At the corner Thereses gate and Stensgata in Oslo has it ever since we moved into the area for just over 20 years ago, a sleggekast away from Bislett stadium department the Upper Fagerborg, been a small store which until recently had the sign, “Viklunds Brukthandel. Buy. Sale.”
the Boss Viklund has been a trader with a hello and hilsenikk, wise smile, one and other story, and always time for a chat in this area of the city where there are at least 28 salons since last: Sideskill, hentehår, bortehår, wig, jentehår and hey the weld.
Viklunds Brukthandel where it sometimes has been traded. He also bought our used refrigerator and freezer. He came together with his son in the white varebilen. Settlement in cash over the counter. Or was it under? I don’t remember.
The summer set Viklund often outside the store. At one point or another used chair, preferably with one or more customers by the side of. People who had stopped to have a chat. About marriage, faenskap, friendship and perhaps anxiety for a bar. One and the other morning it happened that the stairs outside the shop was filled up with a and other small tebord, a plastic bag with cloths, some electrical items and it looked like rubbish.
Viklund was also around and cleared in the city’s apartments in connection with the dødsbo. Here had he had some fine, and some sad stories on the stock. In the warehouse he had also a wealth of refrigerators, small ovens and it is not an old bike or is it a stålampe?
Viklund took in most of the things that he then sorted. Something of this was set out in the city’s finest showcase, it was like getting a glimpse into a bygone era. A eventyrblanding of the old Solo-bottles, weird santa claus, fotografiapparater, travel, TV, paintings, smørerier, embroidery, boilers, seals, cups, tubs, nips, tablecloths, spoons, lived a life, radios, drammeglass and last fall a diploma we should purchased:
the Diploma. Thor Eriksens Minnefond has awarded Anne-Sofie Høe, student from the higher school of 1947, the medal for diligence and skill.
Diligence and skill. Good. In this degree, it is, well a never so short story.Viklund was also worth a paper airplane or two. No, he gets an old traver of a dust blues. These shops are fewer and fewer of. the
Town chorus will not be as before.
Now move it well enough a hair salon. the
Or a fjong real estate agent? the
No, maybe thai and kebabs,
discontinued in the next month. Town blues.
But, is it jazz?
Lose Viklund, you will be missed. The red poster in the empty window made me laugh with a touch tristesse:
Dear all of my customers: It is with relief and a little sadness that I now close Viklunds Brukthandel. It has been a joy, humor and white lies that have made that it has been easy to endure for so many years. I’m going to miss you all together! Thank you for me! Viklund.
