In January 2011 Marita arrived in Uppsala, Sweden, for a semester of exchange. She enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. She enjoyed it so much she's here for a year now. This is what she gets up to.
The blog post in which I write a whole bunch about nothing
Updatin’ the bloggins so I can try and work out what the hell I even did in September. Honestly, not an awful lot, yet I’m still going to write allllllll about it. The four most likely places I could be found the past few weeks have been work, bed, the pub…. and occasionally Engelska parken for classes… ha. What’s that you say? You want me to elaborate? OK THEN.
I work hard for the mone- ohhhhhhhhh, wait.
Anyone perusing my facebook profile of late may have noticed a wee change in my employment situation: “Klubbvärd at Kalmar Nation”. As previously mentioned, I started working as a club worker at my nation in August, I was still getting a feel for it, and, to be honest, not 100% sure what I was getting myself into. Well, now I’m a lot more sure. In the first couple of weeks I definitely questioned my decision, as we were understaffed and still learning the ropes. One week saw me work no fewer than 40 hours in 4 days, whilst struggling with a cheeky chest infection. This is a pretty big deal for a girl accustomed to 2-4hr shifts at the pool.
Chillin’ like a villain in the bar
A typical shift goes something like this…
I get to Kalmar a bit before 4pm, get changed, hang up a load of washing and put another load in. If I’m working in the bar, I pump the tunes (the ones I’m not allowed to play in the pub), count the till, check through all the drinks and restock, set up the pub and generally panic that I’ve forgotten something. Whilst the pub is open I serve drinks (my god, I can’t pour beer for shit. So ashamed!) and take food orders, change kegs as required, and generally try not to chuck tantrums at the cash register, which is a relic from prehistoric times. If a pubcrawl comes through, I hate the world. Being in the bar is improving my Swedish a bit, but every now and then a customer says something that throws me and I have to drop the old, “Jag pratar inte svenska.” At the end of the night I clean the bar and count the till. It is something I loathe, because 98% of the time I’ve fucked up.
Lorenzo in ze kitchen
Or I could work in the kitchen. 4-6pm is food prep with the three or four people who signed up to work that night (the “resources”). We make burgers, wedges, taco meat, veggie burgers, and dressings, all from scratch. Those two hours fly by pretty fast. During pub hours the kitchen can get pretty chaotic, and I tend to run around yelling “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK” a lot, but it all works out in the end. Most people understand that this is a nation, so it’s students cooking and don’t expect perfection. The worst is the cleaning. Every surface, every dish, every drain has to be cleaned, and it takes forever. I’d say the kitchen cleanup is the main reason I prefer working in the bar. At the end of the night, after knockoffs, the lockup round happens, which involves checking that every room in the house is locked and that there’s no one left inside. The alarm is set, I go home and sleep for as long as humanly possible.
Pub!
So why do it? For what we get paid in the end, it may as well be a volunteer position, there are some pretty serious responsibilities, and a shift will never be any shorter than 9 hours. Well, on a good night it’s a lot of fun, and it’s a great way to meet new people. I’m learning some mad work skillz and I kinda like being a leader bean. Also, it’s ‘cause of the love. Sounds lame. Is lame. But true. I work with some really lovely and awesome people, who make it worthwhile. Oh, and the KK-kort. That’s nice.
Zzzzzzzzzzz
I go to bed usually some time between 2 and 4am. Get up some time after midday. I never said the exchange life was particularly difficult. The problem is the winter. It’s coming. The hours of daylight are rapidly decreasing and it’s getting cold. All I want to do is wrap myself in a doona and engage in sweet f.a. It’s only autumn and it’s as cold as a Melbourne winter. Save me, Jebus!
I’ve been watching the autumn invade from my window. Pretty. Pretty terrifying.
“Hmm… perhaps I’ll wet my whistle.”
It’s 6pm on a Monday night. I will be at Orvars, the pub at Norrlands nation. It was a tradition last semester for a bunch of exchange students that has been continued by those of us still here. Ben, Hank, Nick, Anneli, Lloyd, steins, lyx burgers, the old glasses guy, the Snerikes librarian, the baby, cat videos, magic, that’s Mondays. Uplands is good if you can get a seat, especially out the back in the bunker. One night Lloyd and I were there when a bunch of Swedish guys stood up on the tables and started singing Backstreet Boys. Of course.
Hanging with Jorge at ÖG
There have been some pretty sweet club nights. Wilde at Kalmar last week was crazy fun. One of the nations, ÖG, has a room that, on club nights, is referred to as “the Sweat Chamber”. The walls drip. Yeah. I’ve been going out less compared to last semester, which my bank account appreciates, but I also know far fewer exchange students this time around *sad face*. But, hey, I’m still having a ridiculous amount of fun.
Ben and Lloyd, keepin’ it classy
School?
“Writing American Selves” and “Utopias & Dystopias”. Two subjects. Four hours of class a week. Not complaining. Helps that I actually enjoy them. Got a few more starting up in a month or so. I think they’ll run into January, then it’ll be time for me to leave. Sad times.
I wish I had better stories to share, but I’ve been in Uppsala for ages now. I’m trying to get my shit together to go somewhere/do something, but I dunno. I’ll do it this afternoooooon.
