Whenever I think about just how boring, repetitive and unimportant my job is I think to myself, "At least I'm doing it en français."
Some part of my ego is consoled by that, because there was a time when I thought that people who were fluent in a second language were borderline superhuman. I remember watching (not listening to, for my skills in the language were by that point atrophied to uselessness) one of my favorite professors give a lecture in Spanish. To think, there were people -- other students, like me -- who dared to sign up for an entire semester's worth of such classes. Unthinkable.
Now I fix programs that no one uses, write documents that no one reads, and respond to urgent e-mails concerning technical problems that will soon be ignored or forgotten, but I do it all in French. And that makes it cool. Almost.
I also know now that anyone can do it if they put their mind to it, or if they are lucky enough to be seduced by the right foreigner. But I don't let my ego in on this discovery.