Minnesota nice.

Today at work, I was talking to two guys who grew up elsewhere. One guy was born and lived right outside New York City til he was in his early teens, and at this point he moved to just outside Miami. He resided there for a decade before migrating to Minnesota (he let a woman take him off the beach and into the Minnesota winters, this guy deserves a medal or something). The other dude is from Boston, and lived there the majority of his life. He spent time in Texas after he got out of basic training as well. His girlfriend also dragged him to our wonderful state. We talked for almost an hour about how we each grew up, the climate, prices, things to do, etc. The general consensus was that Minnesota is awesome because it's a slower life, everything is cheaper, and everyone is nice (I'll get back to this). They also hate it because it is cold as something that's really, really cold, and there really isn't much to do.

Besides incessant bitching about how their vaginas can't handle the winters, the most brought up point was how people are all so nice. In NYC and Bawston, everyone is always in a hurry, they say, and they never slow down enough to think about others.

Hearing things like this make me happy I grew up in Minnesota. I never really realized how nice everyone here is, I guess because I've never been anywhere else for an extended period of time. But hearing first-hand accounts of the inter-state difference of niceness is enough confirmation of the stereotype to tap into my thankful-reserves.

Yesterday, I was on my way to work plenty early. I work at 5pm, and I was in my car at 4:35pm for the approximately 12 minute drive to SpeeDee. I had just picked my car up from the shop that afternoon so I assumed all would be in ship shape. Well, my battery was dead, and I don't want to point fingers, but the dumbass mechanic had my lights on (not saying it's completely his fault, but he killed my battery). So I'm home alone with a dead battery and was very late to work twice just last week, meaning one more tardy in such a short span would land me on the tippity-top of the shitlist. We'll call this a pickle.

The first thing that comes to my head is to go to my neighbors. No one home. I run to the next-next-door neighbors. No one home. I run to the next-next-next-door neighbors. No one home. At this point, I am freaking out. I call my mother to check her ETA. She's in Clearwater, so that isn't an option.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

My driveway (we don't have a garage), with a significant hill in the back half, and between two granite walls bordering the sidewalk. The only way to get a jump is to get the car out of the driveway, and no one is around to help me, so I had to make a bold move. I put the car in neutral, gave it a good running start, sprinted to the door, jumped in, closed the door (just barely scrapping the door against the granite wall), and slammed on the break with the end of my vehicle in the street. Executed to perfection.

Now I just needed someone to jump my car. Luckily, my accident-prone self has jumper cables in my trunk. Quickly I grabbed em and ran into the street, jumping around and waving for a jump. The second car that passes stops. It is a very elderly couple who offer to jump me. Well, their battery is behind the back seat of their car (wtf!?!?!), and being the automotive savant that I am, I can't figure out how to open it. The wonderful old couple offers me a ride to work since they can tell I'm in a major hurry. I politely declined since I need to get to the exact opposite side of town, and this senior isn't going to drive fast enough for me to get there.

So now I gotta find another person to jump me. I go back to my jump/raindance in the road, hoping for another good Samaritan to pull over. Two cars later, a 20-some year old guy in a big truck slams on the breaks to come to my rescue. The guy is just a blue-collared, average joe, farmer-type guy. He pulls up over the curb and onto the boulevard, and saves the day. He refuses payment and drives away after I showered him in praises (I snuck up as he pulled away and dropped a 10-spot in his window, no worries, I always tip).

At this point, it's 4:51pm, and I have a 12 minute drive to the parking lot, with about 70 yards and two gates from there to the clock-in thingy. It was time to channel my inner N.Gin (yes, I just made a Crash Team Racing reference). Like a bat out of hell I raced across town. Eight stressful minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot. The mechanics out on their smoke break laugh as they watch some lanky ass kid sprinting as fast as possible across the parking lot and through the gates. I reach the machine, swipe my card, and I'm on the clock. Literally three seconds after I clock in, it strikes 5:01.

This was the most epic-est of scrambles of my life, bar none. Narrowly dodging the shitlist, I felt like an absolute champion. Remember in Hercules (the awesome cartoon Disney version) when Hercules is swimming after Meg's soul in the Underworld, while the Fates are about to clip the string? Every child in the audience is on the edge of their seat ready to burst into tears as the scissors are about to end his life. But it doesn't cut! Hercules entered god-mode. That was me, in a less theatrical sense. I made fate my bitch and entered god-mode.

But what really matters about this story is the case-and-point encounter with Minnesota nice. It just seemed so normal for me for people to be so eager to help. I mean, how cool do you have to be to be willing to take time out of your day to give a stranger a ride to work? I asked the guys at work from out east if that would have worked out so well for me over there, and they weren't optimistic about it. In fact, my question was met with a resounding "hell no".

So that's my first hand account with how Minnesota nice saved my life. Tunes!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nn6iU_c2cM0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dg7K-5BHnGY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGQvKU8Iaz4

iTunes update: 2286 songs.