January 13, 2021

Reading the Room

There is a chance that by the time you read this story I will have figured out a way to blend and mesh the different and seemingly unrelated parts so as to have a cogent and coherent narrative. As I start typing this second sentence I have to be completely honest and say I don’t like my chances.

The good news is that you, dear reader, unlike me, are at liberty to disembark at any stop, you may have already, while I am committed to seeing it through to the bitter end.

So, I don’t know exactly where this is going but I do know I want to start at a pharmacy on Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem.

It is late Friday afternoon and the sabbath is about to start. I am in Israel to visit my sister and her family, and also to celebrate the Jewish holiday of Passover. I have been in Israel for four days and my circadian rhythm has not yet adjusted from the jet lag and time difference. In addition, I have been eating matzah, the unleavened bread of affliction, for four straight days. If you are Jewish, you have understood at once that the circadian rhythm has nothing to do with this story. You have also guessed why I am in the pharmacy.

I have been reading Bill Bryson’s book on the English language. It is called The Mother Tongue: English and How it Got that Way. I read a chapter or two every night before going to bed. It is a very interesting read. Chock full of fascinating tidbits about the English language. But every morning, without fail, I wake up having forgotten everything I have read. I chide myself for not bringing a pen and notebook to my bedside table so I can jot things down and then wow and impress my friends with terms, fun facts and expressions. So far, I can only remember that ravel and unravel mean the same thing. Which, I suppose, is something, but you try working that into a conversation.

Anyway, I mention it because it made me think of the term over-the-counter. Which is the term you use for drugs or medication you can get at a drugstore which are non-prescription. In other words, decidedly not over-the-counter. They are right there in the aisle. No counter or pharmacist to deal with.

Medications like, and this is just off the top of my head, laxatives.

In Israel however, as I am about to discover, some medications, for example, off the top of my head, laxatives, which in North America are readily available in the aisle are actually, although not prescription, only available over the counter through the pharmacist.

If you have just read three paragraphs about Bill Bryson’s book on the English language then I am sad to say all attempts to streamline this narrative have been in vain. If, on the other hand, you are reading this and saying to yourself ‘Who the fuck is Bill Bryson’ (although, if you are saying that, you are really missing out on one of the preeminent travel writers of all time. Put down this book and go get yourself a copy of Neither Here Nor There. Seriously. Go.) then you haven’t missed much. I am in line at the pharmacy. It is late Friday afternoon. It is a long line. The pharmacy is packed with last minute shoppers. I am, to put it delicately, a little backed up. I finally get to the front of the line and quietly and discreetly speak to the white coated pharmacist, who could be a stand in for latter day Israeli movie star Gal Gadot.

I stand tall, look her straight in the eyes, and ask for a laxative.

It has been four days.

Two days, I might have asked her for a pack of gum.

But four days is four days.

She gives me a wry knowing smile and said “Pesach.”

Then I say “Dayeinu.” Which means “it would have been enough.” It is a word repeated in one of the prayers on seder night. I know it’s not that funny, it doesn’t even really make sense, but I don’t know much Hebrew and, as you no doubt have already figured out, I have a hard enough time being funny in English.

But she laughs.

It is a good laugh.

A really good laugh.

And now she says, in the most adorable Hebrew accented English:

“Do you want… um, um, um. I don’t know how to say… um um.”

It is so cute how she is trying to remember the word. I am smiling back at her like an idiot. She is so cute.

She then yells across the store. Over my head. Over the heads of the ten people, including yeshiva boys and seminary girls, standing in line, to her colleague who is stocking shelves at the other side of the store.

“Avi,” she yells “Ech koreem.” How do you say? Then she says a word in Hebrew I don’t know.

And Avi shouts back

“Suppository”

And she shouts back “mah?”  Which means ‘what?’ 

And Avi then again shouts out “suppository.”

And she says “Beseder. Todah.” Ok. Thanks. Then turns to me in a Hebrew accented English I am no longer finding all that cute and says

“Do you want it in a suppository?”

So that’s my embarrassing pharmacy story. It’s the story I usually tell if we are sitting around the fire, roasting marshmallows, and telling embarrassing pharmacy stories. It is a perfectly good story and it has served me well. But then a buddy turned 60 and that led to a series of events which resulted in another pharmacy story. There is also a woman in this story but she is not Israeli so I don’t have that going for me.

I should also tell you this story has quite a lot to do with my prostate.

As I am writing this I can hear my friend Allie saying ‘read the room’. She says that to me a lot. So it occurs to me that maybe the majority of you have read all you care to, probably more than you care to, about my bodily functions for one day and have pulled the emergency brake in order to get off and maybe skip to the next story or move on to another book altogether.

I get that.

For the rest of you, who may be standing in line at the bank or performing other business, mentionable or not, and have another five minutes to spare, you would be wise to get off too. I really should have stopped at suppository.

The end.