Self Made Part 2
I always say to Mr Eriksson when I want something, ”No is not an answer” It is in fact one of my many mottos in this life. I returned to the unemployment office of the arts and culture section carrying my business concept in a cake box, a pavlova. Party Pavlovas was the name of my new Starta Eget. I am going to bake and deliver pavlovas to order. Who needs Swedish to do that?
I smiled politely at the lady behind the computer-says-no desk and took my nummerlapp and went back to the waiting lounge. She has to give me points for persistence, surely? I believe in being service minded- a concept these Swedes still haven’t caught on yet. The only way to know how good your product is is by testing the market. So always thinking ahaead, I whipped out some paper plates and plastic forks and began serving up the pav to the unemployed folk in the waiting lounge. A huge hit, they loved my pav. The lady behind computer-says-no-desk walked towards me with two security guards by her side. That’s nice they’ve come to join in. I offer them each some pavlova. ”Don’t be shy, tuck in!”
”Jag är lactose intolerant” she said, stepping away from the pav as if I had offered her a plate of Moose bajs.
Then to my horror,the two security heavies chucked out my pav in the bin! Nazis! I was not allowed to test my product on the premise of market research at the arbeteslösförmedling. Well they certainly don’t encourage entrepreneurial initiatives around here, do they? Communists!
The heavies escorted me out of the premises. They waited until the elevator doors closed on me to make sure I had really faded to black.
It dawned on me going down the lift that I don’t need some silly Starta Eget packet to start a business. The Starta Eget is for the Swedes! It’s for them who have no idea about good business sense. Retail hours are from 10 to 6pm, go figure. China, India and the bottle shop would go bankrupt if they kept those hours. There’s no home delivery from ICA offered unless you are living in a service house. When I wanted my groceries delivered I said I ’m living in a house and I want service. What’s hard to get? Forget about getting rich from a small business idea as this would mean that it’s successful and really was a small business idea from the start and not some club of coffee and cake meetings for people who haven’t been in the workforce for over 12 months.
When Mr Eriksson came home he was pleased to hear that it went well at the unemployment office and that my Starta Eget had started. I told him I put up a notice at the local ICA and printed off flyers which I stuck in the neighbor’s post slots in the apartment building. Party Pavlovas to order! I make a mental note to make sure I do this first thing in the morning. It’s only a lie if I didn’t do it. I just haven’t done it yet.
Eller hur?
Fru Eriksson
fredag 14 september 2007
torsdag 13 september 2007
Living in Sweden is character building #4 Self Made part 1
Self Made- Part 1
Mr Eriksson said that I have to start doing something with myself. Oh dear, I told him I returned the vibrator he bought me as all toys Made in China were being recalled.
”I mean you have to try and get a job, Fru Eriksson."
I walked into the unemployment office for those registered as workers in the arts and culture sector, unaware that I had a fresh pile of dog shit under my shoes. I was half way towards the the middle of the room when others noticed the shit stained footprints led directly to me. So I do what I do best; deny it, keep my chin up and repeat several times in my head ”I am having a bad day not a bad life.”
After speaking to the lady behind the ”computer says no” desk, I am told that according to the records my work and education details are still not up to the Swedish standards. And plus there is a remark about my harassing a previous handläggare. The lady says this sort of carry on is unacceptable in Sweden.”Vi gör inte sånt här”
What about this thing called AKASSA, I ask her. She tells me that I have to be first registered as actively unemployed at the arbetslösformedling in order to get the dole. I tell her that I have been actively unemployed for 8 years! Surely I’m elligible? She looks at me and gives me the ” computer says no” look. Not sexy, if you know what I mean.
I look up and see the faces of the unemployed. I recognise one of the actors from a film poster- something about nothing and somebody dies type film.Very Swedish. Next to him is another actor that I recognise from the tabloids who had a dead body fall out of his closet. He said the corpse wasn’t his and he had no idea how it got there and then there’s a bunch of artists who couldn’t draw themselves out of a paper bag. At least the actor with the corpse must have had some talent to get himself of that mess. You have to admire the tenacity of survivors. I am suddenly inspired. You can’t keep a good utlänning down. I turn back to the lady at the desk and with a second wind in my sail and say enthusisastically, ”What about Starta Eget?
She shakes her head and sprays me with her spit when she tells me my Swedish isn’t good enough. Oh what a shame I say, I’d better go home and cut my wrists, eller hur?
