Patrick, V. 3.42853

Finally, my readers, an update from the namesake of this blog, la suisse. I apologize for making you sit on your hands waiting for this. It's just that in Switzerland, unlike everywhere else I had to go this summer, I actually have something concrete to do: my job. As you will learn in this post, productive Patrick is not equal to creative Patrick.

So: the dirty deets first.

My job: parfait. That's French for perfect! I get to play with little disabled mice all day and then try to cure them. It's edifying.

My place: so-so. I live in the Malley section of Lausanne, which my new friends (see below) and I have concluded is the ugliest section of Switzerland. Luckily, Switzerland is in general laughably gorgeous, so Malley turns out to be mediocre in the grand scheme of things. I have a beautiful balcony that overlooks...a traffic circle. But hey, it's a single with wood floors. What else can a guy ask for?

My friends: I made friends! This is SO not sixth grade Patrick talking here! I've mostly been traveling with Alex, Amber, and Melinda, three endlessly entertaining students from my program. Some of the other people in the program are interesting too!

Now, down to business: the Swiss and their souls. It's rough going here, folks: the Swiss aren't exactly the friendliest bunch. I've done well in German Switzerland because everyone thinks that I'm one of them until I speak, but unfortunately I live in the French-speaking canton on Vaud. Background: my struggles with French are epic and self-renewing. Every time a French-speaking person is mean to me because I can't speak French, I get more and more scared of the Gauls. Now it's at the point where I tremble when I pass old ladies holding baguettes. Pretty rough. The Swiss all know English, but wringing it out of them is like trying to pinch ants - it just doesn't happen.

Nonetheless, I have gained some insights:

-The Swiss are robots. Like, real robots. When they walk, their arms sway in the same way. When they judge me for not speaking French, it is always with the same robotic smirk. When any train is 15 seconds late, the old ladyrobots whip out their Tissots and check the time with the same robotic dismay. Remember that recession a few years ago? Yeah, never happened in Switzerland. No one knows why. I say robots.

-The Swiss love time. Not so much time but more the passing of time. Never have I been in a place where time moves as inexorably forward as it does in la suisse. In contrast to America, where buses are timeless because they never come, most Swiss buses are 2.5 minutes early. Lunch breaks last from 12 to 1245. The work day ends at 5. In Switzerland, on time is late.

-The Swiss can't dance. This is actually probably related to the fact that they're robots (but can't do The Robot). Any of my friends will gleefully tell you that I cannot dance. But when I am on the dance floor at a club here, I feel like the (adopted) love child of Beyonce and David Guetta compared to the Swiss, who merely sway back and forth, obviously waiting for someone to give them chocolate or a watch or something.

I'm not gonna lie: I kind of like it. Nothing unexpected ever happens in la suisse. Trains are on time. People come to work. Prices are ridiculous. It will always stay that way: robots can't break rules. It's a good place to get stuff done - I'm glad that I ended up here for the only slightly serious part of my Eurotrip.

That's why I too am a robot, at least for July and August. I'm Patrick, version 3.42853.