The Spanish E.R.
Day 25
It’s not over till it’s over. Last night at 10:30 something I’m wrapping up emails getting ready for bed or something that resembles lounging on my blankets with a book smashed against my nose when from the kitchen, my roommate who is cooking dinner as he lives on Spanish time hollers for me to help. The fool has gone and cut his hand open using one of our new IKEA knives that he ironically enough said “would be great for those tough vegetables you buy” and now he’s bleeding out because he was trying to cut a frozen hamburger patty. Now I normally get woozy at the site of throw up, so puddles of blood should’ve made me pass out cold in .5 seconds flat. But hallelujah we women can get into moods fouler than burnt onions. I wanted to go to bed not deal with blood and guts. So iron maiden me told him to sit his ass down, apply pressure to his hand with the whole roll of paper towels and I would call his friend with a car to take him to the hospital and no he couldn’t “walk there.” Spain is pretty loose and liberal, but a man bleeding that bad walking down the street would do more than attract a few stares. We get him off to the hospital and what a miracle European healthcare is. They get him in and out faster than a dentist can pull a tooth. In less than an hour he’s back wanting to go get dinner. I hate Spain most days, but the next time I get sick in the USA I’m flying to Europe because they don’t make you wait to be saved, they just do it.
After a couple rounds of dis-infecting the blood spattered kitchen, because he surely hit a vein, we had blood streaks across ALL FOUR WALLS, at 2am I called it quits, I couldn’t muster any more energy to care that the Spanish flag hanging in the kitchen had streaks of blood on it, making it look like a vintage flag from a bull fight.
Somehow I didn’t hear my alarm go off at 7am to get to the bank to open an account so I could finally receive my pay check. Didn’t matter anyways, the bank wouldn’t let me open an account anyways until December when I get my OFFICIAL residence card, the temporary one is cute and flashy, but it doesn’t hold water apparently. Just great. I decided to put that problem in my back pocket and go buy alcohol to do some more rounds of kitchen disinfecting. I made sure a box of chocolate frosted flakes made it in the cart too; I could feel the trembling of chocolate deficiency coming on in the rising stress of the day.
On my way back I walked along the beach because in Malaga they just put grocery stores on the beach. Great, right? And just as I had hoped, prime people watching. During my time here I’ve noticed a few things, one of them being that NO ONE, absolutely NO ONE can successfully change out of their bathing suit into normal clothes with a towel wrapped around their waist. I saw all variations of stumbling, reaching, bending, twisting, and towel dropping to wonder why anyone even cares to change. Just wear your bathing suit, it’s not like you even went into the icy ocean, so why bother with underwear if your bikini is just the same? Today highlighted a group of German guys who decided they best change into ‘cooler street clothes’ because really their bathing suit shorts looked that different from their black shorts they put on later….one made the good choice of wearing green and blue diagonally stripped tight whites. Another decided to go commando, how do I know this you ask? Well, he was another of the toga failures; he certainly hasn’t been to a nude beach in a while, because his buns weren’t baked at all. The other gem of the day was an older bleach blonde Espanola, who loved the idea of a nude beach, pulling her one suit almost all the way off so it covered the bottom half of your tush. Then she fell asleep. And she is a roller. Need I say more? Well I'll say this, the group of British tourist had quite some fun pounding bottles of beer watching the lady zonked out in various positions. The other oddity I noticed were the tiniest of Asian women in the biggest of visors walking the beaches offering massages. They’ll squat down next to you on your towel on the beach and rub you down on the spot. For a pretty euro that is. It looked insanely relaxing.
And now for the triumph of the day. I found the library. Yes I found the library and I joined the library. Monday I get to pick up my card and check out books!! I don’t care what you think, it made me smile all the way home.
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