guest column 2


This guest column is written by Amund.

I’ve known amund for years at this point, and I’ve lived with him for the last 2 years. He’s awesome, even when he wakes up annoyingly happy.

Amund is clever, funny and not least a great storyteller. He always finds himself in horrible situations that end up being a great story.


Here is his first time ever writing one of his stories down, i think it turned out great!

I present to you:


The bus.

I have a love hate relationship with the bus. I don´t know if I love hating the bus, or if I hate loving the bus, but either or, I have definitely experienced every range of emotion on this moving chaos of a room.

I remember this one time in middle school, I had to carry my friend, who btw is five times heavier than me, on the last bus to get him home. He was shlooshed up on alcohol some older friends of us bought, and the bus driver kindly told me that if he started to puke, he would stop the bus and throw both of us out in the snow. We were stuck in this God forsaken place called Hamna, and it was far too long to walk home, let alone carry him. I remember having hopes of getting halfway home before he started to puke, but my hopes were crushed at the third stop. Puking on the bus is one thing, but my friend was projectile vomiting all over the taxpayer funded seats. The challenge was trying sneak past the bus drivers’ vomit-radar. This would have been a lot easier if it were not for all the drunk people on the bus cheering and yelling “one more round” after every time my poor friend was hurling his dinner, lunch and breakfast out. I still remember the puke swirling around the mid-section of the bus in counter harmony with the motion of the bus. By some miraculous chance we made it to our stop, and I remember thinking while carrying my puke drenched friend: “this has to be the worst bus experience”. I would later find out that this was in fact not even close to being true…

However, I feel like the worst times I´ve experienced on this laminal moving space is not the buses’ fault. The bus experience is colored by your mood and the people that happened to be there that day. In that way the bus is a sort of mirror. If I have a great day, I can find myself invested in the conversation the two old ladies behind me are having about their grandkids. If I have an anxious day on the other hand, I`ll find myself overthinking the look the guy on the first row gave me. A shit day becomes a shit bus ride the same way a wonderful day becomes a wonderful bus ride. That’s why I don´t blame the bus, even on my worst days.