Mark this morning down as a monumental waste of time. In my latest attempt to make life easier here in Sweden, I once more hit the brick wall inscribed with the legend ‘No personnummer? Forget it‘. Today it was about trying to get a Swedish phone number.
Since early February this year, thanks to the Swedish government, people cannot get a prepaid sim card without it being registered. In order to register it, you need a personnummer. I knew about the registering. It’s to try and prevent the widespread use of so-called burner phones by gangs. Seriously, I thought registering meant giving a name and address and providing ID, like a passport. I’m such a simple soul.
Anyway, I caught a couple of buses out to Haninge centrum because that’s the closest place you can buy a prepaid sim card then, a short time later, caught a couple back*.
Even the guy in the shop was annoyed. I was the second person asking the same question, and the shop had only been open for ten minutes. In fact, he complained bitterly, saying that it only hurt the innocent because prepaid sims could be bought anywhere in Europe and still work in Sweden. He even swore. He was not happy. I guess it closes off a revenue stream.
Whatever the issues, it was, basically, a waste of a Sunday morning. Mind you, the latte I had in the small independent café was excellent. Again. Given I have to return tomorrow (bank) I reckon I’ll have another latte.
Actually, it wasn’t entirely a waste of a Sunday morning. There was the observational opportunity. Apart from me, the only other person I saw wearing spikes on their shoes was an older lady. This happened to agree with the opinion of one of Mirinda’s new accidental friends, Maria. After complaining about the slippery paths, Mirinda asked Maria why she didn’t wear spikes. Maria said she didn’t want to look like an old lady. So, there you go.
Which makes me wonder, for the millionth time, why Swedes don’t fall over on the icy footpaths. I thought it was thick treads on shoes but, no, quite a few of them wear flat soled shoes. I don’t get it. They zoom passed me on the path and there’s narry a slip or a slide. It’s like they’re gleefully walking down a summer path in some temperate country.
Or a path that’s been cleared of all ice. Like the entrance to Haninge Centrum, something I was most grateful for. It meant a lot to me that I didn’t have to put my spikes on for the short walk from bus stop to entrance.
Above is the unprepossessing entrance to Haninge Centrum. Like a TARDIS, it is massive inside. You’d never know.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Mirinda was busy composing a project plan for a possible, short term job. But more about that, later.
* Actually, I caught four separate bus lines: 875, 824, 840 & 819.
