Like anyone else, I get frustrated at work. Whether it’s putting up with certain misconceptions about my home country, feeling like I’m not being taken seriously, trying to express myself and not having the words, or just irritation at the general lack of communication skills in post-adolescent males, there are moments nearly every day when I wonder what I’m doing here. Then I hear a horn honking or a siren from outside and it snaps me back to reality. At the end of my regulated 8-hour workday (unheard of for food-industry jobs in the States!), when I leave work and go home, I’m in Paris, France. And that rocks.
Originally published on Croque-Camille.