And before Rune bought a BMW. Idiot, thought Ove on that day, and also today, all these years after.
And every day in between, actually. “How the heck are you supposed to have a reasonable conversation with someone who buys a BMW?”
Ove used to ask Sonja when she wondered why the two men could not have a reasonable conversation anymore.
And at that point Sonja used to find no other course but to roll her eyes while muttering, “You’re hopeless.”
Ove wasn’t hopeless, in his own view. He just had a sense of there needing to be a bit of order in the greater scheme of things.
He felt one should not go through life as if everything was exchangeable.
As if loyalty was worthless. Nowadays people changed their stuff so often that any expertise in how to make things last was becoming superfluous.
Quality: no one cared about that anymore. Not Rune or the other neighbors and not those managers in the place where Ove worked.
Now everything had to be computerized, as if one couldn’t build a house until some consultant in a too-small shirt figured out how to open a laptop.
As if that was how they built the Colosseum and the pyramids of Giza.
Christ, they’d managed to build the Eiffel Tower in 1889, but nowadays one couldn’t come up with the bloody drawings for a one-story house
without taking a break for someone to run off and recharge their cell phone.
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