Being sick in Italy is not so bad as being sick in Germany. During my holiday I got an inflammation in my knee. I must have made a wrong movement while shuffling with my slippers from the beach chair to the pool. The sweltering heat then did the rest. But I took it easy and put my feet up. Italians are optimists. When a pigeon shit right on my head, the Italians assured me that bird shit on your head brings good luck. And when you spill wine, you can tap your finger behind your ear and make a wish.
But arriving back home in Berlin, being sick became a different thing all together. First I had to face the Dragons at the local orthopedist. Dragons are the ones who hold the doctor's castle at the entrance. Dragons never go alone but mostly go in a group of three. They all have the same age, the same hair, the same clothes, and they are ANGRY.
In the end, I did get through to the orthopedist, who immediately sold me some crutches for 5 Euros, telling me that in case of an emergency, "jede sollte Krücken im Keller haben" (everyone should have crutches in the basement). So now I am, together with the "couverture anti-feu" that my mum gave me for the kitchen and Frank O'Hara's Meditations in an Emergency in my bookshelves, all set for when disaster hits home.
My friend W laughed when he heard my Drei Drachen story and asked me if I knew the German TV-series Drei Damen vom Grill. In 1987, the Teufelsberger Produktion of Ades Sabel made a persiflage entitled Drei Drachen vom Grill. Hermoine Zittlau, also part of Tödliche Doris, performed in it.
Today, I had a last encounter with the Dragons. Of course, my orthopedist left on vacation and left me stranded. So I had to pick up my MRI results. On the phone I had begged the radiology to send the rapport to me (Not possible, because I hadn't left a stamp.), but they promised to fax it to the orthopedist (Yes, they still fax as if it is 1999!). Of course, the dragons hadn't received the fax. Did their fax machine work? I asked. I went home and called again radiology who faxed it once more. I went back to the orthopedist where one of the dragons, without uttering a word, shoved the fax under the plexiglas.
"They are not very nice," I said to an elderly man who left together with me. "They are very nice," he told me, "You must have done something wrong."