Fru Eriksson
Mr Eriksson said that I have to start doing something with myself. Oh dear, I told him I returned the vibrator he bought me as all toys Made in China were being recalled.
”I mean you have to try and get a job, Fru Eriksson."
I walked into the unemployment office for those registered as workers in the arts and culture sector, unaware that I had a fresh pile of dog shit under my shoes. I was half way towards the the middle of the room when others noticed the shit stained footprints led directly to me. So I do what I do best; deny it, keep my chin up and repeat several times in my head ”I am having a bad day not a bad life.”
After speaking to the lady behind the ”computer says no” desk, I am told that according to the records my work and education details are still not up to the Swedish standards. And plus there is a remark about my harassing a previous handläggare. The lady says this sort of carry on is unacceptable in Sweden.”Vi gör inte sånt här”
What about this thing called AKASSA, I ask her. She tells me that I have to be first registered as actively unemployed at the arbetslösformedling in order to get the dole. I tell her that I have been actively unemployed for 8 years! Surely I’m elligible? She looks at me and gives me the ” computer says no” look. Not sexy, if you know what I mean.
I look up and see the faces of the unemployed. I recognise one of the actors from a film poster- something about nothing and somebody dies type film.Very Swedish. Next to him is another actor that I recognise from the tabloids who had a dead body fall out of his closet. He said the corpse wasn’t his and he had no idea how it got there and then there’s a bunch of artists who couldn’t draw themselves out of a paper bag. At least the actor with the corpse must have had some talent to get himself of that mess. You have to admire the tenacity of survivors. I am suddenly inspired. You can’t keep a good utlänning down. I turn back to the lady at the desk and with a second wind in my sail and say enthusisastically, ”What about Starta Eget?
She shakes her head and sprays me with her spit when she tells me my Swedish isn’t good enough. Oh what a shame I say, I’d better go home and cut my wrists, eller hur?
Fru Eriksson
onsdag 12 september 2007
Living in Sweden is character building #3 The Health Care System Part 2
The Health Care System Part 2:
”Of course, you’re not an alcoholic, you’re just depressed, said the petite doctor with smiling eyes peering at me over her tortoise rimmed spectacles. I was relieved. I tried to tell Mr Eriksson the same thing I told her, rolling my eyes. She wrote me another dose of prozac, ripped the piece of paper from her prescription pad and handed it to me. ” It can’t be easy living here, I should know and I’m from here!” I laughed too hard, taking the prescription from her and grateful that finally some one understood me. Do you have any friends? Yes, I said, in fact they’re waiting to take me for lunch at the Cafe Opera. I got up to leave when the doctor commented on my Mulberry scarf and loved the perfume I was wearing, Alure by Channel, I told her. ”It smells divine!” she said. She looked down at my shoes and couldn’t help herself over the limited edition bottle green ballerina shoes by Bally that I had on. Mr Eriksson bought them for me in London. They don’t stock them anymore, sorry.
I left the vårdcentral with a smile on my face and feeling a strong connection to my doctor, who is my new best friend. Speaking of which, my mates Moet and Merlot are waiting to take me to lunch!
I rush past the A-team sitting on the park bench who didn’t recognise me from the last time when I gave them a bottle of wine. They say the attention span of park benchers last as long as their last bottle. Go figure. They looked pretty rough today that’s for sure. They’re the ones that really need help! Mr Eriksson should come by here and see the folk who have real problems with the grog and stop threatening and accusing me willy-nilly. He mustn’t be happy about something. It is a fact that when people project on others it is usually something they themselves are lacking. I make a note to be more attentive to Mr Eriksson and his needs.
I stop myself when I realise that I have left my wallet at home. I rush back to my apartment. I live in one of those apartments in the inner city where one needs a card key and code to get through the main door. I have of course left my card key in my wallet. But luckily an elderly lady who lives in the apartment directly under us, is waiting inside the lobby for her hemjänst ride. I knock on the glass door for her to open. ” Could you please open, I left my card key at home”. I point to the release button inside to let me in. She just stares at me blankly as if she’s never seen me before. I bang on the glass, yelling at her. Maybe she can’t hear me. ” Can you open the door, please!”. She hobbles forward and speaks loudly, ” Tyvärr, Jag känner inte dig” ”Yes, you do! I live on the fifth floor!” I yell back. She shakes her head, ”Nej, jag kan inte, tyvärr” she says from behind the door. ” Jag förstår inte vad du säger”
I stare at her through the glass, stumped for a good long second and then I say in my special Swedish, ” Jag är städare. Jag jobbar för Herr Erikssson.”
