Today isn’t my favourite day of my life. The husband left early this morning for a boys’ week, and as I really enjoy having him around, I don’t always love having the house to myself. Nothing particularly special or important happened today. I napped a little after he left, played around on the internet for a bit, somehow talked myself into exercising on a Sunday (Sunday is the one day of the week when I don’t owe cardio), and then headed to work for the 8-hour evening shift.
But while it wasn’t the best day I’ve ever had, it was a good day. Work wasn’t slow enough to make me want to scream at the seconds that wouldn’t die. It wasn’t busy enough to cause stress, and I didn’t have any of those communication problems that tend to make me blush or sweat a little as I try hard to understand and make myself understood. I feel good about exercising, and my 8-hour shifts make it easier to avoid over-eating. I don’t work tomorrow, so I have some time to try to take care of some stuff before I go to my evening French class.
And sometimes there are little interactions with people that just make my day. A gentleman arrived to check into the hotel, and he was the friendly and outgoing sort. He told me he remembered me, that he’d stayed with us two months prior, when I was just starting (in fact, I’ve worked there two months today). He said that he could already tell my French had improved. (Not sure I’ve made such huge strides, but I’m a LOT more comfortable now that I know a lot more about how to do my job.) I checked him in, but he returned a few minutes later to see if he could switch to a room on the other side of the hotel (he’s a frequent guest and likes that view better). We chatted for a bit as I made the room change. He was quite friendly, and I welcomed it as Sundays can be slow. Friendly conversation helps the shift pass more quickly.
He stopped by the desk again another couple of times, just to chat. He happens to be an immigrant himself, from Europe, and he’s dating an American woman, so we talked a bit about immigration. He complemented my French (even though he switched to English for most of our chat), and he very sweetly told me that he was impressed with what I was doing. It meant a lot to me. I admitted that the first two weeks of work at the hotel were terrifying, and that continuing to work was one of the bravest things I could remember doing.
Another guest checked in later that night. I greeted her in French, as it’s our default setting at the hotel, but after a bit of an exchange, as her smile grew, she said (in French), “An ENGLISH person…that’s rare here!” Then she switched to English and asked, “You aren’t from here, are you?” with a smile in her voice. I giggled and admitted it was pretty obvious, and she laughed out loud when she asked where I was from and got the response, “Oklahoma.” There were a couple of people behind her waiting for help, but she said she would have to return to learn more about Oklahoma. I told her that, from what I understand of the plains, it’s just a really hot version of Alberta.
I also managed to use the trancheur, the paper cutter, withOUT drawing any blood tonight. (My supervisor told me I was on probation, and threatened to get me round-tipped safety scissors.) About two weeks ago, a frequent guest of the hotel told me to be careful when he saw me using the paper cutter. I giggled and told him that I was quite dangerous. That night, for the first time, I cut myself while cutting paper. And I did it again about a week later! My supervisor that night threatened to write up an injury report.
Nothing earth shattering today. Just continuing along with the life I’ve built here. Doing the little things that bring me, step by step, closer to the version of me I love best. And there are far worse ways to pass the time.