I am pretty sure that my new office is not a typical Italian place of work. Everyone shouts at each other/talks to themselves in multiple languages, and I regularly have to ask someone whether a name is a first name or a last name (one of them turned out to be a foreign job title). How am I meant to know whether Давид is animal, vegetable or mineral? Then there’s alphabetising and typing euro-style… the mind boggles.
The environment itself is fresh out of the seventies; I can actually hear typewriters clacking and the bathroom is overly-tiled and overly-beige. I’m not sure a bathroom should make you feel nostalgic, or whether you can even feel nostalgic about an era you weren’t alive in. But regardless, the people are great, and the person who sits opposite me has a never-ending string of entertaining continental interjections; regular sounds of ‘bah’, ‘pah’, ‘boo’ coming from her corner, accompanied by vigorous fist-shaking, do make for light work. ‘Crash’, ‘Bang’, ‘Wallop’ are definitely just a few stressful phone calls away.
On a slightly different note, check out these heavily-laden shelves (phwoar):