Välkommen, brah.

The scene:

It is 4:15 AM. You are dancing in a disco with a large crew of your european co-workers, at a conference center in the boondocks of northern Scandinavia.

The CEO of your company has just bribed the DJ to continue playing euro-club jams for another two hours, despite the fact that the DJ's contract had him ending at 2:30 AM.

Also: your "mentor" may have fallen down the spiral staircase leading to this disco a few moments earlier, and therefore has asked you many times if the giant gash on his head "will be okay if [he] keep[s] dancing like a fool."

Aaaand the HR guy who recruited and hired you for your job—who, by the way, actively aims to resemble the Norsk God of Thunder Thor, complete with two-foot-long blonde hair that he wears in a top knot—has begun doing cartwheels in the middle of the dance floor.

Swedez.

It is at this moment—this key moment of time, mind you, in the middle of the FOURTH run of t.A.t.U's "Not Gonna Get Us," for the evening—that your 6'5", blacked-out drunk Swedish manager turns to you, looks you in the eye, and shrieks:

Swedish Wormhole

Though the company I work for is based in Stockholm, this year’s corporate retreat is in some truly and deeply rural-ass part of Sweden.

And yet, despite the conference center's distance from any urban area, the center that hosts us has apparently eschewed homey rustic charms.

Instead:  the center clearly recently had a “hip re-design” in which those shrewd-ass Swedes decided that the best way to update their 60s-era conference center would be to create a theme around leather, guitars, and rock’n’roll music. 

Because, I mean, what’s more hip than the totally-not-SwEnglish-sounding “Country & Western” wing that is entirely painted neon green and yellow?

A brief (but by no means complete) list of things creepy about this hotel, after the jump!