I emerge from underground into the heart of the business district. Concrete high rises and rain dripping from glass awnings. I'm early, so I duck into a building with shops in the lower levels. I find a Tim Horton's, and comfort myself with the familiarity of the warmth from the brown paper cup. A million better places to get coffee within a 300m radius, but I need to ease into this gradually.

A Spanish man approaches me, needs help with his iPhone. It was a funny conversation, full of humility on both sides. Who says this city is impersonal?

I finally enter the high rise. Seeing the company logo large and green on busy Melville St. Where is the plume from the pulp mill? Where is the acrid odor of oil refinery? The smoke from the smouldering sawmill.

Up the elevator. Through large glass doors. Introduce myself. Enter meeting room. Meet interviewers.

So, we've pretty much decided that we want you.

What? It's a done deal? I didn't have to answer a single question? Why is this so easy? When is it all going to crumble around me? Why am I in this glorious light? Why is this working out so well? Why? What? How? Really?

When?

We want you in four weeks, but the PG office wants you for at least six. We will work it out and let you know, if that's ok with you.

Now they are fighting over me? In this economy? In this job market? In a city with 2.3 million people? My god, parents, put your kids into engineering!

I ride the train back to the suburbs. I'm full and happy and rosy cheeked and in a euphoric state of disbelief.

Later that night, the phone rings and we are told that we've been chosen as tenants for one of the condos for which we applied. Perfect location, perfect size, right price range. View of mountains and bridges and the Fraser River. The river that flows through Prince George.