Minnesota

Fernando is trapped talking with a regular customer one evening. This customer loves loves loves to bitch. About any topic, really: his job (or more accurately lack thereof), his classes (as he attends a nearby community college), politics (which wouldn't be so bad if he was somewhat remotely informed regarding the topics on which he was ranting), and so forth. (Note: Fernando, of course, realizes that he, himself, maintains a weblog in which he does the exact same thing regarding some of his more...eclectic customers and experiences, and accepts the resultant hypocrisy). Fernando has been known to be argumentative, but only when there is the chance for at least vague progress to be made on a subject or if Fernando can do the equivalent of “owning noobs” who really should have known better. Usually, it's not worth it with this guy because the cognitive dissonance possessed by this man is mind-boggling, and he is the sort that loves baiting arguments. Sort of an IRL troll, except far more mercurial. Some days he's peachy-keen-nice and others he is a thundercloud of impotent rage lashing out against whatever target is most convenient.

Anyway, today the initial subject of discussion was the weather. “So, I heard we're gonna get dumped on pretty fierce this weekend,” he says as he prepared to leave with his movies.

Fernando nods. “Yep. Right now it's out hovering over North Dakota, Minnesota”--STOP HERE WAS FERNANDO'S MISTAKE RESUME-- “Supposed to be pretty bad.”

“Minnesota? No way in hell would you get me to live out there. The place sucks.”

Fernando arches an eyebrow on purpose. “Really? Have you lived out there, then?”

“No, but you couldn't get me to go if you offered me a million bucks. The place is an empty hellhole.”

“Well, I mean, that's a pretty vague description that could apply to lots of places. Here, for example. I'd drop everything to head over there for a million bucks. Hell, half a million. A quarter. Even a tenth of a million.” And right there is when Fernando chose to fight this battle. Poor, ignorant Fernando.

“I don't know why you would. The people there suck.”

“That's not really fair. I have a number of friends who live there.”

“It's empty. There's no good place to live.”

“It's not completely empty. Minneapolis-St. Paul, Duluth, um....”

“See, you can't even think of more than two places,” he interrupts.

“Three. Um...Moorhead.”

“What the hell is Moorhead? I've never heard of it.”

“Out by Fargo. On the west end.”

“How the hell do you know this?”

“I just said, I have friends from there.”

“They should get the hell out of that state. State's going to hell. They can't even elect people right. Isn't their governor election or some shit still being counted?”

“Actually, that was decided back on the 8^th.” Fernando avoids mentioning the fact that other states, like Michigan, are even more going to hell, because that would just set off a lack-of-work rant or a Granholm rant or God knows what. Instead he shrugs. “Different strokes. They've got their system, we've got ours.”

“Still, wouldn't want to have anything to do with that place.” Then his bipolar pills kick in and he goes from cranky ranter to normalish-guy in a good mood. “Anyway, I'll catch ya later, Ferny!” And he leaves. Fernando shakes his head and sighs because some people.

He tried his best, dear Minnesotan readers. He really did.