Stig “Stick” Limér and I were on our way to Åland for the filming of the Swedish movie Sista Leken ("The Last Game").It was a story where Sven Wollter plays an antique dealer who stumbles into an unsettling and thrilling intrigue. Our task was to transform various locations into film sets.

Stick was the kind of person who always ended up at the center of attention. Back in high school, he earned the nickname “Stick,” not only for his thin build but also for his knack for sticking in people's minds like a splinter, which he wore with pride as if it were a royal title. And once you meet Stick—or rather, experience him—you quickly realize the nickname couldn’t be more fitting. He was thin as a stick and always heading toward his next misadventure. Like a splinter in your foot, Stick was someone who left no one indifferent. I have countless wild stories about Stick, and this is one of them.

It was one of those days that starts with a glittering archipelago and ends in catastrophe. As I mentioned, we were heading to Åland for a film shoot, and everything started off fine—until we boarded the ferry. Stick, never one to shy away from a celebration, decided to mark the occasion by practically emptying half the ferry bar.

By the time we arrived in Åland—a picturesque archipelago between Sweden and Finland—Stick was somewhere between a creative buzz and sheer chaos. I somehow managed to wrangle him into a taxi and get us to the hotel without any major incidents.

Once we reached the hotel lobby, Stick spotted an indoor pool through a glass wall. It was as if he’d discovered hidden treasure. His eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky. “We’re swimming! Right after check-in!” he declared. Already exhausted from playing the adult in this duo, I muttered something about not being too keen on the idea.

True to form, Stick ignored the elevator and lugged his bags up four flights of stairs.

After settling into my room, I put on my swim trunks and headed to the pool, figuring it was best to play lifeguard given Stick’s state. But when I arrived, I immediately noticed something was wrong. The pool was empty. Not “low-water-level” empty, but completely “drained-for-repairs” empty. Since there was no sign of Stick, I figured I’d better find him and let him know.

Then the door to the pool room burst open.

There he stood—Stick, in his slightly too-large blue swim trunks, looking like an Olympic athlete ready to break records. His face radiated pure joy, and before I could utter a word, he yelled, “Last one in is a rotten egg!”

Before I could stop him, Stick took three long strides and launched himself into what he thought would be a perfect dive. For a moment, it was pure poetry—until gravity, and the reality of the empty pool, caught up with him.

Stick looked like Goofy mid-air, flailing as if he could swim to safety. What followed was a loud thud, like someone dropping an oversized pork chop onto tiles, and a very pitiful “Oh no.”

Three hours later, we were back at the hotel. Stick now sported two impressive bandages—one on his head and one on his right knee—along with a slightly shaken ego and a new look featuring a missing front tooth. Despite it all, he was in good spirits. With a crooked smile, he lisped, “Well, at least it was just one tooth.”

And you know, he was right. What I learned from the whole ordeal is to never let Stick take the lead, whether it’s in life or at the pool.

A few weeks later, the team arrived, and Stick, understandably embarrassed, was worried about the story getting out. But I spoke with the hotel manager, and together we promised Stick we’d simply describe it as a fall accident—no further details required.