Going to the pharmacy here is fun.
First, to get there, you hop over puddles in the cobblestoned streets until you reach a narrow doorway, squeezed between two centuries-old stone buildings and hung with a wrought iron sign that says "Hirsch Apothecary" (established sometime in the 17th century). Ding! You push open the door.
Inside is a small shop, covered wall to looming wall with an orderly, but dizzying, variety of medicaments, all glowing quietly in their white packaging -- an effect surely meant to convey not only professionalism and sterility, but also the impression that aesthetics are completely superfluous for medicines of such power. Two robed deities of Health and Well-Being (or maybe they're white-jacketed pharmacists) greet you with a grave nod. "Good day, madam," intones one, bending his awesome medical eye upon me. "How may I assist you?"
I suddenly remember that, in addition to my prescription, I could use some more band-aids. "Right this way," purrs the white jacket, and floats weightlessly out from behind the counter to guide me to an astounding array of various Self-Adhesive Cotton-Gauzed Wound Plasters. Selecting one from the artfully arranged shelf, he assures me that "this assortment should meet the lady's needs."
"Sure," I say, reaching for the box.
But he's not finished. "You see the various different kinds of Self-Adhesive Cotton-Gauzed Wound Plasters available in this package." He tips the silver-edged box on its side like a bottle of fine wine, in order to better display the incredible power of these bandages. "There are 14 strips of a 19x72 millimeter size, and 6 more of a 30x72 millimeter size. The padding contains an antibacterial element which can also help prevent infection in the wound. In addition, these strips are waterproof."
I repress my grin. "Sounds great." Then I hand him my prescription. This is also outlined in equal detail, and finally conveyed to me in a professional, Hirsch Apothecary-embossed refrigerator package "because of the warm temperature outside today."
"Does the lady require anything else?" the voice intones, serious and hushed as a doctor's -- or a psychiatrist's.
"No thanks, that was it."
"Then I wish you a pleasant day."
And with that, the two deities withdraw once again behind the Counter of Olympus, and the ding of the bell heralds my crossing back over into the earthly world.
5 comments:
You keep making me laugh out loud -- thank you! I can't decide whether they take themselves much too seriously or we should be learning a lesson in behavior and treatment of other human beings.... or maybe I'll just enjoy your terrific writing!
Haha! That was freakin hilarious :-) "Counter of Olympus"... hehe :-)
Haaa! Can one capture the essence of a netherworld so succinctly? Amazing! Heck, I could smell the place. Someone once told me, before I got there, that in most of Europe, there is a performance expectation of each person's "role" in society. I suppose they don't have as many identity crisis's... And perhaps the customers behave better too. I don't know, but in any case, THANK YOU for, once again, lifting our bird-cages off their dusty hooks,and taking us into another room for a while. -- I'm feeling chirpier.
Love you!!!
Why does this remind me so much of Claire visiting Master Raymond?
Haha, that's exactly what I thought of when I was there!
Post a Comment