The good Gothenburger

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I. The good Gothenburger

 

 

To paint a car is considered by many to be one of the ultimate forms of art, why would it otherwise be so expensive? For a car abuser, the first coating easily lead to more and more paintjobs, one worse than the other. Before I can tell you all the mistakes I made when I painted my Amazon the first time, I must confess I´d performed an act which I thought was good, but many in the village that God forgot, laughed about. The act was to paint my big brother Mike´s Volvo 144 with wood color and thats when the good Gothenburger suddenly appears on the scene.

 

My first car was a Volvo Amazon 1965 and i bought it from Börje in the village that God forgot. I was seventeen and had a large lump of nervousness in my chest when I went upstairs to the white villa, opposite the cemetery in the village that God forgot. I would ask Börje if I could buy his white but rusty Amazon that was parked on the street next to the lush villa garden with its pear and apple trees, rhododendrons and manicured lawns. I knew that Börjes Amazon did not pass through the car inspection because my big brother Mike played football on the same team as him, BSK, the football sports club in the village that God forgot. In the liniment- and sweat smelly room where the players change clothes at Åsjövallen Börje asked if anyone in the football team wanted to buy his Amazon? No one wanted to buy the rust heap, Mike said to me and giggled.

   But I wanted and I made sure I was offered coffee from Börjes mother in their kitchen, and when the question finally came up what I wanted to pay for the wreck I took all my savings, five hundred crowns, which was a lot of money in the 1980 century. Börje who was a likable person and approached the meditative thirties shot down his glasses on his nose and scrutinized me before he said:

- Fifteen hundred crowns and it is yours.

   I went straight, or rather drove my trimmed Puch Florida at full throttle, to my father Dan Gustaf down home at the farm. And then I persuade him to lend me a thousand crowns and a spot in the driveway where would renovate Börjes old an rusty Amazon. My father finally gave in, and the happiness was complete as I knew I would not have to repay the loan. Because we never did. When my big brother Mike drove the car home and I sat beside him I felt for the first time, the special fragrance vinyl and burning rubber foam emits, the smell of an old car. At the first trial round the farm, I ran in to a telephone pole when I swung the car beyond the drinking water well. I thought the Amazon went too fast in first gear and Telecommunications Authority additionally placed the pole too close to the car and it didn´t make things better. Thank you Telecommunications Authority! The floor of Börjes old Amazon was really roasted and toasted. After several attempts with an old stud welder and a grinder that was so heavy that it was about to cut my face up when I was under the car, I managed to finish cutting up the rusty plate and replace it with new. Since I welded near the gas tank, I dared not and did not bother to grind the welds because the sparks would be ignited on the whole car. Because the carbon in the weldings burned out at the big heat when I was welding Börjes Amazon, it roasted worse than black coffee. But I did not hesitate, I went on for two years and cut out and welded on new parts while I put all the money I could get for buying these new parts; screens, lights, wunderbaum for a good smell and everything else that was needed. The money came from an extra job on the village's carpentry which made storage racks. The owners were absolutist´s and I used to spend the money I earned on Alcoholic drinks, before I became a car abuser. The sum of all abuse is constant.

   My confidence at this time was not greater than I wished for a life as a warehouse worker who can require no more demands on his performance than he could put material on the warehouse shelves. From time to time I renovated Börjes old Amazon and I realised I was growing in self-confidence. I made sheet metal parts myself on the high school, Metal & Welding workshop line in Ronneby, Knut Hahn's school. Since I did not want to be unlike my older brothers, I had chosen the same education as Mike, a two-year training in welding and steelworkers task´s that I had absolutely no aptitude for. The choice, however, would prove to be very useful. Screen beams to the Amazon was not to buy even at Volvo and certainly not as economics plate. Guess if it made me feel proud when I managed to produce them myself! And the day I turned eighteen, the car was ready for inspection. But before that I had time to get my first real job, which rendered me such anxiety and boredom that I've never been so close to kill myself! It was the summer I worked at the sawmill. I think that's when I seriously began to flee into car abuse? An addiction that started in the same moment I began to renovate Börjes old Amazon and paint it red with wood color. I created the car I wanted for myself and that creation made life possible to survive.

