GWS's annual trip to his birth lands---the frozen tundra of Minneapolis and St. Paul---has flown by. Along with the vicious return of his native Minnesotan accent, GWS was struck dumb by the sheer niceness of Minnesotans.
Following the Minnesota Vikings' playoff-clinching victory over the New York Giants' JV squad, GWS and a long-time friend found themselves on a quick run to pick up buffalo wings. The manager asked if he'd gotten our order right: 30 wings, three sides of bleu cheese and two of ranch. Friend-of-GWS replied that, yes, that sounded about right. The manager asks, "That gonna be enough bleu cheese and ranch for ya?"
Har har har, wise guy, shaddup and put the wings in the bag, thought GWS. But the manager was serious. As if to assuage any fears about his meaning, the manager then offered the following: "Hey, you guys want any pizza? I've gotta throw these three out every half-hour, and I hate doin' it, so you guys can just have 'em if ya want." Seriously? Seriously??? Free pizza and guileless concern for one's fellow man? Perhaps GWS has spent too much time on the jaded East Coast, but this sort of generosity came as a pleasant and delicious surprise.
Ah, Minnesota: where the temperatures are sub-zero everywhere except in our Scandinavian hearts.