Ten to Six

When I used to work a nine-to-five, and I did, it was a nightmare. Not because I had to work a nine-to-five, but because everyone else did at the same time as me. Everyone had the lunch hour off (which I detested -- fuck lunch hour, let me come in early so I can leave early) so what ended up happening was that I joined the sheep at the bank, the post office, the miserable Friday nights and the equally miserable Sunday nights.

So you'd think our good merchants would figure these things out. People (notwithstanding me) work 9-5 Monday through Friday. What the fuck good is it for YOU to work 9-5 Monday to Friday? Selling groceries? Or wine, or knicknacks? HELL-OH, everyone is WORKING!

See the logic? They are WORKING, so they CAN'T COME TO YOUR STORE.

So you'd think the logic would filter through, that people are too busy working to come to your store during the week, but hey, there's always the weekend, right? Time to SHOP!

But also time to SLEEP IN! So, everyone wakes up at noon, fucks around till two, then starts to actually get out and about at three.

But guess what: you close AT FIVE. You close at FIVE on a Saturday. And you're not even OPEN on yet another day when Dad can finally drive mom and the kids somewhere to go shopping, that day called SUNDAY. Where the FUCK is the logic in that? Hey, close on a WEDNESDAY. We don't NEED you on a Wednesday. There are 50,000 other motherfuckers covering your ass.

So . . . today it was exactly that scenario. Up late, off to Jean-Talon Market at three. So many people, so few brains. It's a lousy place to buy steak and that's what I was shopping for, so we picked up fresh pasta at Capitol, but by the time we decided to go to Lachine to check out their sausage market it was 4:30. Arrived just in time to be told it had folded years ago, so rushed off to Atwater Market. Hell, thought I, THAT will be open till seven on a Saturday.

Wrong. Closed at five. Atlantique, the butcher near my house: closed at five. Paris, the other butcher near my house: closed at five. Neither open on Sunday (Paris neither on Monday).

"If they only stayed open one more hour," observed Brigitte, as we sat in the car watching several would-be customers trying the doors at Atlantique, "they'd get all the runoff from the lamers who close at five."

Exquisitely put.

Gone are the days when my neighborhood Metro closed at six every day and completely on Sunday but we apparently STILL HAVE A LONG WAY TO GO.

Welcome to Québec.