Minnesota Nice in Norway

I just got back from a 15-day vacation in Norway. Four years ago, my mom married a man, Leif, who is originally from Norway, and still has a lot of family there so he visits often. This year, my husband and I tagged along for the trip. 

While there, we stayed at Leif's childhood house, now occupied by his cousin and her grown daughter. When we arrived, there was also a guy there. I wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He looked like he was in great physical shape, had the sides of his head shaved, about thirty years old, and he kept looking at the floor with his arms crossed. After introductions, he finally piped up, in perfect English, "I'm from Minnesota."

Ooooh, like us! Fabulous. Someone to talk to, yay! 

Now, being from Minnesota, I'm used to all sorts of niceties, both surface and genuine. The general idea is that in Minnesota, there are lots of "pleases" and "thank-yous," lots of smiles, lots of "Oh-no-you-firsts," and always, always, the last bite of dessert will sit there until it grows legs and can walk away on its own because God forbid you take the last piece. 

In Norway, things are a little different. You'll get a little jostled at the airport. People do not introduce you to their friends. Smiles are rarer, and you better snatch that last waffle if you want it.

Not that people weren't friendly. They absolutely were, and I loved them. But it was just different, and it's always refreshing to run into someone from your home when you're far away from it.

Unless you run into this guy.

I don't remember his name, so let's just call him Douchebag.

Douchebag came to Norway to walk - walk -  from Oslo to Trondheim. He apparently is a friend of a friend in the United States, and this friend sent him to stay with Leif's cousin and her daughter, even though they had never met him. No idea why this friend of a friend thought Leif's cousin and her daughter should be punished. 

We settled down in the living room: Leif, Mom, Leif's cousin, her adult daughter, and Douchebag. Now, I don't remember the last time I sat down and had a conversation with a total asshole. It's been quite a while because after you've been an adult for some time, you figure out how to worm your way out of these situations, or just avoid them altogether. Unless, of course, you're staying at a farmhouse in the middle nowhere, in the middle of Norway. Then you're just fucked.

Being Minnesotan, I am forbidden to speak rudely to anyone, especially someone I've just met. My brain, on the other hand, was born in South Dakota, and South Dakotans can say whatever they want, just usually with terrible grammar. 

So Douchebag sits down with a beer and begins to regale us with stories of why he's so awesome. 

*

DB: "I loved shooting guns. Anyone who's not a fan of guns, I dare them to get behind a machine gun and say it's not fun to shoot guns. They're fucking awesome."

My brain: "Oh my God, I'm in Europe and I'm listening to an American say things that make all of Europe think we're idiots. Please in the name of Elizabeth Warren shut up." 

*

DB: "I'm Norwegian. 100% Norwegian."

My Brain: "Actually, your 100% American and no more exotic than me or any other person who's born in America, but go on."

*

DB: "Thank God I don't have any English or French in me. THANK. GOD."

My Brain: "Way to go, you just insulted my husband, who's of English and French descent. Although I doubt he's actually insulted since he probably stopped listening to you ten minutes ago."

*

DB: "I wouldn't be in anything but the Marines. Like the Army? Army's full of losers and drug addicts. All of them. Every single one of them. EVERY SINGLE ONE."

My Brain: "Huh. I guess he doesn't realize Leif was in the Army......?"

*

DB: "I mean, the Marines are picky. They don't take just anybody."

My Brain: "They took you, so yeah. They do."

*

DB: "Since I'm 100% Norwegian [oh my god quit saying that!], I decided to walk from Oslo to Trondheim."

My Brain: "You're walking because you're an unemployed grown-ass man who doesn't have a car."

*

DB: "I guess, technically, I still live with my parents."

My Brain: "You still live with your parents and your mom does your laundry."

* 

Leif's cousin's daughter asks for a Coke. DB brings her one. She takes a sip and gags.

LCD: "This isn't Coke!"

DB: "Huh?"

LCD: "It has rum in it!"

DB: "Oh... I thought that's what you wanted."

My Brain: "You're trying to get her drunk to get in her pants. I assume you learned that in the Marines?"

*

DB: "I don't really have any plans."

My Brain: "Knock me over with a feather."

*

DB: "That's when I was stationed in Afghanistan where everyone is soooooo stupid. Afghanis are the dumbest people I've ever met. Oh my God, you wouldn't believe how dumb those people are."

My Brain: "Pot, meet Kettle. Do you seriously not notice how the room goes into immediate uncomfortable silence after you talk?"

*

I finally pretended to fall asleep on my husband's shoulder so we could make an excuse about being exhausted and go to bed. Which we did.

After that night, I was relieved to be back in the midst of Norway, and I was a little more appreciative of the jostling, the cool reception, and the waffle snatching. 

Because some of those nice Minnesotans can be such douchebags.