Florescent Lighting Hurts My Eyes (and corporate air makes them swell)

Three weeks have passed since I last posted, I know. I finally recognized that my search for a teaching position was over for the season and would have to be put on hold for the summer. Despite my lengthy cv (or perhaps because of it), I have spent the last two months searching for any job that would pay me to show up... and preferably only to do that. I finally accepted a job as a tech support agent at Brother Canada in the middle of nowhere (Dollard-des-Ormeaux) and grudgingly showed up for my first day of work on July 3rd. Of course, the moment I started, the phone began to ring and all those jobs who had failed to call me back have left me messages over the last three weeks. In any case, the job at Brother comes with such perks as door to door pick-up in the morning and drop-off in the evening, along with fully catered breakfast and lunch, with the occasional snack. These are not, of course, services offered to just anybody- only those who happen to be dating Fred, provided they meet his mothers expectations. Apparently I do, so I enjoy quite the royal treatment. As for the job, it is probably the best customer service position I could ever find. The pay is not bad and the company offers its employees real perks: profit sharing, health & dental benefits, subsidized gym memberships, RRSP, financial recognition for valid suggestions and trips for the employee dubbed the best of the year. The atmosphere is largely laid back- people joke around in the cafeteria and laughter is heard in the halls. It seems there are actually companies that treat their employees well. Bulletin boards in the staff room are packed with activities planned by the social club; trips to La Ronde (amusement park), Super Aqua Club (waterslides), river boat rides to observe the fireworks competition and even a charity baseball game against a local radio station. Charity baseball games? I feel like I've tripped and fallen into a sit com. Except the pay isn't as good and my agent never called.

It all makes me feel a bit guilty that I don't want to be there. My large cubicle sits beside our customer service department; two really sweet women who talk about their kids and puke a lot. My cubicle mate, Joyce, has thus far only spoken one sentence to me. In fact, I'm not even sure her name is Joyce- I've based that entirely on the name card that is glued to her side of the wall. My ears are overwhelmed with chatter. A girl whose name I don't remember sits opposite me talking about her recent trip to Thailand. The boys talk about baseball and pretend they know what they're talking about. They seem to think 'punt hitter' is an actual baseball term. It makes me laugh. The ladies next to me talk more about puke and mucus. I try to focus on the blank page in front of me, though not a single creative or inspired thought leaks from my head. I try to force it, but all I imagine are call center stories about fax machines and silly customers. No one wants to read about that. I definitely don't want to write about that. I need to get out, and fast. The fluorescent lighting hurts my eyes and makes me drowsy, the glare off the computer screen induces paranoia, the empty pale green cubicle walls bring on an odd mix of nausea and apathy. The free coffee keeps me pumped full of mocchacinos, ensuring that I'll be conscious enough to deliver my passionate spiel about fax machines as required.

Compromise

Much to the frustration of my family, I've never been big on compromise. My father particularly, was often extremely frustrated by my inability to meet him, or anybody else half-way. Then again, I can't say that he was ever big on it himself. In fact, now that I think about it- no one in my family is particularly good at compromising, except maybe Travis (the baby of the family). Tyler was the worst. If he didn't feel like doing something, there was nothing in the world that could convince him. I remember being furious with him in high school because we had planned to go see a movie together, but when the day finally came, Tyler was content sitting in front of the TV and decided not to go. I was so angry with him, but try as I might, nothing would coax him from his place on the couch.

Lately I've been contemplating my inability to comprimise myself and whether or not it's really just another way of shooting myself in the foot. I've been back in Montreal dangerously close to two months now and still find myself frustratingly unemployed. Fred is urging me to cave and find myself a shitty call center job. I've considered it- for the time being, but the thought of returning to that environment literally brings tears to my eyes. I don't know how anyone does it. The eight or so months I spent working at Affina were the most miserable of my working life. I just can't do that again. I've begun sending out résumés for receptionist positions, which I'm hoping might hold me over until the new school year starts and I can be assured a teaching position. Despite the fact that both my boyfriend and my bank account are threatening (in not so many words) to stop speaking to me, I really don't feel I can bend on this issue. I'd sooner go back to Korea. Unfortunately, the question of Asia is complicated by Fred's imminent kidney/pancreas transplant. Obviously I want to be here when it happens, and though I would like to say I'll be on the first plane home, reality is that it still may take a few days to get everything organized. The transplant could happen tomorrow or a year from now. We have no idea. So my mother's looming Calgary question is still demanding answers. Not that I'd have necessarily better prospects there, just that the crappy job I'm forced to take will pay much better there than it will here. Or perhaps I can learn to hold a hammer and call myself a construction worker. I'm sure they're doing well in Calgary at the moment. Anyone with jobs to offer-- you know where to find me.