Yesterday I was at Rite-aid getting a prescription filled. I like being back in the US because the over-the counter stuff isn't even over-the-counter, but nicely organized on dozens of shelves. I don't need to talk to a ny other person in order to dose myself with supplements, painkillers, decongestants, laxities, yeast infection mess or anything else my breezy heart might desire.
This is compared to Hungary, where a pharmacy actually has pharmacists who act as gatekeepers between you and body-altering substances. This means that if you want anything, you have to be able to explain it. By the time I left, I knew a decent litany of symptoms that I could rattle off; however, in my first year in Budapest, when my language skills consisted of ordering beer and forming the imperative, talking to the pharmacist was mote than a little challenging.
My first spring in Hungary I started breaking in some new Birkenstock, which meant I got blisters. Shortly thereafter the blisters got very mildly infected - or, they were red and tender. I thought I should put some anti-bacterial cream on them, so off to the pharmacy I went. "My shoes arr new and my feet... hurt. I want... some cream. Hydrocortisone?" That didn't work. The lady wanted me to see a doctor and when I demurred, (Primal rage! I DON'T NEED A DOCTOR TO TELL ME I SHOULD PUT A LITTLE BIT OF ANTISEPTIC OINTMENT ON MY WOUND! THIS WOULDN'T HAPPEN IN AMERICA!) she offered me bandaids.
I went to a friend's house; he suggested another brand I could mention. So we both went back and I had the same conversation. At that point necessity won out over propriety. I said to the pharmacist, "Excuse me," took off my shoe, hoisted my foot to the window and used the imperative. "Look! See? It hurts! Little infectio." I got some cream.
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