Workstation

Well, today I finished my second week at the job. There is still 2 weeks left and I’m already feeling I love too much this place. Not once but twice, my boss told me I work hard and very well. She asked me too if I’m any federal pool, unfortunately, I’m not.

A week ago, the second boss asked to search in all the confidential personnel envelopes, the old medical certificates; just to make a general cleaning in her cabinet. So, my duty was to look in every single envelope the certificates before 2004. What I found was more than a paper signed by a doctor.

I found, one of an advisor’s children had behaviour trouble disorder. She was, at least absent for a couple of months because the doctor asked her more participation in her kid’s development. Other, asked for a medical leave because of her pregnancy. She attached the baby’s scanner; a little foetus was growing up but the mother was apparently, working too much.

But the most interesting case was the second boss paper. The first time I looked at her I knew she was from an Arabic country. But most of the Arabians speak French but she speaks only English, well, a bit of French but with a huge accent. I think the only medical or absence leave was when her daughter died. I saw her justification and that’s why I knew she was from Egypt. If I remember well, her daughter passed away in a car accident.

It’s a weird way to meet people. Every time I see the second boss I can see sadness and I can feel her energy of loneliness. I understood later her cigarette addiction.

We have two gays advisors, one more bitch than the other, one Anglophone and the other francophone, one more classic and the other just easy going. I like the francophone, maybe because he knows I’m gay. He’s very nice and kind and the only one who had just a few (maybe three absences). I guess when you’re gay without kids you have more time for you and more money to spend in other things than paying medical bills.

There are more women advisors. There’s one who after two days of work said to me “Do we know from another place? Because I think I know you” , I replied “maybe in another live”, my God, she’s so sweet…but she’s straight. Sometimes I’m so lucky.

There’s one woman who works in the furniture section who married a Peruvian, but she doesn’t speak Spanish. It’s a funny and a bit crazy woman but she treats me well.

I don’t know why I’m there, but I love it. I wonder if I should move next month. Sometimes my roommates are unbearable; even my cat. I dream of the day I can enter home in silence.

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