"go back to your land, bitch"

Walking down the hill to work this morning a beat-down-looking character in a hoodie, drinking something from a Coke bottle and holding a lit cigarette, flagged me down. Even though it was nearly 8 a.m., it was still pitch-black. So, not the walk-to-work scenario you're probably picturing.

I decided friendly but fast-walking was the best option, and he struggled to keep up with me, as he told me his story. It was the same story you hear in Boston, but the locations had been moved. In this version, he needed some money for the bus so he could go to his friend's new 50-bed shelter in Kópavogur. (In the Boston version, it's usually Charlestown.) In his drunken slurring, he asked me if I knew about the shelter and I told him no, I was útlendingur. Then I changed the subject to the weather and we talked about that for a minute or so while I got to the bottom of the hill. Then I broke left and wished him well.

Then he switched to útlenska (outsider's language) and said, "Hey, what about Lækjartorg? The bus station is this way!" (It actually wasn't that way.) I told him I didn't have change (I don't carry cash) and kept walking. Then he started screaming, "Go back to your land, Bitch!" So, it's not all wine, roses, and happiness in the Land. Skitapakk!