The Twilight Zone.

When I look at my plane tickets, I know exactly where I’ve come from and where I am. But sometimes when I look around and pay too much attention, I’m not quite sure.

I might be in the Twilight Zone.

Here in Paris, I’m normally tempted to think that I’m in a slightly less expensive, somewhat miniaturized and generally more refined version of my own world. But other times I see that I’m on an altogether different planet. Where nothing is quite real, where nothing quite makes sense.

The office I work in comes complete with all of the trimmings of the corporate world. There’s an interoffice mail system, a system for clocking-in and clocking-out and an HR monster down the hall who everyone hates and who I refer to under my breath as The Dictator. These are—in France or elsewhere—universally recognizable pieces of the corporate puzzle. But then some pieces are simply askew.

Three examples, just so you know that I’m not the one going crazy here:

First: In November, an annual corporate Christmas party was scheduled. Fine, this is normal. But it was to take place in…February. Christmas in February? Okay, strange enough, but I can live with that.

Second: Then comes the night of the February-Christmas party and I had to work late with my boss, so we missed the beginning of the party. As we rushed outside to catch a cab to the party, we stood on the street in fairly-comfortable weather and my male boss remembered that he had forgotten his scarf. No problem, I thought, since it wasn’t even cold outside. But even though we were running very late, he went back up to the office, retrieved his scarf, tied it immaculately and was ready for the party. During the ten minutes I stood on the street waiting for him to return, I thought, is this real? Did I just see a man return to his office in search of a scarf to wear as a fashion statement to a party? Something’s wrong with this picture.

Third: We arrived at the party, among scores of my coworkers, and I saw that the evening’s entertainment, serenading us as we awaited our meal, was a seven-piece Dixieland band. We listened to them play “As the Saints Go Marching In” (sung as “as Zee Zaints…”) and I realized that I was the only person in the room with her jaw gaping open in horror, while the others gyrated back and forth with the music. It may be that in New Orleans at the same moment some corporate party was being serenaded by traditional French music and one token French person was horrified, which would only go one step further to prove my point.

Like I said, I’m in the Twilight Zone.

And I quote:

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space… and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition… and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call… the twilight zone."