In Sweden, everyone has a twelve-digit personal number of the year/month/date you were born, as well as four random numbers. It’s used EVERYWHERE to identify you, and it’s pretty much more essential than your name. Only people have them, NOT pets.

I’m at a pet store. I’m tired and stressed because my cat peed on my couch and I don’t really have the time to go to the store, but I have to get something to remove the odour and stain. The lovely salesperson finds what I need and proceeds to help me check out.

Salesperson: “Are you a member?”

Me: “Yes.”

Salesperson: “Personal number?”

Me: “Mine or the cats?”

She just looks at me, and two seconds later, I realise what I’ve said.

Me: “Wait, no, I did not mean to say that. She’s a cat; she doesn’t have one. My number is [personal number]. Sorry, I’m just really tired today.”

Salesperson: *Laughing* “That’s okay.”

She entered my number, I paid, and we wished each other a good day. I’m pretty sure I also almost tripped over something while leaving, but I gave her a good story, so I’ll take it.

I volunteer for a charity that helps the homeless. We’re not a shelter, since we don’t have the resources for overnight stays, but we are able to provide a place where people can come to have a hot meal and a shower and spend a few hours inside when it’s cold out, and we also help out with contacts to social and healthcare services.

Most of the food we serve is donated from restaurants and grocery stores that give us leftovers and things they can’t sell but are still perfectly good to eat. We also get donations from private citizens, and a few times every year, we have a drive that we coordinate with the local grocery stores. Customers can add some non-perishables like canned food and dry pasta to their order and donate them, and the store matches the donations.

We have a little table set up at the checkout where we collect donations and take notes so the store manager knows how much extra stuff they should give us at the end of the day.

A customer who’s just come into the store spots our table and comes up to us.

Customer: “A homeless charity, huh? That’s great. I always say we ought to help our own homeless before we help foreigners who only come here for handouts, you know?”

I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible, as I recognize this is a popular argument that racists like to throw around as an excuse to deny help for refugees.

Customer: “You know what, I’m going to get you some stuff. You’ll make sure it goes to the real Swedes, right? The ones who need it?”

Me: “We do our best to help anyone who needs it.”

Customer: “So, if I give you stuff, you might give it to some [racist slur for Muslims] who just got here?”

Me: “If they’re homeless and come to us for help, yes.”

The customer walks away looking disappointed. I figure he won’t donate anything. However, a little while later, he comes back, having finished his shopping, and I’m pleasantly surprised. Maybe he was able to overcome his prejudices in order to help someone in need? He hands me a bag holding canned soup and instant ramen packages.

Customer: “Here you go! I made sure to only get stuff with pork in it. That way it won’t go to some [slur]!”

He left, looking very satisfied with himself, and I just silently shook my head over how petty some people can be.

Most of the people we help wouldn’t care one way or another. However, I made sure to note down a polite request to the store manager to match this man’s donation using items WITHOUT pork, just in case. Yep, I can be petty, too.

Our library is in an area with a substantial proportion of immigrants, so we have a large selection of media for adults learning Swedish: language courses, grammar books in several languages, easy-to-read books, bilingual books, etc. 

A patron who’s learning the language from scratch and is still very much a beginner comes up and asks for “classics” she needs to read for a language class. I show her our shelf of easy-to-read classics — mostly nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century stuff adapted for beginners — but she shakes her head.

Patron: “No, not easy-read. Teacher say must be original to learn language and Swedish culture.”

She shows me the list of classics that the teacher says are required reading for a beginner’s language course: “The Iliad,” “The Odyssey,” “Don Quixote,” and “The Divine Comedy,” all with “original” underlined. That’s all. I can only assume this teacher Googled “classic literature” and decided that somehow, the best way to learn Swedish culture is by reading about mad Spanish noblemen and Greek gods.

Me: “Are you sure? These are very good, but the language in them…”

She shakes her head in the international sign of “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Patron: “I know. Teacher say we must.”

Me: “Okay. Let me show you where those are.”

