One of my favorite books I read before coming here, Four Seasons in Rome, centers on a lot of the places I visit every day. That’s why I couldn’t help but laugh a bit when I found myself in the emergency room—a scene straight out of the book—with my roommate, who had cut her hand on glass after shattering a bottle of olive oil. The whole experience was a bit overwhelming across the language divide, and a three hour wait (complete with countless soccer injuries, a horrifically beat up man jabbering animatedly into his cell phone and a seizing woman) late at night never leaves anyone at the peak of their speaking skills. But like in the book, there was no request for insurance information and no payment taken. At one point my roommate, who doesn’t speak Italian, became nervous when the nurses began to chatter after taking her license from her. But they didn’t have a problem with her form of identification—they were remarking how pretty Minnesota IDs are.
9 November 2010 · Comments
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