”Då så”! She pressed the release button and opened the door. ”Värför sag du inte det tidigare?”.
”Eller hur?”
Fru Eriksson
”Of course, you’re not an alcoholic, you’re just depressed, said the petite doctor with smiling eyes peering at me over her tortoise rimmed spectacles. I was relieved. I tried to tell Mr Eriksson the same thing I told her, rolling my eyes. She wrote me another dose of prozac, ripped the piece of paper from her prescription pad and handed it to me. ” It can’t be easy living here, I should know and I’m from here!” I laughed too hard, taking the prescription from her and grateful that finally some one understood me. Do you have any friends? Yes, I said, in fact they’re waiting to take me for lunch at the Cafe Opera. I got up to leave when the doctor commented on my Mulberry scarf and loved the perfume I was wearing, Alure by Channel, I told her. ”It smells divine!” she said. She looked down at my shoes and couldn’t help herself over the limited edition bottle green ballerina shoes by Bally that I had on. Mr Eriksson bought them for me in London. They don’t stock them anymore, sorry.
I left the vårdcentral with a smile on my face and feeling a strong connection to my doctor, who is my new best friend. Speaking of which, my mates Moet and Merlot are waiting to take me to lunch!
I rush past the A-team sitting on the park bench who didn’t recognise me from the last time when I gave them a bottle of wine. They say the attention span of park benchers last as long as their last bottle. Go figure. They looked pretty rough today that’s for sure. They’re the ones that really need help! Mr Eriksson should come by here and see the folk who have real problems with the grog and stop threatening and accusing me willy-nilly. He mustn’t be happy about something. It is a fact that when people project on others it is usually something they themselves are lacking. I make a note to be more attentive to Mr Eriksson and his needs.
I stop myself when I realise that I have left my wallet at home. I rush back to my apartment. I live in one of those apartments in the inner city where one needs a card key and code to get through the main door. I have of course left my card key in my wallet. But luckily an elderly lady who lives in the apartment directly under us, is waiting inside the lobby for her hemjänst ride. I knock on the glass door for her to open. ” Could you please open, I left my card key at home”. I point to the release button inside to let me in. She just stares at me blankly as if she’s never seen me before. I bang on the glass, yelling at her. Maybe she can’t hear me. ” Can you open the door, please!”. She hobbles forward and speaks loudly, ” Tyvärr, Jag känner inte dig” ”Yes, you do! I live on the fifth floor!” I yell back. She shakes her head, ”Nej, jag kan inte, tyvärr” she says from behind the door. ” Jag förstår inte vad du säger”
I stare at her through the glass, stumped for a good long second and then I say in my special Swedish, ” Jag är städare. Jag jobbar för Herr Erikssson.”
”Då så”! She pressed the release button and opened the door. ”Värför sag du inte det tidigare?”.
”Eller hur?”
Fru Eriksson
tisdag 11 september 2007
Living in Sweden is character building #2- The health care system part 1
The Health Care System- Part 1
Mr Eriksson was not happy this morning. He gave me the three D’s alternative- death, divorce or doctor. Apparently he is upset with my chardonay-a-day habit and is convinced I will die from an alcohol induced accident or eventual liver decay. Such melodrama for a Swede. Rather unusual. I told him that I didn’t find it a problem and maybe he should really ask himself why this is difficult for him. After all, my alcohol consumption is purely medicinal as it is bloody cold inside the home, ( 17 degrees) and about 10 degress outside. Not sexy, if you know what I mean.
Anway he was adamant that I go to the local vårdcentral and seek some sort of medicial help for my condition otherwise he was going to leave me. He said. ”Mrs Eriksson, I’ve had enough” I popped my last prozac pill, making a mental note to myself I need to get more and told him we should talk about this rationally. Aren’t you over reacting? He sited what he considered crimes which showed a lack of judgement that could only be explained by a woman under the influence. I asked him to please give me specifics;
Apparently it was noted that I ”borrowed” our neighbor’s rusty children’s pram and took it to the local bottle shop, System Bolaget and stocked up on some decent grog. What's wrong with that? I pushed the rattly and rusty pram home with some Aussie and one or two South African wines . Problem? The South African's can trade now. (I gave one bottle to the guys on the park bench- one thing Sweden has taught me and that is to share with those who are less fortunate than myself. They thought it was Christmas. Isn't this being a Socialist?)
