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