Thursday, June 5, 1979 was the second last day of school for me on Knut Hahn Gymnasium in Ronneby. Just one more day, then my class in the Sheet Metal & Welding education I passed two full years in would be dissipated, some of them going for holiday jobs, others on real jobs. In jeans, ditto jacket with a hairbrush in my breast pocket and wearing a white t-shirt, shoulder-length hair and thick lenses in my aviator styled glasses, I stood in front of one of the school's telephones. When I dialed the number I waited for a moment and then I heard an office employee answering at the other end:

- Granemo Sawmills Ltd?

- Hello! I ... uh, my name is Hangus Persson and I was up to test for working in the sawmill last week, and now I wonder how things have gone, if there is any work for me?

- Is it a summer job you are looking for? said the clerk.

- Nah, not really, I´m looking for a permanent job, I said.

- Dwell for a moment and I'll see if I can get you Rolf on the line!

While the clerk was trying to get in touch with Rolf I dug up more crown coins from my pocket and put them on standby up on the black shelf. The phone booth consisted of a large plastic bubble in plexiglass that shut out most of the sounds from the corridor, but you could still see the other students walking by.

- Yes? It was Rolf, the supervisor who had showed me around the saw.

A week ago we went to the sawmill and sought jobs Greater Charlie and I, he is a friend from the village who God forgot an he also studied on the same engineering technical line as I did. He had immediately nicknamed Rolf, "Melittafilter" because Rolf was always carrying a worn cap that looked like a coffee filter, on his head. Some people called this caps Elefant Pessar. Suddenly the school bell tinkled in the corridor and it was a signal that indicated the break was over and everyone began to walk towards his seminars. I followed a blonde girl with bright eyes and enjoyed her slender legs and shapely butt in jeans.

- Yes? I said, determined to ignore the school bell, it was after all my future on the agenda!

- It´s Rolf here, are you the "tall thin one"? Does not matter anyway, when can you come? Will the "Short Fat one" come too?

- Nah, Greater Charlie, he's got a sheet metal job here in town, but I can start on Monday! By the way, my name is Hangus...

- Good ... Hangus? Sign up here in the office Monday morning and we'll see where you can start working with us here at the sawmill.

I had not yet taken a driving license but had been promised to go with Ronnie. He was an older guy who came from Blåningsmåla and was having a relation with Greater Charlie´s sister. Ronnie and a companion to him who also worked as a repairman, Lage Smith, came from Blåningsmåla and they passed through the village on their way to the Sawmill anyway, so my appearance didn´t cause them any inconvinience.

 

*

 

Somewhat later in life, I was at a job interview as a marketer at a major newspaper publisher who would establish themselves in Stockholm and I was interwiewed by the owner, the Newspaper King himself:

- Can you tell us about your first job? Sorry, I go straight to the point, you may want a cup of coffee?

   While the newspaper magnate went out to get a cup of coffee I thought back to the year 1979 when I went out engineering technical line and the conversation I had had in a phone booth on Knut Hahn. For a while, I lost myself in the memory of the summer when Rolfs hard face and his cap that looked like an elephant pessar became a symbol of the merciless climate that prevailed when I worked with the scorching sun in my eyes and sawmill workers taunts in the back. Granemo Sawmill in Småland was as large as an entire neighborhood, it had over hundred employees and delivered sawn timber all over the world. I was scared from the first day, how the hell could I survive out here?

   An episode broke away from the bottom of my memory sediment and it step up to make me remember when me myself and a guy called "gravedigger" got our first job on the condition that we could quit as soon as we reached the goal in this mission impossible. We would dig up a power cable, which was about one meter into the ground, somewhere ... When we found it we would have to go home regardless of whether it was the middle of the day or early in the morning. When Rolf called us into this task both I and the "grave digger" thought that we would manage to find the cable on a morning.

- Hey farmer boys, come here, you have a job to do! said Rolf.

We got a shovel to scoop up the chopped earth with and a hack called raven which we threw over each of our shoulders. As two miners we followed after Rolf with the "elephant pessar" who carried a large map as if he was a colonel in the engineer troups. When we arrived at the place of the day's work we saw with wonder in our young faces when Rolf was stepping up and measured out a point where he said:

- Here you go!

Then he walked about twenty meters before he stopped and made a cross in the ground with his dusty shoe:

-Here You can also start, he he ...

