3 April 2005
Torino, Italia
The Italian workday is pretty much the good life. Now, if you are Federico and Paola who are doctors, you might not have it so easy, but right now I’m talking about the shop owners on my street – the two men who stand outside their copy shop and say hello to everyone passing by, the family who owns the little corner grocery store, the woman inside the Tobbacci shop who recognizes my face when I go in to by phone cards once a week. These people have what is called a “lunch break.” Now, we’re not talking about someone coming in during lunch and covering for them while they go eat their fast food in the back room. Oh no. We’re talking about full fledge shutting the store completely down, locking up, and saying goodbye for the early afternoon. And not just for an hour, “Oh, that’s nice,” you say. Oh no, I’m talking about closing for a good three hours – enough time for lunch, a few errands and maybe even a nice nap in there if you’re lucky. That means that the average worker’s day is from about 8:30 or 9 in the morning to 12:30 or 1 in the afternoon. And then from about 3 or 3:30 in the afternoon to 7 at night. Nice life? I think so. The thing about Italian work mentality that I have understood so far is that instead of living to work like the trap we Americans seem to fall into, Italians simply work to live. Sure, they could make more money if they stayed open during lunch or later at night, but why should they if they are doing fine with the comfortable hours they are keeping now? This mentality is a welcome breath of fresh air to the American nanny who is used to 24 hour service, drive-through everything, and immediate customer help. Every day when I see these stores closed, it baffles my mind that they aren’t open during the busiest time of the day, but makes me appreciate their pace of life and what they value as being important. I admire it and wish we could have a happy medium in my own country. Well, that is until I’m making cookies in the middle of the day and run out of butter and only remember when I reach the store front that I can’t buy butter anywhere for another two hours. At these moments, commercial, florescent and American Walgreen’s is looking really nice.
Torino, Italia
The Italian workday is pretty much the good life. Now, if you are Federico and Paola who are doctors, you might not have it so easy, but right now I’m talking about the shop owners on my street – the two men who stand outside their copy shop and say hello to everyone passing by, the family who owns the little corner grocery store, the woman inside the Tobbacci shop who recognizes my face when I go in to by phone cards once a week. These people have what is called a “lunch break.” Now, we’re not talking about someone coming in during lunch and covering for them while they go eat their fast food in the back room. Oh no. We’re talking about full fledge shutting the store completely down, locking up, and saying goodbye for the early afternoon. And not just for an hour, “Oh, that’s nice,” you say. Oh no, I’m talking about closing for a good three hours – enough time for lunch, a few errands and maybe even a nice nap in there if you’re lucky. That means that the average worker’s day is from about 8:30 or 9 in the morning to 12:30 or 1 in the afternoon. And then from about 3 or 3:30 in the afternoon to 7 at night. Nice life? I think so. The thing about Italian work mentality that I have understood so far is that instead of living to work like the trap we Americans seem to fall into, Italians simply work to live. Sure, they could make more money if they stayed open during lunch or later at night, but why should they if they are doing fine with the comfortable hours they are keeping now? This mentality is a welcome breath of fresh air to the American nanny who is used to 24 hour service, drive-through everything, and immediate customer help. Every day when I see these stores closed, it baffles my mind that they aren’t open during the busiest time of the day, but makes me appreciate their pace of life and what they value as being important. I admire it and wish we could have a happy medium in my own country. Well, that is until I’m making cookies in the middle of the day and run out of butter and only remember when I reach the store front that I can’t buy butter anywhere for another two hours. At these moments, commercial, florescent and American Walgreen’s is looking really nice.
posted by Laura at 6:13 PM
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