The hardest job kids face today is learning good manners without seeing any

Oh. I forgot. I talked about good manners, and forgot all about the bad. That's very much out of character for me. So here goes.

On Saturday I spent time with very good and very nerdy friends. Having finished the game we were playing, we went to the local pizza/pasta place to grab some food. As we sat there, outside, Triangles, Ribbed For Her Pleasure and I, waiting for our food, Triangles said: “That kid is peeing in the street”.

And he was. Peeing. In the street. While his father stood beside him, watching. For all I know urging him on. The thing is, this is a residential street with an assortment of stores and restaurants, and slopes down towards a bigger road. Sloping down = pee running down.

We ignored this. Tore into our food. Ten minutes passed. Then Triangles says: “That kid is peeing in the street, too”.

I turned around. Again, he was. Peeing. In the street. Another kid. Father by his side. What. The. Hell. Seems like the street in question was a urinal. Very nice.

Is there something I'm missing here? Is it something that parents do, allow their kids to pee in the street? Please tell me. If yes, then I have yet another reason to never have children. That would be reason 138, I think. If no, then I might need to go all The Locker on that street and figure out if it's something that happens there a lot, and investigate further. Then again, we're talking about children peeing in the street, so maybe I should just let it go...

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious

On my way home from a nice Italian meal with my parental units, who are in town to see Cirkus Cirkör (I forgot to get tickets, and now it's all sold out. Color me green with envy), I decided to go by The Locker. I don't know why.

It. Was. Vacant.

The green "vacant" light mocked me.

The Locker, the centre of my obsession for quite some time during the summer of 2008 and late 2007, has now become just another locker. No capital letters, no "The". Just a locker.

And I can't help but think, what happened to whatever was in there? Did whoever used it move his oh so secret stuff to another locker? Or has it played it's part in whatever drama it was a part of? I'll never know.

The end of the road

So, at 0730 this morning we were in place at the locker. A perimeter was established. Comms freqs were decided. Escape routes mapped. Snipers placed on nearby rooftops.

Though not really. I plonked my ass down on a bench about ten meters from the locker, along with my trusty companions. And proceeded to stare at the damn thing for five hours. Tick tock, tick tock.

I already figured Stockholm Central Station was a busy place all day long, but I had no idea there would be such commotion around the lockers. The mystery locker in question is kind of out of the way, especially now with construction going on in the station, but regardless, there was a lot of human traffic there.

The lockers in all their drab glory

There was the Japanese couple, older man, younger woman, might have been father and daughter, where the man opened every single unoccupied locker, one after the other. The woman followed him, holding an envelope from the Stockholm police department. I was tempted to ask what was going on, but they didn’t seem in the mood.

The locker then. Tick tock, tick tock. Was the veil of mystery about to be lifted? It was on schedule, the display showing that it hadn’t been opened since last Monday. Then, at around 11:30, this:


Eh? P3? The Swedish radio station? No? The plot thickened. We kept our watch. Tireless. Fearless. Clueless.

Then there was the old man. Oh, the old man. I can only hope to aspire to such heights of obsession. He was probably in his 80s, carried two bags from Swedish everyman gadget supermarket Clas Ohlsson, and clutched a few wrinkled papers to his chest. He moved among the lockers, stopping at each the occupied ones, jotting down what the display said on each one in what I can only imagine was some sort of list of all the lockers in the station. He walked past us twice, about three hours apart, and jotted down his numbers each time. What. The. Hell.

Then, suddenly, disaster struck. The display jumped back to “…”. Without any human intervention. Confusion ensued. What was this? Divine intervention? Some infernal reality game? Only one way to find out.

I phoned BoxGruppen (the locker group, in Swedish), the company or division or whatever responsible for the lockers, and pointed out there is one that’s always occupied. The man at the other end sounded tired, distracted and confused. I gave him the locker number. Tap tap tap on a keyboard. Then a distant voice, somewhere behind the man, muffled. Then he comes back on. “That locker is rented permanently to one of our customers. We can’t tell you which customer or what for.”

Flatline. Dead end. Brick wall at high speed. To quote Otto from A Fish Called Wanda: DISAPPOINTED!!!

So. Back to square one. No mystery unveiled. Someone rents that locker, permanently, and has access to it anytime, any day. There could still be whatever going on, but I have no realistic way of finding out. Again, to quote a movie: FUCK! ASS!

Now I need to find another mystery to obsess over. Any suggestions?

Don't mess with the Old Man

First things first. We are on track with the locker. It was back to zero yesterday afternoon, so it was opened sometime between 0730 and 1630 yesterday. I have lined up three volunteers for the stake-out. Monday August 11th is L-Day. I don’t expect German machine gun fire, but you never know.

