In our old premises, there was a giant wall-to-wall window that was useless to me while I was sitting at my desk. A five-foot divider wall was inconveniently placed right next to your Mare, completely obscuring any interesting view that may have been out there. As I work in the western suburbs of the city, just beyond the metropolitan borders, there really isn't a whole lot to see except squat, well-spaced office buildings with well-maintained lawns, and generally quiet thoroughfares.
Not having a window unless I stood up to stretch really didn't bother me that much. There isn't a lot of urban buzz around here, you see. No honking horns and blazing sirens and crowded sidewalks and sophisticated people wearing clothing that's too beautiful to be completely comfortable. Suits and stilettos abound on the core of the city's sidewalks, while the suburban employee is firmly ensconced in that phenomenon of fashion called Business Casual.
And yet, the style and the rush of the city could never be ignored or forgotten, because I got a daily reminder of it whenever I got up from the corporate trap that is my desk.
There it was, on a clear day, standing straight and tall and reaching towards the sun. Toronto's phallus symbol; the tallest free-standing structure in the world; the C.N. Tower, can be seen from any point in the metropolitan sprawl that is our mega-city. On a clear day, the whole of it winked at me from where it stood in the urban core, taunting my khakis and my sensible loafers and my office building with it's paltry seven floors.
We no longer work in the grandly misnomered West Tower, but have moved over to the East. Windows now surround my desk, but ironically, I now have no view of that particular Tower that I love so much. Instead, a mere turn of the head provides me with a view of more squat buildings with well-maintained landscaping, and a busy stretch of highway just beyond a bordering ravine.
But... but... just beyond the highway, just beyond the trappings of the suburban workforce, just beyond all that is mundane and beige in the world, there is the airport. Pearson International, with it's air traffic control towers, and it's hangars and it's dizzying amounts of runways.
And most importantly, there are the airplanes. The multitude of airplanes, taxiing along the miles and miles of pavements, taking off and landing in a magnificently choreographed grace that rivals any ballet corps in the world. Airplanes full of people, airplanes full of hope. One can't help but stare.
Frankly, I don't know how I'm going to get any work done.
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