Weeks

On our second day, I chatted with my cab driver. He was from Bulgaria and warned me that, in order to get a decent job in Ottawa, I needed to speak french. He asked me a lot about what I do and what I planned to do, until I mentioned that I had a son. Once I mentioned Little Fella, he seemed appeased that I had my life's path sorted out.

In our first week, Mister Fella and I talked to a man at the bus station. He seemed kind of scattered and came over to tell us that Little Fella was cute. He told us that he was from Montreal, that he also had a Ph.d in English, and that the nicest people in Ottawa weren't from Ottawa. I'm not sure if he actually had a Ph.d, or if he was just an eccentric man. His comment about the niceness of Ottawians has  been stuck in my brain since we spoke.

In our second week I started my part-time job at a local vet clinic. It was smaller than my previous hospital; only two vets, four techs, no other receptionists. I sat in on a staff meeting and the girls showed me where the latest earthquake had cracked the tile in our treatment area. Every time I walk by that tile, I'm reminded that I am no longer in relatively-earthquake-free Newfoundland. The week after I started the hospital had more euthanasias than they had had in months previous - I joked that I was bad luck and everyone laughed, but I think they wondered if it was true. 

In my second month I interviewed for another part-time job at a research firm downtown. I got lost on my way there and finally realized what real "city blocks" looked like on the ground. I wondered how everyone around me was navigating their way around. I asked a man sweeping the sidewalk for directions.

In my interview I learned that the position started at 5:30am;  counting traffic on the side of the road. Data collection. The man interviewing me seemed to be my age and had an accent I couldn't quite place. I sensed a hint of flirtation in his conversation and thought to myself that he might have been my type if I wasn't married. Then I felt guilty. (I told Mr.Fella that he had seemed cute later, which is my self-imposed honesty policy - Mr.Fella didn't feel threatened in the slightest.)

Later I found out he was from New Zealand, and he wouldn't be directly over-seeing our project. I was glad when I wasn't disappointed.

Last month, at the 5:30 am project, I was partnered with a man from Sparta. He talked about how small Ottawa seemed and how he was thinking about moving to Toronto. I told him that the population of Ottawa was larger than the entire population of Newfoundland and Labrador and he looked at me like he couldn't imagine living in such a place.

Last week, at the 5:30 am project, I worked with a woman from England who talked to herself a lot. When I introduced myself to her, the first things she said was "I had a miscarriage last week - have you ever lost a child?"

"No." I said
"That's good."

For the next four hours I spoke as little as possible as she talked about her partner (apparently, a mute-frenchman), her mom that she lived with, and  how kind I was, even though I said practically nothing to her.
At one point, she started talking about a serial killer pig-farmer from B.C. and I wondered if I could out-run her.
Several times she told me I was pretty.
She asked me if I was married, I told her that I was, and she asked if I ever "really hated being stuck in a marriage sometimes." I told her "no" and that seemed to confuse her.

This week I worked with a 22-year old man from Toronto and I told him all about the crazy-lady from England. He laughed. Then he asked me for relationship advice, and told me that the longest he's ever had a girlfriend was three weeks. I didn't give him much advice, but he regaled me with a series of his failed relationships. He also told me that I was very nice.

Today, when I was downtown, I walked into a coffee shop called "Coffee Friends Co." and ordered a latte. I always try to find an independent coffee shop that makes decent lattes because I like giving my business to places other than Starbucks. The latte cost about a dollar less, but tasted vile. I threw it, half-finished, into the garbage next to my bus station.