Today is Olof’s name day. All the men on my father’s side of the family, including my brother and I, have the middle-name Olof, after our grandfather, who is affectionately known as "Den Gamle" (the Old Man, in Swedish). He turned 97 this year, and is still quite a vital man for his age. I have nothing but respect for him, especially since he kicked a mugger’s ass seven years ago. That’s right, at age 90. I wonder what the guy told his friends about the bruises.

Anywho, since today is Olof today, I figured I would introduce another of our children. There are three of them, one perennial citrus tree, one mini Christmas Star (who is the runt of the litter, and looks like he’s been mutilated), and then there’s the palm tree.



Of course, he’s named Olof. My girl thinks that joke is pushing it. I disagree.

Write while the heat is in you

This morning on the train I sat next to a sleeping old man. He had a big white beard and his arms were wrapped protectively around a briefcase, cradled in his lap. He looked very serene and calm, the eye of the storm of stressed commuters.

Seeing people like that always gets my imagination going. Where was he going? What was in the briefcase? Who is he? Stuff for at least a short story, right there.

Passed the locker. Still counting away, and will most likely be opened and back to zero again sometime during the day. I won't pass it on my way home today, I think, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to check. If it's back to zero, then it's definitely Mondays.

I suffered from the heat this weekend. All our rooms have south-facing windows, and have direct sunlight from around noon until sunset. It's not an apartment. It's a furnace. We went outside to buy food and pick up a package on Saturday, and it was like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. I hate the heat. I am so not a summer person.

The sky outside our place this weekend

And people look at me like I'm an alien when I explain this. It's biology. Nothing I can do about except pray for cloudy skies and winds. Though who to pray to I really can't say...

Just ahead of the curve

It's almost midnight. I'm so tired it's not even funny.

We went to see The Dark Knight today. Excellent movie, great company, splendid ice cream drinks afterward. Jack Nicholson is an amateur.

The Locker is still occupied, ticking away. All signs point to Mondays. I am assembling my stake-out team. It'll probably go down mid or late August (see there how I got the jargon right? "go down"). I am well aware that I won't be able to sit in a car munching stale donuts and drinking bad coffee (I don't drink coffee, but that's not the point), watching the action through binoculars with a walkie-talkie close at hand, but it's still going to be pretty cool. Unless it's being used by hardcore drug dealers.

Any guesses as to who would occupy a locker at a train station, for at least a year and a half, and open it every Monday sometime between 0730 and 1700?

My top guess is that it's a guy with two separate families in two separate places. He alternates between the two, one week at the time, and keeps his ID, wallet, keys etc, in the locker. Others have guessed drug dropoff or some kind of ARG. What do you think?

Locker Watch

I have decided to keep track of The Locker again. Reestablish a pattern. I think I know it, but still, never hurts to make sure.

On Tuesday morning, yesterday, it showed "...". In the afternoon it had gone up one level. That indicates that it was last opened sometime during Monday, after 0730 but before 1700.

For those of you that don't know, there are lockers at the central train station in Stockholm. You pay to use them for 24 hours. During those 24 hours the readout on the locker says "...". After that, each 24 hours the readout changes by whatever you paid to use it in the first place. So, if you paid 40 krona, and come back 72 hours after you first placed your stuff in there, you need to pay 80 krona to get the locker open, since it's been 48 hours since your initial 24.

I've discovered a mystery locker. It's always in use.

I'll keep track all this week and the beginning of next, just to make sure it's opened next Monday again. If yes, I might have to take a Monday off and have myself a stake-out. Wanna join me?

Another morning

Waking up to an empty bed has never been a good way to start my day. Though that is sort of an oxymoron, since I didn't wake up next to the bed, in which case it would have been empty, but in the bed, so it was not. But empty besides me.

Then up, brush, shower, dress, always in that order, pack the bag (laptop, iPod, book, breakfast, water bottle, umbrella - a talisman against rain rather than protection from actual rain), and walk to the train. The summer vacation season is upon us, so there's always a seat available.

Music shields me from the people around me. They should all have the sense to stay home when I go out. Today it's a mix of new and old, good and bad. There are so many bands out there that shouldn't have a record deal.

Changed from train to subway at the Central Station. I've changed the path I take from one platform to the other, so I don't pass The Locker anymore. Went by there with Joel a few weeks ago and it was still there. Always in use. A mystery.

Vacation season is even more evident at work. An eerie silence all through the office. Calm. An opportunity to get a lot done. Clear out the inbox and my desk, alleviate that guilty conscience. Instead I'm blogging. And writing a personal email. Oh well. There's always the afternoon...