A good place to get sick

So, when I couldn´t even finish a bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup this afternoon without having to run to the bathroom, John and I set forth for the pharmacy. Just as we were walking out, with antibiotics and fever medication in hand, I realized with a sickening splash that I was projectile vomiting all over the shampo aisle and ice cream freezer.

Of course, one can only imagine what would have happened at CVS--people would have rushed to get me out and save face.

As I crouched down feeling humliated and disemboweled, I felt on my neck and forehead the cool, nurturing hand of one of the pharmacists, a kind round-faced woman who kept saying, "Pobrecita, pobrecita--what have you eaten?"

She hled up a cotton wad with alcohol up to my nose as the security guarded, looking concerned, pulled a stool up for me to sit down. The guy cleaning up my mess didn´t even seem annoyed, but laughed as the pharmacist yelled at a woman leaving, "It was your sandwiches that did this, wasn´t it?"

An elderly woman dolled up in finery with large sunglasses and quite the bouffant came in, took a look. "Excuse me," she said, "are you Americans?" I weakly nodded, feeling highly disrespectful.

However, the old woman just wanted to help. "You know," she said to a pallid John, "sometimes you come and have problems so high up."

I am taking meds now for what most people seem to think is a bacterial infection from the food. Am about to teach my last class for the day after having missed my afternoon.

However, the pain I suffered was purely physical. I was completely taken care of in that pharmacy; the cultural difference is astounding. Instead of making me feel bad for making a terrible scene, they dealt with what I needed in the moment.