...and you just can't get enough of Fargo

“What’s up with you?” my cousin Annie asked as we sat with the party of about eight family members at the packed Texas Roadhouse restaurant on New Year’s Day on 13^th Avenue in Fargo, ND… “you look mad.”

“If that bubbly waitress giggles and smiles at me one more time, I’m going to go DC on her and make her cry” I responded. “She’s so freaking nice it’s annoying as heck” (I don’t usually use words like heck unless I’m with my god-fearing family in Fargo).  

“She’s just being North Dakota nice” Annie shot back… “you’ve just been gone too long to appreciate it.”

There was more than a little truth to what my young cousin had just said. Annie is the daughter of my mom’s brother’s daughter Cia…who is my first cousin…so Annie is my first cousin once removed. I know that because when I did live and work in Fargo, we’d spend a lot of time sitting around the living room after dinner (which we ate at noon…lunch would follow in the afternoon…between dinner and supper) talking about family and how we were all related.

I remember sitting once in the Evangelical Free Church in Wolverton, Minnesota that my Scandinavian ancestors help found back in the 1800s. Before the service, my mom’s brother Donald (my uncle) was explaining how I related to just about everyone in the small country church.  He was telling me how I was connected to some of the old women like Beullah, Hazel and Aurora, and how our family was connected to the Andersen’s, the Sundquist’s and the Lundquist’s and the Nyquist’s. 

“Just tell me I’m not related to those two idiots” I said as I pointed to two blond-headed kids I’d never really liked. “No…he laughed…you’re OK there…there’s no connection.” Then about halfway through the service, he giggled out loud, and leaned over to report the bad news. He’d figured out a connection and I was indeed related. I know what you’re thinking…and yes…though I don’t recall ever seeing a banjo…I can hear the music too.

Anyhow…not sure what that really had to do with anything…other than to perhaps provide some context to set the scene. Plus…it’s about 4:10am on a Friday morning and my thoughts are even less organized than they normally are. So…back to the whole “Fargo nice” thing.

The next day after the Texas Roadhouse annoyingly nice waitress incident, which was just the latest I’d experienced in my first 24-hours, my same cousin Annie offered to take me over to the new Sandford/YMCA Wellness Center in West Fargo. She probably thought it would be a nice break from the whirlwind of rest home, mortician and banker visits (tied to the passing of my mom’s sister which necessitated the trip to Fargo) that dominated my first 48 hours back in North Dakota.

I was expecting some unimpressive facility in the middle of a harvested sugar beet field, and while I was probably right about the location (may have been a soy bean or wheat field), the two-year old facility was the nicest I’d even seen. My cousin got me in on a guest pass, which was really sort of pushing it because she wasn’t actually working out that day. The attendant at the front desk acknowledged that really wasn’t the spirit of the way the passes are supposed to be used, but the blond haired/blue eyed upper plains states poster girl was way too nice not to let me use the gym with my cousin’s pass.

After completing my cardio workout I was doing some old-school bench press sets in the free weight area. Between sets, some gangly cat in a goofy red sweat cutoff top sauntered up and asked if he could “work in” with me. Where I’ve lived most of my life (Los Angeles and DC), a dude really doesn’t walk up to another dude in a gym and ask if he can work in unless it’s about space, safety or a possible date.

What was annoying about this was that there were two empty benches on either side of me…so if the guy wanted to lift he could have just done what guys do in the big city and done his thing on an empty bench. The more annoying part is that that I was sporting my best standoffish Clint Eastwood expression, and the guy still approached me. So…I let the smiling goofball “work in”…at which point he asked if I would “spot” him. Then…just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…he wanted to talk. I could give you my response…but just believe me here…you don’t want to know.

 

So all in all I spent about a week in the -25 degree charm of a January in Fargo (even that set some records to be fair), and I was reluctantly reminded of why I really do like the place. People are annoyingly nice, hardworking , helpful and mostly genuinely good. I left last Sunday morning to drive my 84 year-old mother down to Minneapolis so she could fly nonstop back to LA. Shortly after going through security at MSP, I received an electronic notice from US Airways that my non-stop flight back to DC (scheduled after my mother’s flight to LA on Delta) had been canceled.

 

I was looking forward to my interaction with the first US Airways representative that I’d encounter. After a frustrating week dealing with death and too many annoyingly nice people, I was ready to unload on US Airways in true DC fashion. Thankfully, I spotted a US Airways employee working the gate at E2.

I was just about to make her cry, when I unexplainably decided to deploy a little Fargo nice. Instead of going off, I acknowledged that it must be tough for her to deal with all the canceled flights and unhappy people. Then, I explained that I would never have the patience to do what she did so well. Amidst our back-n-forth…the woman stopped and said this. “Can I just tell you something…you’re the nicest person I’ve dealt with all year.”

I reminded her it was only January 6^th, but that I’d take the compliment. I also reminded her that it wasn’t my usual MO…but that I’d just spent a week in Fargo.

I tried the same approach with the gate agent in Philly as I attempted to get on standby for my last leg to DC. She seated me in an exit row in 10A…which is the best coach seat on the airplane (no seat in front of you).  

Freaking Fargo.

 

So this movie is playing in the background while I type...and apparently it was Whitney Houston's last. As I finished up, she was belting out this song.

 

His eye is on the sparrow...