Sadly, we didn’t have the original in Ionic Greek, but she picked a 1908 translation of “The Iliad” in hexameter that most Swedes struggle to read, and I asked her to pass on my phone number to the teacher to help out with their next required reading list. I never heard from the teacher, but the patron has been back to borrow books that are more on her language level and her Swedish is improving a lot.

In the early aughts, I worked at directory enquiries for the entire country. There were several offices taking calls in several different cities. However, during the night, there were only two offices open to take calls, and on weekday nights, we were maybe ten people in total to service all the callers. For people who knew the system, it was pretty easy to keep calling until you reached the operator you wanted to talk to.

The movie “The Grudge” had just premiered in the theatre. I watched it with a friend and was scared senseless by it. On the way home, he kept joking about how scary it would be to hear the ghost noise out of nowhere. I agreed and didn’t think more about it. 

A few days later, it was my turn to work a night shift, and just after midnight, I got this call.

Me: “Welcome to Directory Enquiries. How can I help you?”

There was silence on the other end.

Me: “Hello? You’ve reached Directory Enquiries. I’m [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Aaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhh….”

Me: “God d*** it, [Friend]!”

We get many visits from teachers who bring their students to the library to borrow books. We ask that they call ahead before they come; that way, we can make sure we have enough staff to help them and prevent the place from getting too crowded. Some teachers are very good at this, but a lot of them just show up unannounced with twenty kids in tow during the busiest time of the day.

When the global health crisis hits, we get a lot of restrictions. For a period of time, we’re not allowed to be open to the public at all. The next step is to allow patrons inside but no large groups. Then, we accept groups but only at certain times, and they once again need to make an appointment.

A week or so ago, all restrictions in the country were lifted. We send out information to all the schools and preschools in the area that they still need to call ahead and make an appointment if they want to bring a group of kids, i.e. the same way things were supposed to have worked before the health crisis.

The first Monday we are open without restrictions, I have the opening shift at the information desk. Monday mornings are always crazy busy, but they’re usually manageable for one person. This Monday, however, there is a preschool class and their teacher standing outside the doors when I go to unlock them.

Me: “Good morning. Did you call ahead? You’re not in my calendar.”

Teacher #1: “No, but the restrictions are over. We don’t need to call ahead now, right?”

Me: “Actually, you’ve always had to call in advance. It’s for your sake as much as ours, to make sure you get all the help you need.”

Teacher #1: “Well, we didn’t know that, and the kids have been waiting for this visit for ages. We’ll call next time.”

It’s not a large group and they mostly take care of themselves, but I still get busy helping them find the books they want. A few minutes later, another group arrives. This group has made an appointment in advance and booked a guided tour, so my colleague comes out to meet them and show them around.

Ten minutes later, I hear noise from the entrance, look up, and discover an entire school class of ten-year-olds with their teacher. I go up to greet them the same way I greeted the first group.

Me: “Good morning. Did you call ahead? You’re not in my calendar.”

Teacher #2: “I tried to call, but no one picked up.”

Me: “Oh, I don’t see a note about that. When did you call?”

Teacher #2: “About five minutes ago when we got off the bus. We didn’t get an answer, so we figured it’d be okay. The restrictions are lifted anyway.”

The reason no one picked up five minutes ago is that I had a gaggle of children clinging to me and didn’t reach the phone in time.

Me: “We’ve always asked groups to call ahead and also to wait for confirmation that it’s okay to visit. As you can see, there are already two groups here, so it’s going to be crowded.”

Teacher #2: “Oh, well, we’ve come a long way so we can’t go back now. You need to give us better information in the future.”

The next half-hour is hectic, and everyone is grumpy — the group that did book in advance because they thought they’d get to visit in peace and quiet, and the two groups that just showed up because they aren’t getting help fast enough.

Teacher #2: “You know, if you’re going to have this many people in the children’s area at the same time, you need to have more librarians on duty to help out. We’ve had to wait for ages; it’s very inconvenient.”

Me: *With my very sunniest smile* “Yes, I agree, it’s very inconvenient. We were only expecting one group this morning, but instead, we got three. If only there was a way to prevent situations like this from happening!”