A foxy blog about my scandalous adventures in grad school in Uppsala, Sweden. I think about history things a lot. I like to sleep, drink coffee, and I listen to terrible pop music, namely Turbo Folk and the music of the Eurovision song contest! I like to complain a lot. I commonly blog about Swedish/Uppsala things, Canadian/Edmonton things, Sherlock BBC things, Detroit Red Wings things, and whatever I feel like. My feels live here. My body is 50% whine, 50% wine. Deal with it.
I had to call this lady because the idiot Texan forgot her things when she moved in the spring. I know I can be forgetful (I have left sweaters pretty much every place possible in my life) but when I am leaving a COUNTRY I try not to forget things that are important to me. The Texan stayed with this older lady who only speaks Swedish and Persian. Now, when I am face to face with people, I can take social cues and explain myself better. But my NERVES just get to me on the phone in ANY language. Speaking FRENCH was even more horrifying when I ordered a car in Paris :(
It is hard enough for me to speak English on the phone but this was speaking Swedish to another non-native speaker. It was mortifying trying to explain who I was and who the Texan was. I don’t think she knew her last name and THAT was what was throwing her off. The lady started to get like MAD. “WHO ARE YOU? WHAT THINGS? HOW DID YOU GET THIS NUMBER???” The worst part was is that both the Texan and I are named SARA(H). “Yes, this is Sarah calling for Sara.” AT LEAST THE LADY WASN’T NAMED SARA(H).
I always talk to fast on the phone. Good LORD. I just want to crawl under the desk and CRY. And after all the trauma I still have to bike out there (7km there then 7km back…), meaning that I will have to leave work early. Nurghhhh.