the canadian curse

I am surrounded by Red and White.

Some days I feel like the Maple Leaf. No hang on, I feel like an ant on the Maple Leaf.

My new office happens to be situated on an idyllic island, which also happens to be inhabited by Canadians. In fact Canadians far out-populate any other ex-pat community on the island. Not that strange when you think where they're coming from. Poor buggers are desperate to thaw out after generations of living on the edge of a freezing ice cap.
Now, I don't necessarily have anything against the Canadians, but when you are boxed in by 5 of them in a small confined space, with no windows, I have started to view them as the 'others'. It is not one particular thing that makes my skin crawl with irritation, it's more the ever-present sweetness that starts to really...really get on my nerves.
I mean, come on now, we can't all be that nice ALL of the time. Well, clearly, I can't.

Our desks are divided into cubicles, tiny bits of space where you're expected to flourish for 8 hours of your day, for 5 (and sometimes 6) days of the week. All that good sunshine just going to waste :-( makes me sick man.

Sooooo, at the desk opposite me live Curls and Fast Food. You have never heard such enormous amounts of oozing sweetness as they discuss wedding plans with their bridal clients... but then, when the telephones have been put away and before our manager has managed to close the office door - its bam!- and the bitchiness begins. I reckon there's a place for them in the next X-Men, I have never seen so much maple syrup go sour so quickly- these byatches are talented.

In the 3 cubicles behind me, live Frenchie (French-Cabadian) , SOWM (stressed-out-working-mother, also Canadian) and Gaylord(trendy, gay, canadian wedding planner- no cliche there ofcourse).

And, finally, on my left, and the only other remaining exit out the office, sits the Administrator. We're all shit-scared of our office administrator and try and give her the least amount of administration work as possible. Oddly enough, she is the only person in my corner of the office who does not originate from the land of snow and ... and... bears... and I dunno.. park rangers??
Sticks and stones originates from Jamaica. She is quite possibly the skinniest Jamaican (see upcoming post on jamaicans), that I have ever met. Not from lack of trying though. I have never seen a chick devour so much fried chicken in my life.
Sticks and Stones and Bosslady (the departmental manager) are both from the same hometown in jamaica and therefore speak a completely different language than anyone else on the island and quite often discurse through means of telepathy. This means that anything and everything we do, say or think is beamed straight back to management. Quite disconcerting.

But, its ok, Sticks and Stones and I have an understanding.

You see, I am the only non-Canadian in our office, and for this reason and this reason alone, I pass inspection.