Six

Last September, Sweden voted to get shot of the old red dinosaur of Göran Persson’s government. It was time for something new. What had once been a gleaming, efficient machine, the pride of Europe, had begun to collect rust and bits were falling off.

In January, we were facing a similar problem and it was time to follow suit. Our red dinosaur was a 1994 Volvo 440. Sweden chose to replace their old banger with a shiny Alliance government. For us to follow suit we would have to replace our car with a badly welded together, multi-coloured amalgamation of different cars that all pulled in slightly different directions, but then, you can take political satire too far.

Basically, we had to sell the car….

This was to be a major campaign on many fronts. A quick carwash scrubbed the salt and other umska away and for the first time in months you could read the number plate. The sun even came out for the photo in the car park of Ikea. Could it get any more Swedish? Volvo and Ikea, the indestructible juxtaposed with the inconstructable, the sturdy with the flimsy, the quality and the quantity.

A couple of snapshots in the bright sunshine and we were ready to rock and roll. I stuck an ad on Blocket and put ‘the word out’ with my neighbours. I staple-gunned my way round the supermarket notice boards and waited for the flood of phone calls. Who could turn down this little run-around at 25000 kronor?

It was just a question of time.

And we waited for a response…….

I tried a bit of direct marketing at the university amongst the foreign students. I thought I knew my customer – young, gullible and American.

“You’d look good behind the wheel of a Volvo 440” I began.

Americans appreciate this sort of sales pitch – it makes them feel at home. The trick is to make them imagine the E4 as Route 66. I knew that American girls don’t want to know about mileage and fuel efficiency but the questions came thick and fast:

“What colour is it? Has it got a stereo?”
And then…..
“Is it stick shift?”

Stick shift sounded painful and I didn’t quite know how to answer. I stared at her blankly not wanting to confirm or deny the whole stick shift thing. Then it dawned on me that she was talking about whether it was manual or automatic. My heart sank: The till was ringing up NO SALE; I was trying to sell a cutlery set to someone who had only ever used a spoon.

…...and still we waited for the phone to ring….

……and then the snow began to fall…..

….. and the temperature dropped……

I went round to the local supermarket and knocked 5000 kronor off the advert. My inner pessimist was in danger of contacting a second hand car dealer to take whatever low offer he made. Then, just as I was about to reach for the Gula Sidorna, the phone rang. It was a response from the ad on Blocket. Five minutes of car talk and with all the basics discussed, we arranged to have a test drive two days later.

I went out to clear the snow and ice from the windscreen but as I attempted to turn the key in the lock I was met by solid ice. Wiggling and jiggling the key trying to get some movement from the lock, I twice had to explain to passers by that I wasn’t breaking in. After lots of breathing on the lock and rubbing myself up against the door (followed by more explanations) one of the neighbours offered me some lock spray. I sat down at the wheel of the car that I had just described as ‘unbelievably reliable’ and started her up. The Volvo shuddered into life, warmed up nicely to a gentle purr. As I put my foot down to rev the engine, a massive cloud of white smoke issued from the back and the motor spluttered to a stop. Through tears I watched 25000 kronor disappearing in the puff of smoke that was billowing in my rear view mirror. In seconds, I went from counting the money to weighing up whether it would be cheaper to fix the car or to pay someone to take it for scrap. It was time to contact some Swedes and learn a few important things about driving in subzero temperatures.

Farbror Kalle looked me square in the face and said three things in his Öschötska brogue, “lås spray, benzin sprit, Biltema” and here’s what I learnt in the aisles of Biltema:

• Never have less than half a tank of petrol
• Start the car for a few minutes a day
• Put antifreeze in the windscreen wash
• To stop the petrol freezing, pour a little benzin sprit in the tank
• Always have a bottle of lock spray handy (don’t keep it in the car)

Back at the car, a few well-placed taps from a spanner, some squirts in the appropriate holes, and I was ready for business.

It was after dark in the car park of the local COOP. I was standing by the Volvo with the engine nicely warmed up when my man arrived. All I knew was that his name was Jaime. I had pictured a skinny Spanish student but instead, as he prized himself from his car, I was met by a voluminous guy in his fifties. Jaime was one rotund Chilean; my kind of height but with many more chins. We shook hands as he sized me and the Volvo up.

“My mother is here too” He said

“Fine”

“She’ll come with us on the test drive”

“Fine”

His mum was a tiny woman who installed herself on the back seat of the car and sat quietly as we circled the car. I tried some idle chat to take his mind off the rust on the door and I realised I was completely out of my depth when he told me he had lived in Sweden for 30 years. I am always more than ready to talk turkey to Swedes, who tend to be a bit of a pushover when it comes to bartering, but a South American whose Swedish was much better than my own was going to be a hard call. He opened up the driver’s door and squeezed himself between the seat and the steering wheel. The car sank down under his weight and me taking the passenger seat did little to balance the car out. I was going to suggest that either his mum moved over to my side or we avoid taking any sharp turns too fast.

“Let’s see how she drives”, he said as he turned the ignition and simultaneously hit the accelerator. The rear tyres spun on the ice as we jolted forward. I looked back at Mamma who smiled calmly back at me.

In the semi darkness there was a glint in his eye as we began careening along. Within minutes we had left the lights of the town and there was nothing but darkness on either side of the road. Jaime said nothing and his Mamma offered me a mint. I began thinking of an escape plan when, like a beacon of salvation, there was a garage up ahead. Jaime pulled in to the lit forecourt, skidding to a halt by the air and water.

“You need to pump up the tyres” he said.

The car was definitely listing slightly to the left but as he got out it righted itself. He went round the tyres and inspected the bodywork. I tried to do the hard sell, but the words escaped me in Swedish, Spanish or even English. He pointed at the tiny patch of rust on the wheel arch. Rather than just look at it and start bargaining, he took a big kick at the bodywork and sucked his teeth.

“Rust”. He said

“Yes” I said - on a great big boot shaped fucking dent!

We got back in the car and he sped off again, Mamma still poker faced in the back. Suddenly we came to a sharp stop in the middle of the road.

“I want to test the winter tyres and brakes”.

We then jolted along for a few minutes as he explained that he was trying to recreate the feeling of an elk jumping out in front of the car.

I was on the verge of giving up the ghost and just offering him the car for free in exchange for my life, when he turned to me and said “I’ll take it”. On the white-knuckle ride back to the COOP, we went through all the necessary bartering and we settled on a reduced price of 21000 kronor. With just the paperwork to deal with we went into the supermarket to take advantage of their warmth and light. Jaime and I signed the papers and counted out the notes on the little table under the notice board. As we shook hands for the final time and I wished him luck.

I had 42 neatly folded 500 kronor notes in my pocket, which his Mamma had produced from an envelope in her handbag.

“You’ve got yourself a real bargain there.” I said, as I waved them goodbye.

I waited a moment then reached up to the notice board and removed the ad for the car, which had the price at 1000 kronor less than he had just paid.

He wheels, he deals…. Del Boy would have been so proud.

Ben Kersley flogs his motor......