On Bagging Pinot Grigio
It is a funny thing, moving for work. Same company, different province = TOTALLY DIFFERENT COMPANY. The agency I work for, Lifford, was started in Toronto 20 years ago. People know us. (Most) people love us - I want to say all people love us, but like, shout out to the haters! Is that a thing? No? Okay. Anyways, our office in Toronto is big with many dogs and smiling humans and usually chocolates and a weird fruit platter someone has inexplicably sent as if from an episode of Will & Grace where Grace accidentally goes on a date with a professional dog-walker (who then sends her fruit for 9 days and on the 10th day a rotten melon).
In BC there are no dogs, chocolates, fruit or for that matter, offices. We have a locker in the suburbs to house samples and enable me to keep up with Serial. #driving
Our west-coast humans smile too, but they are few and I don't get to see them as much as I'd like to.
It's cool though! Is is totally one of the reasons I moved to BC - it is exciting to be part of a small team. We are not 'big lifford' we are "Clifford" "Clyfford" "what?", in a way that is fun. I get to introduce people to who we are (kind of dweeby, but mostly nice!), what we're about (tasty things made by real humans!) plus drink great things all day with a whole new group of awesome people who are soooo much more relaxed and probably flexible. #yoga
In Toronto, I did one thing: taste wine with wicked restaurants. Pilgram life is different. There aren't all these nice people to do the other things that run a company. So, I must do the other things?
One of the main other things I now must do is store work. Don't get me wrong: I love stores! I go to them, like, all the time. But, the hustle and beat of restaurants is my life blood. And store work feels like a demotion.
I'm all like restaurantsssss.... My education..... My CHARM. My fleeting, puffy, mildly hungover beauty.
DOES NOT MATTER, PILGRAM ASSHOLE.
And so I have relented and my contribution to the planet now includes this:
That's right, friends, MERCHANDISING. Putting bags on Pinot Grigio makes you feel like human garbage at first, but you know, once you train your forearm muscles up right, it's kind of relaxing? Plus don't they look enticing and strangely beautful?
I've been to a crap load of stores over the past two weeks heading in to holiday madness and it's pretty awesome how many strangers this kind of work enables you to talk to. Nice old ladies. Cute almost underaged kids making mulled wine. All of the managers. Most of the men. #forbetterorworse
It's actually been really nice? Besides, this is the kind of wine work most people experience. Like next time you are in a wine store, look around. THERE IS CRAP ON ALL THE SHELVES. All of them. Nice people in buttoned-up shirts and pencil skirts attached every single one of those freaking on-packs and backer cards.
As an aside: I am totally bad at it. I take WAY too long and get tape in my hair and almost break bottles. Just today, AN ENTIRE BOTTLE of gin exploded in my car! I will smell like juniper forever. And be trailed by classy housewives and stray cats. But it's also humbling and ridiculous in a way that makes me smile.
I am pretty fucking happy that this isn't my future forever, but until then I will be dressed like Santa's forgotten elf with bags, tape and shelf-talkers protruding from every pocket.