Yesterday morning, as I waited patiently to see the GP Practice Nurse for a routine blood test while the woman who went in before me seemed to be taking up an inordinate amount of the Nurse’s time, I was reminded of an incident in Prague quite a few years back. Alison and I had decided to visit the Old Jewish Cemetery in the city. We needed to wait in a queue for tickets. The ticket counter was a small window in the building that gave access to the cemetery. The building itself was in a little courtyard that was exposed to the full glare of a hot August sun, so those queuing up were also exposed to that sun. But the queue was short and moving quickly, and in no time at all there was only one woman in front of us at the ticket counter. She was middle-aged, wearing a lot of gold jewellery and holding a gold lamé purse. As soon as she opened that purse and bought her ticket, we would also be out of the sun in no time at all. But Goldie had different plans.
First, she asked the lady at the ticket counter for every leaflet that was on display. She spoke in English with an accent that I’m sure was Austrian. She was duly handed leaflets about the cemetery, about other Jewish places of interest in Prague, about visitor attractions elsewhere in Prague – and perhaps about the Rise and Fall of the fucking Roman Empire, for all I knew.
Next, satisfied that she had the full pack of leaflets in her possession, she had some questions. No, not some – she had hundreds of fucking questions! While the very patient Czech lady answered each one in turn, the relentless sun beat down on us, stretching our patience to breaking point.
But finally, just when we were on the verge of reaching breaking point, the gold lamé purse was opened, money was counted out laboriously, and Goldie had a ticket in her possession. At last, we could escape the cauldron. But no! Fuck, no! She wasn’t finished. She had another question. Lifting up the ticket with both hands and scrutinising every millimetre of it, she asked: “Iz theez a ticket?”
Alison and I couldn’t help ourselves. We both exploded in laughter.
First, she asked the lady at the ticket counter for every leaflet that was on display. She spoke in English with an accent that I’m sure was Austrian. She was duly handed leaflets about the cemetery, about other Jewish places of interest in Prague, about visitor attractions elsewhere in Prague – and perhaps about the Rise and Fall of the fucking Roman Empire, for all I knew.
Next, satisfied that she had the full pack of leaflets in her possession, she had some questions. No, not some – she had hundreds of fucking questions! While the very patient Czech lady answered each one in turn, the relentless sun beat down on us, stretching our patience to breaking point.
But finally, just when we were on the verge of reaching breaking point, the gold lamé purse was opened, money was counted out laboriously, and Goldie had a ticket in her possession. At last, we could escape the cauldron. But no! Fuck, no! She wasn’t finished. She had another question. Lifting up the ticket with both hands and scrutinising every millimetre of it, she asked: “Iz theez a ticket?”
Alison and I couldn’t help ourselves. We both exploded in laughter.