Det är grönt

December 31, 2025

The "Sunburst Tangerine" was, according to Elias, a masterpiece of mid-century design. According to Sven, it was a three-meter-long velvet eyesore that weighed approximately as much as a small car.

They stood on a narrow sidewalk in Södermalm, Stockholm, the afternoon sun reflecting off the polished windows of trendy boutiques. The sofa sat between them like a giant, fuzzy citrus fruit. Elias was checking his watch every thirty seconds, his eyes darting toward the heavy oak door of his apartment building.

"I’m telling you, Sven, if Bergström sees us moving this on a Sunday, he’ll have my head," Elias whispered, though there was no one around to hear him. "The building association rules specifically state that heavy transport should be coordinated with the caretaker. And I didn't."

Sven leaned against the sofa’s plush armrest, looking entirely too relaxed for a man who had just spent forty minutes maneuvering a velvet beast out of a moving van. "Relax, Elias. Bergström is seventy-eight years old. By this time on a Sunday, he’s knee-deep in his crossword puzzles and probably has his hearing aid turned down to avoid the sound of the seagulls."

"He has a sixth sense for 'unauthorized activity,'" Elias countered. He adjusted his grip on the underside of the frame. "We need to be surgical. We go in, we hit the elevator, we get to the fourth floor, and we vanish into my hallway."

Sven sighed, pushing himself off the sofa. "Fine. I’ll be the scout. I’ll go inside, check the lobby, and make sure the coast is clear. You stay here and try not to look like a man committing a crime with a piece of furniture."

Elias watched as Sven disappeared through the front door. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of a Vespa and the clinking of glasses from a nearby sidewalk café. Elias felt exposed. He felt like a beacon of orange velvet in a sea of sophisticated Swedish minimalism. Every passerby seemed to look at the sofa with a mixture of pity and confusion. He tried to look busy by lint-rolling a section of the cushion with his palm, which only made him look more suspicious.

Minutes felt like hours. Elias’s imagination began to run wild. He pictured Bergström standing in the lobby, arms crossed, wielding a copy of the building’s bylaws like a weapon. He imagined the elevator breaking down halfway between floors, trapping him and Sven with the Sunburst Tangerine forever.

Suddenly, the heavy door creaked open just an inch. Sven’s face appeared in the gap, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He scanned the street, gave a mock-heroic salute, and nodded firmly.

"The dragon is asleep in his lair," Sven whispered loudly. "Det är grönt. Let’s move."

Elias didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed the front end of the sofa with a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength. They hoisted the velvet monster through the doorway, their breathing heavy as they navigated the narrow vestibule. The lobby was silent, the marble floors gleaming under the chandelier. They moved with a surprising, frantic grace, shuffling sideways like two very determined crabs.

The elevator door was the next hurdle. The Sunburst Tangerine was exactly two centimeters wider than the elevator opening.

"Tilt it!" Sven hissed. "No, the other way! Pivot, Elias, pivot!"

"I am pivoting!" Elias groaned, his face turning a shade of red that almost matched the sofa. "My shoulder is stuck against the brass railing!"

With a final, desperate shove and the sound of velvet rubbing against metal, the sofa popped into the elevator car like a cork into a bottle. They squeezed themselves into the tiny remaining space, their faces pressed against the cushions. Sven reached an arm over the top of the backrest to punch the button for the fourth floor.

The elevator ascended with a slow, agonizing groan. Every time it passed a floor, Elias held his breath, praying the doors wouldn't open to reveal a disgruntled neighbor. When the bell finally chimed for the fourth floor, they tumbled out into the hallway, dragging the sofa with them.

They didn't stop until the Sunburst Tangerine was safely inside Elias’s living room, positioned awkwardly in the center of the rug. Elias slammed the door and locked it, leaning his back against the wood, gasping for air.

Sven, relatively unfazed, walked over to the kitchen and grabbed two cold bottles of pear cider from the fridge. He handed one to Elias and then threw himself onto the orange velvet.

"See?" Sven said, taking a long sip. "I told you. No drama, no Bergström, no problem."

Elias looked at the sofa, then at his friend, and finally started to laugh. The tension broke, and he sank down onto the other end of the Tangerine. It was surprisingly comfortable.

"I have to admit," Elias said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It looks even more ridiculous in here than it did on the sidewalk."

"Maybe," Sven grinned. "But at least it’s inside. And the mission was a success."

They sat in the quiet of the apartment, the orange velvet glowing in the afternoon light, two friends enjoying the spoils of their Sunday afternoon heist.

Det är grönt

It signals that an obstacle has been removed and that you have been given the green light to continue.

It works just like a traffic light: when it turns green, you are free to proceed. It is often used in work life or in projects when waiting for a decision or approval.