Typical: (adj.) being or serving as a representative example of a particular type

On weekdays when I work, I usually set my alarm for about seven or seven fifteen in the morning. I don’t know why I do that, because I always hit the snooze until about seven forty five at the earliest. Sometimes I get up at eight. This makes it interesting, as my bus leaves the station at 8:26. Kendall and I take the same bus most days, and so one of us (usually her these days) makes coffee. Breakfast is sometimes a piece of toast with jam, sometimes a bowl of cereal, sometimes, if I’m late enough getting up, lunch is when I break my fast.

I think I truly am a creature of habit. I pick out the same seat on the bus every day. Sometimes, Kendall and I talk. Other times, we’re mostly silent. Silence is the norm on Monday mornings. Our bus winds through the city, past hoards of clothing stores and office buildings. Kendall gets off after about fifteen minutes (I usually push the “stop” button for her), we wish each other a good day at work, and my journey continues. The bus hops on the expressway, from which point I get a good view of the bay. This morning, it was shrouded in mist, and my view was blurred by rain on the window. On fine days, the sun shines gold on the water.

Having taken the same bus every day this summer, I’ve come to recognize the other regulars. An older, bespectacled gentleman in his red coat, a middle-aged bespectacled man in his blue coat, and recently a young Maori fellow with neither glasses nor coat.

The bus gets off the expressway at Petone, where the European settlers landed. It’s got the feel of a small town. One main street of shops, and small houses down the side streets. I get off the bus in Alicetown (about a half an hour journey from the centre of Wellington). Our office has an open floor plan, and so when one walks in, everybody knows you’re here. There’s a barrage of “good mornings!” Sometimes I’ll turn on the coffee pot, other times somebody has already done that. Generally, I serve everybody a mug. Linda, Belinda, and Paddy like theirs with just milk. Noeline likes milk and sugar. Nik and Jackie don’t drink coffee, and today I learned that Craig makes a huge, secret concoction that he trusts nobody with.

I spend most of my days at my desk, nestled away in a corner and out of the line of sight of just about everybody. On my IBM ThinkPad (oldest laptop I’ve used in a long time), I do my research. Again, I am a creature of habit. At about eleven, I have a snack, usually crackers and cheese. At twelve thirty or one, I eat some two-minute noodles. Sometimes there’s an orange involved as well. If Noeline is around when I am eating my noodles, she will always comment on the salt content.

At four or a little before, I pack up and head out to the bus stop for my ride back in to the city. On occasion, Noeline will give me a ride if she has business to attend to in town. Nik even gave me a ride once, and I’ve ridden in with Bee (Belinda) before, as well. I enjoy these car rides. Such good conversation happens there.

With Nik, I learned about the time she spent travelling the world as a young woman, before children. She spent much of it in Asia with a friend, and then worked in the UK for a while. I learned that she wants to learn to speak Maori, but has not got the knack for languages.

With Bee, we just had a good time. I miss Bee, but hope that she is enjoying Scotland.

What has surprised me, though, is the extent to which Noeline and I have formed a relationship. Last night, during the ride home, we talked relationships. “So, this boyfriend of yours, will you marry him?” I heard about her family, her marriage, and current relationship. She spoke of the way that the scripts of our lives are written – by others, and ultimately, by ourselves. I asked her how she is writing her script. She replied that most of her script has to do with retirement. “I want to be active,” she stated. I got a peek into her dreams – living in Spain (where her son is), a thirst to not fade away. I don’t think she will.

When I get back to the apartment, I get out of my work clothes (skirt or dress pants and a sweater) and into my normal attire – jeans. If the weather is irresistibly beautiful, I go for a walk by the water. I’ve sat on the shore with a journal a few times, admiring the sunset over the hills and all the beauty of the sea. Last night, as hinted at in a previous post, I went to a café with Camille and Kendall, and we sipped our drinks outside.

Cooking dinner is a big highlight of the evening for me. I have come to really enjoy cooking. Legitimate cooking, not college diet cooking. At times, we have a movie to watch from a rental store. There are good deals – five movies for ten bucks, and we get to keep them for a week. Text messages go out to the girls next door and the boys downstairs alerting them of plans for the evening. Sometimes, we are all together. Other times not. In some ways, it reminds me of how it was freshman year living in the dorms. Everybody bands together for survival in a brave new world. We go together because we are together.

Bed time creeps along sometimes, and surprises me at others. And then the cycle is repeated.

During the first few weeks, I resented the pattern and routine inherent in my taste of the “real world.” For the past three years, my life has been full of variety, unexpected events, and change. Work life, in contrast, was boring, borderline depressing. But after a while, the routine becomes comfortable. Normal. Structured. I am still unsure as to whether or not I like routine.

That, in a nutshell, has been a typical day in Wellington for this intern.