I don’t see anything wrong with that I told Mr Eriksson, that’s just being practical taking the grog in the pram and not having to carry them in bursting plastic bags! And besides, I argued further, that’s for the dinner party on week 39! Mr Eriksson said that WE were invited to the hosts house for dinner. THEY were not coming to us. I had bought booze for what he considered a Christmas party for journalists. Well, it’s all a matter of perspective, I said. Our hosts won’t need to buy any booze if we bring our own! That’s being economical! You're always telling me I spend too much.
And then he brought up the incident when I didn’t come home until 6am the next morning after telling him I had gone out to buy some bread the previous evening. Well, it’s not easy in a new country, one has to get acquainted with the coordinates of getting back home. I was geniunely lost. Mr Eriksson found this answer quite lame and gave his last warning before leaving out the door. Oh dear, that will teach me to take the neighbours pram without asking!
Mr Eriksson was not happy this morning. He gave me the three D’s alternative- death, divorce or doctor. Apparently he is upset with my chardonay-a-day habit and is convinced I will die from an alcohol induced accident or eventual liver decay. Such melodrama for a Swede. Rather unusual. I told him that I didn’t find it a problem and maybe he should really ask himself why this is difficult for him. After all, my alcohol consumption is purely medicinal as it is bloody cold inside the home, ( 17 degrees) and about 10 degress outside. Not sexy, if you know what I mean.
Anway he was adamant that I go to the local vårdcentral and seek some sort of medicial help for my condition otherwise he was going to leave me. He said. ”Mrs Eriksson, I’ve had enough” I popped my last prozac pill, making a mental note to myself I need to get more and told him we should talk about this rationally. Aren’t you over reacting? He sited what he considered crimes which showed a lack of judgement that could only be explained by a woman under the influence. I asked him to please give me specifics;
Apparently it was noted that I ”borrowed” our neighbor’s rusty children’s pram and took it to the local bottle shop, System Bolaget and stocked up on some decent grog. What's wrong with that? I pushed the rattly and rusty pram home with some Aussie and one or two South African wines . Problem? The South African's can trade now. (I gave one bottle to the guys on the park bench- one thing Sweden has taught me and that is to share with those who are less fortunate than myself. They thought it was Christmas. Isn't this being a Socialist?)
I don’t see anything wrong with that I told Mr Eriksson, that’s just being practical taking the grog in the pram and not having to carry them in bursting plastic bags! And besides, I argued further, that’s for the dinner party on week 39! Mr Eriksson said that WE were invited to the hosts house for dinner. THEY were not coming to us. I had bought booze for what he considered a Christmas party for journalists. Well, it’s all a matter of perspective, I said. Our hosts won’t need to buy any booze if we bring our own! That’s being economical! You're always telling me I spend too much.
And then he brought up the incident when I didn’t come home until 6am the next morning after telling him I had gone out to buy some bread the previous evening. Well, it’s not easy in a new country, one has to get acquainted with the coordinates of getting back home. I was geniunely lost. Mr Eriksson found this answer quite lame and gave his last warning before leaving out the door. Oh dear, that will teach me to take the neighbours pram without asking!
måndag 10 september 2007
living in Sweden is character building #1
My husband doesn’t get my jokes. My friend Patrick said it’s because I don’t say ”Jag skojar bara” at the end of the jokes. This is true and in fact one of the many ”codes” one learns to unlock with time if you are lucky when co-habiting with the Swedes. I only learnt the later a few days ago. There is still hope for slow coachers like myself. There is a fridge magnet that was given to me long time ago that has a picture of a Dala horse with the inscription, ”Living with a Swede is character building”. I am certainly blessed to have met such fortune twice. I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is true. Sweden has been good to me but like the heading says, it’s character building and the seasonal adjustments are not only about the weather, although I do recommend to newcomers to make friends in the summer as that is when the Swedes are most inclined to be more chatty than usual and one establishes a point of contact that you can refer to come the autumn/winter dip. You know what I mean…it gets very lonely if you don’t plan ahead.
A friend of Mr Eriksson’s rang and invited us to dinner, she said that we were welcome to come over…on week 39. Week 39! I exclaimed, We might be dead, divorced or deported, I said. What about now, today? Next week? Any day that I can say tomorrow, or the day of the week I can remember by it’s name like Monday to Friday. What is ”week 39” ? I can’t even plan the next day! I have buckled under pressure and week 39 it is. Only African ant species and Swedes plan in weeks ahead of time.
