My nostrils have been hermetically sealed for six hours. I visit the bathroom on average three times every four minutes. And there are angry elves drilling holes into the side of my brain and poking swords into the back of my eyes. I get up and observe the living corpse in the mirror. Something climbs out of my nose and starts singing and my hair has revolted against the rest of my body.
It’s official, I am dying. Though there’s the off-chance it’s the flu.
I open the medicine cabinet again and stare into it. I have been in this medicine cabinet five times tonight, but I pray that the medical elves have come and left me something to help: NyQuil, Percocet, a handgun. I root though the cabinet full of Czech medical products, forced to employ my second language at a time when all of my efforts should be focused on not soiling my pants.
Nothing.
The medical elves have let me down again; just like those damn food elves in my fridge. The search officially ends as the next wave of viral storm troopers organizes a coup d’état in my colon.
I call off from work and prepare for a day of comforting myself. I run down to my local potraviny (shop) and then the lékárna (pharmacy) to buy some supplies.
Being sick drives an extreme need for comfort. This often comes in the form of food, drink, movies and medicine. For most of my life having a cold meant craving chicken noodle soup and crackers, NyQuil and Afrin and When Harry Met Sally.
Now, as I am walking back to my flat I look into my bag and make a startling discovery. There’s only Paralen (anti-fever pain-killer) and Smecta (anti-diarrheal powder). My comfort food is játrovými knedlíčky (liver dumpling) soup, brown Czech bread and Eidam cheese. My comfort drinks are tea and slivovice (plum brandy) – doctor’s orders.
I act surprised, but this is just the next step in the inexorable process of becoming Czech. It’s been happening to all of us. Collin now wears a scarf and describes everything as “nice,” the Czechs’ most often preferred English adjective. PJ called once to tell me how comfortable socks and sandals were and shame overtook me when I confided that I already knew. Lee wears the Czech hiking pants, which are indescribable, but if you saw them, you’d know.
There’s more. I now consider stepping in dog poop good luck, lunch is my largest meal of the day and I haven’t smiled on the tram since 2009. Mullets still look ridiculous, but not as much as before and “shrooming” means going into the forest to pick mushrooms and not tripping your face off on something pulled off of cow poop. A shot of slivovice in the morning for “health” is totally normal and beer at lunch is as natural as ordering a side dish.
And a movie is not a movie unless the ending involves someone very likable dying, the death of a Nazi sympathizer or the Russians invading Czechoslovakia.
I weep at these realizations and dry the tears with the emergency roll of toilet paper that I have stowed in the pocket of my robe. I make the liver dumpling soup and a cheese sandwich and put on the film Pelišky.
It’s a hard film to explain, but if you saw it, you’d know.
#1 by CK on December 8, 2011 - 4:08 pm
Hysterical. And totally believeable. Makes me want to write the female version, though clearly you’re farther along in your Czechification than I am.
#2 by Andy on December 8, 2011 - 5:34 pm
Ah yes, but how proficient has your “nose-blowing-in-any-social-circumstance-or-weather-condition” skill become? I’m pretty sure that’s one of the final steps.
#3 by Pavel "Scuba Man" Mlejnek on December 10, 2011 - 5:22 pm
Hello!
You are first American who almost EVOLVED into Czech! Good job! But it’s not over yet!
Good luck with next steps such as:
– Using “ty vole” at start and end of EVERY sentece!
– Goulash with less than 8 dumplings is not food at all.
– And final step, fridge is full of beers. Probably Braník. At least 20 bottles!
#4 by Damien Galeone on December 11, 2011 - 7:13 pm
Ty Vole, Pavel! Miluju pivo ale, nesnáším Branik! Děkuji za komentář! A uvideme se příští měsíc.
#5 by Oh come on, I really have to submit my email adress AND my name? on January 5, 2012 - 11:13 pm
Are those hiking pants the ones with the checkered patches??? And what is wrong with blowing your nose in any social circumstance?
#6 by Damien Galeone on January 5, 2012 - 11:57 pm
H.L, I knew you were a hiking pants enthusiast!