"The english are coming and I don't know what to do" - The National

Side 1:

"so tell us a little bit about yourself!"

"I'm from southern ontario, some years ago I moved to ottawa for university, after completing my business degree, I went to korea for a year to teach english, than I moved to montreal to attend trebas music school, when I found that not challenging enough, I opted out and started an internship at pop montreal"

"oh, so, ahhh, how's your french?"

"I'm learning!"

"yeah, okay, well we more cater to french music and so ah,.. we're looking for someone who is billingual, maybe even with more emphasis on the french side."

And exactly like that, before I could shout "I FUCKIN LOVE MUSIC, HIRE ME" my interview with some music label for a Promotions Rep/Publicist position became a pity party. Everywhere my eyes glance for sympathy, I seem to be fed the same advice..."you need to get a french girlfriend". But I have one, I have one! If only that was the job requirements.

Side 2:

Before the past 30 days expired, I can be pictured in a small glass encased booth ruling over the 'arcade fire' personal guest list at a couple of their sold out shows at the Maurice Richard arena dans la mtl. Sitting pretty jack and coke in hand, running my friends in, pocketing some $50 red papers issued by the Canadian government, closing shop down in time to catch the highly acclaimed bands setlist and meeting the bands family & accomplices; you couldn't ask for much else. Embarrassingly I got fed more, how bout a family poser who slipped through my radar of accent configuration. Everytime a french voice came to my ears, I was as lost as George W. and his taking of the word "nuclear", just impossible to get it straight, so I'd have to them repeating until impatience brought clear english. Than came a local thief, he threw out a first name that was ringing true on my sheet, but that last name though commencing with the same letter, didn't seem to match what I was reading. At this point, he stretched out his index finger pointing where my eyes met disagreement, not wanting to challenge the pronounciation of his own surname or my foreign beliefs, I relented. Giving him 2 tickets and backstage passes, he calmy proceeded on. Though wary, I felt content everything was in order, until a jack and coke later, heard aloud was the name the way i imagined it to come out. Standing before me was the authentic quebecois, shame, shame, I had been taken for a ride, no foul in knowing I wasn't played any better than the hometown band. Backstage passes for everybody! Adrenaline died down later when I discovered the original con had a true single ticket set aside somewhere else, yet he was now also meeting the band on my behalf.

All this to spill, I don't blame the source, I blame my ignorance. Corea you don't look so far away.