Anyway, as autumn has already arrived without any warning, I am already dreading the temperature dispute I have with Mr Eriksson who does not accept that the home we cohabit together is below humane heating levels for a southern hemisphere creature like myself. He cannot comprehend that the legal 17 degrees thermostat is what is a long and endless winter where I come from and might as well count that as a return of the ice age. They say that there is no such thing as cold weather only inadequate clothing. I will remember this when I put on another layer of those rag sockor and wish I lived in the large green house Rent-a-plant recently purhased to keep the hibiscus and lillies warm for winter.
My mother rang recently after months of not hearing from her or her from me. She still cannot comprehend what I am doing here. I cannot either. She has told her relatives on the other side that I work for the Swedish telecommunications company. The family expect mobiles for Christmas and believe that I am selfish for not sending them. I keep correcting her to say that I am married to an Eriksson not working at one. The line went all fuzzy and she didn’t hear the last bit. She asked me what day it was in Sweden, I said it was Wednesday. She said, ”that’s funny, it’s Wednesday here too!”
I am have difficulty with defining myself and my purpose when there are days that feel I am trudging through mud to simply reach the basic A to B tasks. There are moments where I think someone knows something that I don’t know around here and no one is going to tell me. Should it be this hard???? Why does IT feel so hard? Is there a code to the easy route and the ones like me, have to go the hard route and I will always be on the hard route because no is going to offer to suggest, ” Why don’t you try it this way?” Or ”Why don’t you come over here and I can help you the easier way?” When Mr Eriksson and I registered at the unemployment office for those who work in the culture section, Mr Eriksson got accepted immediately in the register. I had to go through a high school and University equivalent exam to prove that I was what I was and had some actual proof to prove it. ”I’m here aren’t I ?” I also had to report to a ”handläggare” to help me find my ”work”. Mr Eriksson didn’t have to report in once. In the end I was quite frustrated I told my handläggare, ” du är helt ute i skogen och du kan drar åt helvete”.
Fru Eriksson
A friend of Mr Eriksson’s rang and invited us to dinner, she said that we were welcome to come over…on week 39. Week 39! I exclaimed, We might be dead, divorced or deported, I said. What about now, today? Next week? Any day that I can say tomorrow, or the day of the week I can remember by it’s name like Monday to Friday. What is ”week 39” ? I can’t even plan the next day! I have buckled under pressure and week 39 it is. Only African ant species and Swedes plan in weeks ahead of time.
Anyway, as autumn has already arrived without any warning, I am already dreading the temperature dispute I have with Mr Eriksson who does not accept that the home we cohabit together is below humane heating levels for a southern hemisphere creature like myself. He cannot comprehend that the legal 17 degrees thermostat is what is a long and endless winter where I come from and might as well count that as a return of the ice age. They say that there is no such thing as cold weather only inadequate clothing. I will remember this when I put on another layer of those rag sockor and wish I lived in the large green house Rent-a-plant recently purhased to keep the hibiscus and lillies warm for winter.
My mother rang recently after months of not hearing from her or her from me. She still cannot comprehend what I am doing here. I cannot either. She has told her relatives on the other side that I work for the Swedish telecommunications company. The family expect mobiles for Christmas and believe that I am selfish for not sending them. I keep correcting her to say that I am married to an Eriksson not working at one. The line went all fuzzy and she didn’t hear the last bit. She asked me what day it was in Sweden, I said it was Wednesday. She said, ”that’s funny, it’s Wednesday here too!”
I am have difficulty with defining myself and my purpose when there are days that feel I am trudging through mud to simply reach the basic A to B tasks. There are moments where I think someone knows something that I don’t know around here and no one is going to tell me. Should it be this hard???? Why does IT feel so hard? Is there a code to the easy route and the ones like me, have to go the hard route and I will always be on the hard route because no is going to offer to suggest, ” Why don’t you try it this way?” Or ”Why don’t you come over here and I can help you the easier way?” When Mr Eriksson and I registered at the unemployment office for those who work in the culture section, Mr Eriksson got accepted immediately in the register. I had to go through a high school and University equivalent exam to prove that I was what I was and had some actual proof to prove it. ”I’m here aren’t I ?” I also had to report to a ”handläggare” to help me find my ”work”. Mr Eriksson didn’t have to report in once. In the end I was quite frustrated I told my handläggare, ” du är helt ute i skogen och du kan drar åt helvete”.
Fru Eriksson
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