   And with those words began our day's work. Me and the "gravedigger" started hacking at each end of the route Rolf stepped up. Below us somewhere there was a power cable to the allotted distance. We let the ravens fly over the sandy soil so that their steel beaks could bite through the thin and hard earth, we soon discovered that the soil also contained Småland's number one natural resource - stone. At first it feels heavy, the raven is difficult to handle, and when I come across a large rock with full force I go whitening of the fingers and lose grip of the shaft that slides out of my hands. After this stab in the way I drop by the grip on the shaft every time the raven tip strikes the Earth, that way I will not take much of the pain when the iron hit the rock so hard that the sparks dizzy. We work in a trance "grave digger" and I, we are anesthetized by the rhythm of the raven stab in the soil and the cool shadows of the trees feels good when we regularly seek protection from the merciless burning sun. We draw strength under the trees to hack us further down into the soil layers that somewhere hides a yellow plastic pennant marker for the power cable. As soon as we find the cable, we will go home and "grave digger" and I talk about what we should do when we find the pennant?

   We had worked on beyond the morning hours when we heard the sound of a diesel engine coming closer. It was "Tarzan" who drove his yellow "worm picker," a caterpillar with shovels on both rear and front. The driver was called Tarzan because he managed to see muscular out without putting an effort in with labor. Only poor people have to work, was his say. He parked the "worm picker" next to our twenty meters radius and turned off the engine but kept the radio on inside the cab, then he sat down comfortably to stare at us from behind his dark sunglasses.

- A big fucking caterpillar with driver and all come here while we get to work as convicts in this damn heat! It is animal cruelty! Hisses "grave digger".

Me myself stand down in the ditch and rests a moment by hanging on the handle, he has not eroded as much soil as me, but I do not care. Right there and then "Tarzan" opens the cabin door and shouts:

- Continue work you guys, don´t let me interrupt you!

   We kept on working hard all day, and in the afternoon a crack showed up in the handle of my raven, a crack, which I then made sure to charge as much as I could so that the shaft end finally broke into pieces. It had become much hotter than in the morning and the air stood still and quivered in the ditch while the sweat poured on us when the electricians foreman came walking. I threw away the broken shaft and went to see Rolf.

- How you bastard´s work, you'll probably be here all summer, boys, if you dont speed up a little, said´the electrician.

I ignored him. The only thing he wanted was to get the cable excavated without any power failure so that he could continue reading blueprints in peace. When I got back the electrician spoke with "Tarzan" while my companion the "gravedigger" stood down in the ditch and slouched with his shoulders, he seemed completely worn out? Rolf went before me with his thumbs inside the belt and a stiff upper lip in the face. When we arrived at the ditch we dug the electrician held the raven with the broken shaft.

- Hm, said Rolf and with the smile of a connoisseur he showed us the fracture surface of the shaft.

- Get a new one! he said to me and I run off towards the office where the tool store was.

   When I came back with a new shaft, they stood and talked about the drawing and the electrician explained why he could not see where the cable was on the drawing. Rolf seemed irritated by this fact and as soon as he saw me walking towards them slowly with the new shaft, he said:

- You can´t dig boys, you are weak and that's why it takes so long, give me the shaft and God shall be my witness if I find the cable!

Rolf ruled ravens head into the shaft with a hand adding a sledge hammer that "Tarzan" handed him.

- There are a lot of stones here! I managed spouting out while I was thinking; but you are well accustomed to them, aren´t you?

- I'll show you how to dig, watch up, don´t get in my way! Said Rolf.

   I looked for signs of knowledge in "grave diggers" tired face, did he knew what I knew?

Just at the point that Rolf sighted and swinged raven height far above his head. It was a great fifty kilogram boulder that lay down in the ditch with only a thin layer of soil over it. While "grave digger" and I exchanged a look of understanding not a sound came out of our lips. However, we heard when the iron of the raven struck the rock and it sounded hard and metallic, it rang through the hot, quivering air and the instant impact of the boulder reached Rolf and whitened his hands and he lost his grip on the raven that he dropped with a clattering on stone.

- Damn, that thing really hit him ..? said "Tarzan" after a while.

Rolf did not answer but just grinned bad as he stood doubled over with his hands wrapped around each other, then he straightened slowly on his back and began walking towards the office.

- Will you help us to lift the boulder? I asked, "Tarzan" who nodded and sat down behind the controls to let the caterpillar do the job.

   We chopped half the next day before the yellow pennant came forward. Only then could we ask "Tarzan" to dig up around the cable. And according to Rolf the promise he made for us to go home as soon as we found the cable, was only granted for the first day so that afternoon I ended up on the old section of the sawmill while the "gravedigger" got a job inside the sawmill. We did not work together more "gravedigger" and I, but we always met with respect when we bumped into each other inside the large Granemo saw mill.

