Pollyanna would die a sudden death in Warsaw

One gray Monday morning, my co-worker and I spontaneously decided to change our approach to work. In order to do this, we held a 5-minute long pep talk during our short walk to the neo-classical building where we spend 40 hours a week, either attempting to dissuade Swiss performers from bringing 2-meter long branches by plane as props to their play and soothing the frayed nerves of artists (my job) to phoning the members of museum committees in Slovakia (her job). We enumerated the various positive aspects of our jobs, the enormous gain for humanity from the actions we undertake in the workplace, the feeling of satisfaction we have after having convinced the festival's artistic director not to have a heart attack from seeing his name spelled in yellow rather than gold (apparently, anything that appears in the color yellow has no relation whatsoever to art. Pity Van Gogh and the rest of the pack.). We delighted our eyes with the prospects which surrounded us and rejoiced over the fact that the electricity had decided to comply for once and we were no longer obliged to turn off computers in order to boil water in the electric kettle. (Neo-classical buildings have the slight disadvantage of being on the National Heritage list, which means even slight repairs must be approved by authorities, who have apparently better things to do than decided whether the building can have an extra electrical socket or not).
We continued in this vein for the better part of the day, never letting up even during our lunch break, when we expressed our admiration for shop-window displays and lauded the delicious taste of the donuts we had purchased.
The reaction we met with, as two, young, bright and cheerful girls fascinated by surrounding reality was remarkable. It was only the general apathy of autumn-fatigued, listless and morose Varsovians which prevented us from getting committed on the spot. Surprise, fear, uncertainty, disbelief and indignation encompassed the reactions we elicited from the Varsovian public.
Prim grandmothers with strollers, preoccupied businessmen yelling commands into their cell-phones, teenagers shuffling their feet in their apparent hurry to return to school after lunch break - each and everyone of the incongruous characters we met with during our 10-minute walk would have gladly banded together to remove our cheery and enthusiastic comments from their range of vision.
Even Pollyanna would have given up.