The last night of your 10 day trip to Stockholm you decide to do laundry. The apartment you’ve rented has a laundry room in the basement floor. Lucky you! You’ve been in constant contact with the owner of the apartment who helps you find the hidden basement key and advises that bringing your own washing detergent is necessary. What a lovely and helpful guy, you think to yourself.
Everything about this trip seems too good to be true: all your touristy outings have gone spectacularly well, the centralised location of the apartment means you haven’t spent any money on public transportation, you haven’t had a problem with the language barrier, you just got back from having Selma (a delicious creamy baked good) during Fika (a Swedish afternoon tradition where baked goods and coffee are enjoyed) and your laundry should be dry any second now.
You walk through the dark and narrow hallway of the basement to retrieve your clothing from the dryer and notice some of your husband’s underwear on the ground. Surely not though, you think as you walk past them. You then meet the only man in Stockholm who has zero knowledge of the english language. That, or he was so angry he lost the ability to express himself.