I don’t know if I’ve ever written about how I got started with taking Norwegian in the first place. Because you see, I didn’t have anything at all to do with anything remotely Scandinavian during my Bachelor’s degree. Quite the contrary. I took Spanish for four semesters, three of which were wonderful, and one of which… wasn’t. For several reasons, really, but mostly because my teacher was a complete and utter cunt. (This isn’t just my personal opinion, either. Other people have had courses with her and agree.)
Point being, when starting my Master’s, I was going to take Spanish translation courses, but because of bureaucracy, I was offered the choice between going abroad to Spain for a while (which I wasn’t particularly keen on), or taking the next-level Spanish language course and get certified that way. The course in question was taught by her.
So, long story short, I made an impulse decision and started with Norwegian instead, because my roommate had spent the last two semesters raving about how lovely and wonderful the teacher was.
At the place where I work now, it’s some sort of Spanish Movie Week this week, and predictably enough, I ran into her both Monday and today. Both times, I’ve had a hard time keeping a straight face and suppressing the urge to throw insults and/or a plate in her face.
And it’s funny, because as angry as just seeing her still makes me, I really should be thanking her every day. If she hadn’t been such an absolute disaster of a teacher, that whole chain of incidents that ended up bringing me to Trondheim would’ve never been set in motion, and I never would have met all the wonderful people I’ve met, or done all the fantastic things I’ve done.
What a blessing in disguise she turned out to be. That bitch.