Coat check

I started yesterday by meeting with the anglophones again, but in a different office than last time. Finding this new office afforded me the opportunity to discover the Montreal "underground" I've heard so much about. It's many, many miles of underground shops and restaurants, but the lighting and general design are such that you have the impression that you're actually outdoors. Wonderful concept for the winter, I suppose.

Anywho, ironically -- the receptionist at the anglophone office is francophone. And my French is still not perfect. I tell the receptionist I'm there to see Marie-Claude. She says something and points to a door. I didn't quite get what she said, so I assume Marie-Claude is behind that door. Naturally, I walk over to it and open it. It's a coat closet. Marie-Claude is not in there. I can feel the receptionist's eyes on my back. There's no recovering, other than to try another door that is slightly farther away. (Maybe she has bad aim when she points?) This door is locked. Someone hears me tug at the door and comes to open it, so I ask for Marie-Claude, and of course...no Marie-Claude there. I turn around and smile at the receptionist. Her look is classic. Language barrier notwithstanding, her expression says, "You are an idiot." The actual meeting with Marie-Claude went marginally well.

After all this, I had to sprint across town in my brand-new, not-broken-in, high-heeled shoes (ouch) to the location where we were to host the annual VIP event last night. The afternoon consisted of carrying long tables from one room to another, setting them up, and doing lots of heavy lifting--which I was able to do with ease, thanks to my early formation in the watermelon department.

Blisters aside, the night evolved beautifully. Hundreds of people attended and the night was a complete success. In some sort of cosmic joke-reference to my coat room experience in the morning, my job at the VIP event was to work the coat check. Fortunately, in the latter coat room, I enjoyed the company of a fellow anglophone named Skylar Graham. I decided she has the coolest girl name of anyone I know (although part of me wonders if her name comes in chocolate or honey flavors). She's a starving composer. You can hear her music at http://www.myspace.com/simiangarden. Much to my dismay, my camera batteries had juice for only ONE picture last night. Here it is, of Skylar. Why, oh why, did my camera have to die?

There are many advantages to being coat check girls. For instance, you get to meet everyone at the party, and people bring you free food and beverages since you can't escape to get your own (I looked behind me at one point and realized I had two full plates of food and cookies, along with eight full glasses of champagne waiting...just no time to eat or drink any of it). Still, it's the thought that counts...and after the big event, I had the opportunity to chat with--and say goodbye to--many of my dearest friends here. My French-speaking friend Emilie left me with this statement in English: "I think you do not have an American brain." I took it as a huge compliment, knowing her intent was that I am, perhaps, a little bit French. At least in spirit.

While it's tempting to get thoroughly bummed about my departure tomorrow morning, the French have a good word. It's "salut." They use it for both "hi" and "bye." It gives me peace to know that goodbye is never really goodbye here. And I know I'll be back.

Random note: I should be getting a copy of the "hair in the wind" video very soon. If/when I do, I'll post it on my blog. Thanks for reading this, and thanks for all your emails along my journey. It's been great having you here with me.