Minnesota Nice: just not to your face

This place Minnesota reminds me of many things.  I've had dreams like it.  No, I've had nightmares.  Have you ever had that dream where you are screaming, moving your arms, hands and mouth, but nothing is coming out?  That's kind of what it's like.  You tell somebody something, but they don't listen.  You ask them something, but they don't want to answer.

For ten months now, I've heard all about this great Minnesota work ethic, "Minnesotans are hard workers, doncha know."

I don't even know where to begin, but the above statement I have heard from many-a-Minnesotans lips' and in the comments section of countless newspapers and blogs is pure lunacy.  It simply doesn't exist.  I am sure that you don't believe me, and I have no statistics to substantiate what I am saying, but let me with you a few anecdotes than run the gamut from poor customer service to shit-all laziness, which stems from this thing called Minnesota Nice.

-Say you have a problem where you live.  No, say you've had a few problems where you live.
Let's say that other tenants have been loud, at all hours, a complete violation of the rules in the "gosh darn" lease, and you explain your problem to the property manager.  Said property manager shows alarm, like "oh gosh, no, Gosh.  I'll let them know.  You betcha."  You are then subjected to the exact same noises, at all hours of the night, with no end in sight.  You go back to the property manager.  You explain that nothing has changed.  You begin to notice a squeamishness in her. (Do note she has a whole lot of Sarah Palin going on, I know, Sarah's from Alaska, but "gosh darn" she sounds like one of these yokels from here - even has horrible glasses!)  Anyway, you pointedly ask her if she said anything.  Silence.  Nothing.  And she gives you that look like you're just a confrontational son-of-a-bitch, but in a nice way.

Or, let's say, you have some asshole fucking meth-heads who park right next to you.  A zig.  A zag.  A car pointed forwards, but never in the right direction.  And, on several nights, you can't park in the garage because their zooted-methi-ness has contorted their ability to navigate two bright-yellow lines which have just been striped.  So, you go to the property manager.  And you tell her.  And what does she say?  She tells you that she has other parking spaces.  You explain that you don't want another parking space.  This.  Is.  The.  Parking.  Space.  You.  Were.  Assigned.  This is the parking space you pay for every month, on time, and what would be right about getting what you paid for?  So said property manager says that she will take care of it.  What happens?  Days pass before the car is moved.  Like.  Three days.  And then it happens again and again.  And you ask her if she talked to them.  She doesn't really respond.  Because if she did, she'd be inclined to say "yes," which is a lie. And lying is not nice.  Lying is not Minnesota Nice.  But Minnesota Nice is the reason every fucking asshole here smiles politely, then does nothing to solve the problem.

-Let us say that you have a problem.  You do the reasearch to have said problem resolved, by looking up the appropriate service providers of said problem.  You call said problem solvers, and they say that they will get someone out to solve your problem.  Except, they don't come to solve your problem when they're supposed to.  So you get on the horn and call the problem solvers, and they sound aloof, and maybe that's a common characteristic with the locals (it sure as hell is), but they say they are working on it.  Except now, they don't sound confident.  You call them back.  They waffle.   You wait.  At the end of your day, they call and say they can't solve your problem.  You ask them about tomorrow.  Sure.  Repeat what happened today.  And the day after tomorrow, same thing.  And finally they send someone out to figure out what might be your problem.  But they can't solve the problem today, it's going to have to be next week.  Whatever, I don't care.  But why don't you just save me all of the trouble by telling me you're busy and you cannot make it?  Would have saved all of us a lot of trouble.

Incidentally and anecdotally (of course), people approach me with problems all of the time.  I'm like Harvey Keitel as the Wolf (in Pulp Fiction).  I solve fucking problems!  But you have to ask me.  If you don't ask me, I will not solve the problem.  And when you go and say to someone else you have a problem that I need to solve, it would probably work a little bit better if you actually fucking asked me instead of whining to a co-worker that I am not solving the problem.  But that would be too easy.  Instead, you sit on your ass, read your paper, take your little smoke-breaks (like clockwork), and act as though going to work and actually doing your fucking job instead of being a cowardly Minnesotan.  Are you starting to catch on that I will not solve your problem if you don't fucking ask?  Oh gosh, no, darnit, it's much easier to complain about you behind your back. 

Well, I'm spent.  Another couple of months in this backwoods hellhole.