Hard Rules
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Bangkok, hanging out with our kids and eating spicy-sour-salty-sweet, in between dealing with a medical issue. Lee wanted me to do the medical stuff in Shanghai, but I was determined to wait until we got here. If I’m going to do something slightly traumatic (which in all honesty, this has been), I want the caregivers to be really kind and soothing, and perhaps pat my hand and tell me it’s all going to be okay. As far as I can tell, that is not China’s strength.
Hard Rules
We got flu shots in Shanghai. You know how you can get a flu shot at the Walmart, and it’s right there in the front of the store, and you just show up and maybe fill out a form, and they ask you which arm you want it in, and thirty seconds later you’re shopping for ziplocs and paper towels?
That didn’t happen here. First, I held out my right arm for the shot. “No,” the nurse said. “Left arm.” I showed her that I’m wearing a glucose monitor on my left arm, and said I preferred the right. She (somewhat grudgingly, in my opinion) agreed, and told the nurse who was entering our details into the computer.
We both got our jabs. Then we were read a list of rules: sit in the waiting area for thirty minutes. Take off the bandage after two hours. Shower is allowed after four hours. No alcohol for twenty-four hours.
We did not wait the prescribed thirty minutes—it was a flu shot, for Pete’s sake! We snuck out. I could hear the nurse yelling after us—Hey! Hey!—but I pretended not to and crossed my fingers the police wouldn’t show up at our hotel to arrest us for breaking the flu shot rules. We’re such renegades.
Today I used a public bathroom, and the toilet paper was a fun new experience. The dispenser is by the sinks (you have to get some before you enter the stall—not actually uncommon).
I couldn’t figure out how the machine worked. I waved my hand underneath, I looked for a button, to no avail. Finally a woman came over and touched a screen, which came to life. She pointed to the image—a sort of crime-scene-style outline of head and shoulders—and positioned me so that my face was within the outline. A length of toilet paper came out of the machine.
A couple of hours later, I used the same bathroom again, quite confident in my ability to acquire my own toilet paper. Master of the universe right here, y’all!
I got my tp, went into the stall, and used the toilet. Afterward, I washed my hands, as one does. Then I remembered that there’s neither paper towel nor hand dryer in this particular restroom, so I hit upon the genius idea of using my new skill to get another bit of toilet paper for drying my hands.
A message popped up on the screen (in characters I couldn’t actually read, of course). The text was surrounded by a red box, super-imposed over a photo of my face, awkwardly staring at the machine’s camera. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of one FBI wanted posters.
The stupid machine wouldn’t give me any more toilet paper. Really? Really? I may not have been able to read the words on the screen, but the message was clear: you can’t have any more toilet paper.
And that is why I am, as always, grateful for the warmth and kindness of the Thai people.
“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”—A Streetcar Named Desire
Take care,
Lisa
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