the best thing for your confidence. I feel like I've lost all my common sense! Maybe I never had any, but at least in England I managed to hide it.
Anyway, this entry is getting way too long. I'm getting cramp and I've visited this internet cafe so much that the guy behind the counter noticed I'd cut my fringe over the weekend (my husband only noticed this morning!). I think I need to get a life....!
