north dakota

a couple of weeks ago, i went to north dakota for a job interview. here is what i wrote...

This is the first leg of my journey to Dickinson, North Dakota. I am a candidate for a marketing position at an institution that is working towards economic development in the western part of that state. Half of my family has roots in this area, driven out by dam projects and polio. Here I am, out of everyone, returning. I, the one who has traveled the world more than anyone else, am going back to where his mother’s family first came when they emigrated as Germans from Russia. Though my roots are there, I feel like I am setting off to a new county, even more foreign than Africa. I have a marathon series of interviews, which makes me horribly nervous. The though going through my mind, though, is whether or not I could even live in this place. Dickinson is a town of 17,000 people. It does have a small state university, which changes things to an extent. At the same time, I know no one and I would literally be out in the middle of nowhere, even more so than I feel in Iowa. The thing is, though, that I do not feel like I have a lot of options. I cannot imagine I would like living there. But perhaps I will be surprised.

I arrived at the Dickinson airport. It has one gate, three staff members, and one car rental place. Waiting in line to retrieve my rental car, I hear a young man asking other passengers if they are “Fritz.” I catch his attention and inform him that I am Fritz. He tells me that there has been a change in plans and that he has come to pick me up—no rental car for Fritz. This also means no freedom, which in someplace this small bugs me a lot. Since he has not offered it up, I eventually ask my chauffeur what his name is. “Jamie,” he replies. He works at the university in student activities and also does something with the athletic department. Jamie grew up in a town of 600 25 miles south of Dickinson—so he has basically been in the area for his entire life. As I take my luggage from the back seat, I notice a bowling ball and bowling shoes. Apparently, this is that kind of place—one where people in their late twenties are already hanging out at the bowling alley. (news flash: i have been informed at a party in tacoma that bowling is the new golf. i didn't like golf either, though.)

Before coming here, I was informed I was staying in senior living apartments. I immediately interpreted this as a retirement home, which I found very strange. LeAnne assured me, however, that this probably meant seniors in college. Oh great, I though, a dorm instead, but this did seem preferable to a retirement home. It turns out, though, that my hunch was correct. It is a retirement home. Well, at least it is nicer than the one where my grandparents live. I am sure someone out there can understand why I find this exceedingly strange.

The interviews went fine, although I did not end up getting the job. My last meeting with was a realtor who showed me everything, which was great. She even took me to the Badlands which were amazing and beautiful. My last night there, after all the hustle and bustle was over, I decided to go have a drink. I sat down at the end of the bar and immediately, three gentlemen turned and looked at me. One of them was holding a cigarette in the space left by a missing tooth. And they just kept on staring. Somehow, I feel like they embodied much of what living there would have felt like--I would always have been an outsider, a stranger, a weirdo, someone people were always questioning.