   Lies and damned poem! Was a saying that Dan Gustaf used when someone was trying to cheat him about something that was obvious to everyone except for us in the village that God forgot. This was a good expression compared to Ronnie who was a great lier on our journey into the large forests of Småland. Lage Smith and Ronnie took turns driving every two weeks. Ronnie lied so that he choked, he barely got air when he finally, guffawing revealed how the hell cheated I become. Every time we started to approach the Sawmill, I got an elbow in the weak life as he said:

- Oh, you didn´t believe me did you?

It was the first with the third and when I passed his trickery an entire week, and bullied by the so-called workmates when I tried to reproduce all the lies, so I decided not to believe a word of what Ronnie said. But one story he told at least was true, even the stone face in Lage Smith´s dared to crack into a smile when Ronnie boasted at the time they went off the road in Lages orange Volvo 244. It was the only story that was really fun that summer on the Sawmill.

   Lage Smith had been a blacksmith in Blåningsmåla, but it was impossible to earn enough money so instead he hired out his knowledge to a large construction firm that had all the support of the whole of the Sawmill´s machine park. Lage and Ronnie repaired electric motors that broke down and conveyor belts that failed, they welded together cracked joints in the carrier iron and all the other things that could be broken down on the assembly lines. The story Ronnie told took place one winter day when Lage drove home from the Sawmill with Ronnie next to him, as usual, they listened to a children's program that went on the radio, then Lage suddenly realized that the steering was no longer appropriate? He could no longer conduct the car which was due to freezing rain that made the road slippery.

   The story told was not better than Lage Smith skidded with his orange Volvo 244 at a speed of ninety km / h and then the car began to swing and sway across the road. In a pure reflex Lage corrected up the car and parried skillfully all by cords to finally bring down the speed so they crept forty kilometers per hour. They had incredible luck, if they had met a logging truck when they came sliding and broad cord along the road, they had been killed! When the car straightened up it went on straight ahead and when Ronnie was supposed to congratulate Lage to the magnificent task to keep the car on the road, got Lage blow his mind out and his hands manouvered the wheel so that he steer the car straight down into the ditch!? And the crash was a fact, they damaged the whole car.

- What the hell just happened? Was the first thing Ronnie said as he clambered up bruised from the car lying upside down in the ditch.

Lage Smith who first didn´t come loose from the seat belt, Ronnie had to help him, could not explain more than the fear of what could have happened was so great that when the released took a grip off him, he got a reflex and steered away, a reflex unstoppable. The car however, stayed against a large rock, flipped over and turned into scrap. It was of course a treat to go with Ronnie behind the wheel of his red PV, so even if he lied to me, I forgave him when he occasionally made the car spinn on the road up to Granemo Sawmill.

   The lies I could cope with but it was worse to be bullied. I was not used to being a bullied victim, at the School in Knut Hahn, I had fought for my right and gained respect for it but teh Sawmill was a school of life of a completely different caliber. One of the bullies on Granemo Sawmill was called Redhead. There were many stories about him, he was a professional fighter of the same brutal kind we saw at the movies with Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson, this kind of heroes had dominated culture prevailing in the village that God forgot.

   On Granemo Sawmill there were several bullies who heroically fought with the people they considered to be more weak than themselves. Redhead was one of them and Ribstick from Tingsryd another one, they went well together because there was no one who dared to venture on them both, however, they had endured an assassination attempt when an avenger in broad daylight at a local market, followed them with a baseball bat in his hand. When the avenger comes close enough, just outside Bill's department store, he hit Redhead with the bat as much as he could over his back. The Avenger took in so much strength in the blow that when the bat met Redheads back the avenger lost his grip and the bat went slammering and clattering into the street. Redhead turned around and picked up the bat and eyed it carefully before he turned around and asked:

- Is it your baseball bat?

Then he smashed his antagonist to pieces using the baseball bat.

   On another occasion, the dance hall Amigo Emmaboda found Redhead in a phenomenally bad temper and he got into trouble early that evening. Redhead was feeling an unspoken challenge from the darkhaired and silent stranger who stood at the bar and hung over a beer. Why? He hung on Redheads kingdom. Redhead and the silent stranger stood for a while at the bar, measured each other with their eyes. In the fatal saturated silence around them a punch on the nose hung in the air and suddenly spoke Redhead in a manner John Wayne should have envied him

- You will hit me twice, and then I'll come after you ...

