The First Sunday: Things Start to Go Wrong

I was happy to learn that there was an English- language service at a Catholic Church in Stavanger. I told the wife the night before that I'd be going to church and I left a note reminding them because I was leaving so early. Unfortunately, the bus never came so I never got a chance to attend church. From the moment the family woke up I noticed something was off. Things just weren't okay in the house. I did my best to stay out of everyone's way while at the same time not completely holing up in my room.

Finally, around 3:00pm, I took my bank details down to the husband so I could be paid. He utters those magic words one never wants to hear, especially after such a tense day: "We need to talk."

He doesn't want me to turn in my visa paperwork to the police just yet. He starts off by telling me that I'm not doing enough around the house. I took this news rather hard. I take my job quite seriously, there's nothing worse for me than being told I've been screwing up for a long period of time. I'd been asking for a chore list, and in no way had house keeping been part of the arrangement. I had voluntarily taken a 500 kr (about $100) illegal pay cut because all I was supposed to be doing was teaching the parents English. I picked up after myself, I didn't leave a mess, and I was still adjusting to this new family life.

Then comes the real shocker, they were upset that I had gone to church that morning. Telling them the night before that I was going to church and leaving a note telling them where I was going and when to expect me home wasn't enough. I received a long lecture about how dangerous that was, specifically, that I could "be raped by a Polish man." They also wanted 2-3 days notice before I left the house. I did my best to smile and nod. I know my temper all too well, and once the missiles leave the silos they cannot be recalled.