Whereupon the dark and silent man struck Redhead in the face so hard that the lip cracked and blood redder than Redheads hair began to run down his chin while a reddened swelling occurred. Redhead stroked away the blood with the back of his hand and looked with fierce eyes into the dark strangers eyes and said:

- That was one blow.

Whereupon his antagonist fled, leaving Redhead alone as the winner.

   It was such rumors that went around this person called Redhead, scarcely enough and very true. It was he who would teach me to work on a machine that I, no way in the world could figure out how it worked! Right from the beginning I hated his authority that cames from his fist´s and the least difficult was obeying his brutally giving orders. In his eyes, I was probably completely stupid? Redhead, I and the strange machine were on the old part of the Sawmill, and it was there I learned what it really meant to work on Granemo Sawmill. The old planing mill consisted of a relatively large wooden building on two floors with no windows and in the upper half-plane, run the plane of the man in charge, his name was Toad, by me immediately renamed Toad the planer.

   The woodpanel were fed by Toad and his machine. The panel that were planed fell down on a conveyor belt which took them to me who had the task of putting them together into a full package of woodpanel which were passed onto the transport chains who served the truck for transport to the stock. First came the woodpanel in a length of four meters and it was just that I could budge them right onto the package. When the package was full, I sent the whole package on the transport chains by using a button on a console on which the whole caboodle landed on a bridge outside the building where the trucks took care of it. After four meters length came three meter woodpanels and they pushed the pace, it started to go faster and faster, but it really took off when Thoad began to put in two-meter woodpanels in the machine. I worked like an animal to have time to pick the woodpanels from the machines band of transport and put them in place on the package. When Toad went on to run the one-meter woodpanel I dropped it with such speed that when I lost one earplug on the floor, I could not even bend down and pick it up until the next woodpanel came flying from Toad´s machine. I soon began to hate everyone and everything but gritted and thought;

Me, you shall not bend nor will I crack into pieces.

When we ran out of woodpanels it was time to pack them in plastic and lay them in bundles of ten each. Such a stack of two-meter panels was sent forward on a long runway and then it went through a machine that had a large plastic reel in the base where the plastic was overlapped by a square pipe, spliced ​​in two prongs whose tracks made the plastic enveloping the entire wood panel package. When the the packages came rushing with the plastic around and inside the machine where the package passed through, there were a thermal head that made plastic welded together. When the package of ten woodpanels came out it was hermetically sealed in a protective plastic sheath.

   When I realized who would teach me the wrapping machine that day I panicked, it was Redhead whose biceps reminded of my leg muscles. He had a dirty grey and white sweater with small red cross on, the kind all of us youngsters had in the seventies - in the winter. This was in the middle of summer. When he took off his sweater and put on his earmuffs I saw his muscular upper arms. I had previously seen him standing in the doorway and smoke, he looked at me as if I were a bug that he should crush with his heel as he stubbed out his cigarette. Redheads wide, pale, face with sticky blue eyes looked down at me when he said:

- Can you learn this?

- I- I-I have been told to be here? I stuttered.

- When I put on the package, then this, then make sure that the plastic runs in this ... Redhead showed me how I could do with his hand, it was deformed at the knuckles, it looked as if he struck it against a brick wall - repeatedly.

- ... And then it's ready, he said, drumming with his fingers on the machine.

 The time had come for my first lesson in life and I had to earn knowledge the hard way.

   I started to get tangled in plastic so that the first packets of panels stuck, Redhead came up and straightened everything so quickly and with such a force that I did not see how it happened? Then he went away to the beginning of the runway, lifted up a package of ten bars as if they were matchsticks and when he drop the package into the machine it came with the plastic surrounding. No problems at all. When I took over the procedure with a pair of panel package I immediately began to imagine that the rumors about Redhead were exaggerated. Perhaps I had gain a real glove job and all I had to do was to stand there and check that the plastic ran into the two tracks?

   But when I failed with two package in a row Redhead came up to me and stood with his arms crossed.

- You do not have all the horses at home, huh? Where are you from? he wondered.

- I come from a village that God forgot, I answered truthfully, while I prepared to close my eyes and keep for hands across my face if he would get the idea to hit me?

- You're here to do your job! he shouted at me and went back to the machine while I glared hate on plastic roller under lying there, just waiting to get tangled up.

   I do not know how I managed to cope with the damned machine but I did not leave the machine on all day. And even today I can for my inner vision see Redheads square face with its wide mouth and bloodless lips as a bar, a mouth from where it was fed profanity that concerned me and detailed descriptions of the useless local idiot I was. Despite my fear, and a heart that soared and a throat that dried up, I noticed his eyes, they were completely unemotional, like a lizard in anticipation of the victim fixed me, still. I felt the physical pain of the certainty of the evil that he possessed, I was so - into hell! - stupid that I could not even learn a simple machine - bastard! I became more and more afraid, afraid of how the day would end and when I thought of all the days that were waiting, what if they would be like this - was life completely pointless? I could not at some point learn how the machine actually worked and the more anxious i got, the less was the possibility of understanding how the machine actually worked. Whatever it was that caused the plastic not to close itself around the package with wood panels, I still don´t know. When I ruined the twentieth wood panel package Redhead came and waved me away like a troublesome fly, I pulled off my work gloves and went ashamed out of the building. I slowly began to walk around and as I kicked on wood planks lying on the ground I was waiting to get myself fired. But nothing happened. And when I went back into the building again Redhead threw me a pair of work gloves. Redhead went out to smoke while I picked the wood panels that Toad planer was loading his machine with, four-meter, three-meter, two meters, and here comes one meter...

   When I returned home to the farm in the village that God forgot that day, I closed the door on my boy's room and laid me down on my unmade bed. At the first refrain of Neil Sedakas "King of Clowns" my tears flowed like a gentle spring rain.

   The next day I was there again, at the Sawmill and somehow I got the plastic wrapping machine to work nearly all day but it did not matter. I had already shown that I was both weak and frail to the mind and it would have been better if I stayed at home with mum rather than make trouble for Redhead who was a "real" worker. And from that day I carried with me the hatred of bullies but also fear, and my soul was familiar with the realization of one of the big fears in working life, the fear of making mistakes.

   In late summer, I was asked by Rolf if I wanted to take the job as chief at the Sawmill? I asked for reconsideration, and went and asked one of the few workers I trusted, an old Sawmill worker named John, he always had wide-brimmed hat on when we sat and had lunch at one of the package of panels out in the stock were they stored the timber trays. He had been silent for a moment, and then he responded by showing his fist and he said:

- You recognize a Chief at the Sawmill by looking at these, he said.

- What? said I.

- A Chief has always sawn off one or more fingers, in the beginning, you understand, he is careful but then he thinks he can handle the big saw and when he gets tired he release the concentration and hey presto, the great blade has take another finger! Blood and death! And he promises himself during his recovering that this will not happen again, ever! but then it's not long until the blade takes another finger, and another one ... John said, looking somehow pleased, just as if it were justified by the life we lived like the package we sat on were laid by truck drivers in a specific order.

   After hearing this edifying story, I wondered for a while what my father, Dan Gustaf, would say if I quit my job? It did not happen! was my first thought. He should not understand my explanation of anxiety, how I felt and how empty I was in hope of the future. One must not back down, you always have to cope! was my father's device. But I felt that for me it was better to be dead than to be a Chief at the Sawmill. So it was with a throbbing heart that I entered the foreman office and asked how long the notice period was?

- A month, said Rolf Melittamössan laconically, as he sat behind his desk.

- Then I quit now, I said, and walked away, terrified that Rolf would call me back and question my decision.

 

   *

I stopped my thoughts about everything that happened on my first job when the Newspaper king came back. He had a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He was in his fifties, small and simply dressed in jeans with a white shirt, no tie! He smiled courteous to me and I looked into his worn and wrinkled face. He bore traces of both success and failure, and when I realized that, I decided to be frank with him. He had asked for my first job and I would say just as it was, it would build confidence, that I dared to be as honest as possible at the job interview!

- It was the most fucking place I have been to, when I worked as sawmill worker on Granemo Sawmill, I said to the newspaper magnate.

- Where did you say you been working? Wondered the Newspaper King who was putting the hot coffee in his throat, he coughed.

- Granemo Sawmill! I said.

I felt instinctively that I had said something wrong. But what?

- So that´s were you been... Our family owns the Granemo Sawmill, but of course, you did know that? said the Newspaper King and smiled.

I did not get the job.

 

 

 

Definition bilmissbruk:

"Att använda en bil för ett annat ändamål än transport från A till B."