Baddie goes to the dentist

by baddieworld

Another morning, another window of opportunity…  opening for all the weirdness to pour in. My dentist is approximately a 2 minute walk away from my house – I just need to cross a large-ish street, and I’m practically there. There is no way you could have any strange experience in such a short period of time, you say. Ha! I reply. The moment I step out of my house, my weirdness magnet becomes activated. And from then on… I’m on autopilot. Case in point:

I open the door to my building, start walking and it takes literally 10 seconds for a random guy to grin at me and go: “Nicht so kalt heute, oder?” (Not too cold today, isn’t it). Innerly, I go “huh???” Outwardly I go: “hmmm” in an agreeable manner. We pass each other. I am baffled. It is a normal spring day – a little bit on the chilly side. I am wearing a pair of black trousers, a long black top, and a light but warm black poncho. I am NOT in my swimming suit. Arrrgggh – why?

Oh never mind, I say to myself and enter my dentist’s practice. An hour later, I step out, and pass by the local drugstore. I don’t even need to go in – and a little tentative voice calls out: “excusez-moi, mademoiselle…?”. I stop, as if under a spell curse. I turn, a bit in the manner of that head in the Exorcist. There, just outside the store, rumaging hopelessly through a tray of discounted showergel, stands a confused-looking elderly man. I go: “oui…?” He wants to know (in French) which one of those is a shampoo. I reply that they are  showergels “pour le corps”. He insists. I stand firm. He changes tactic: “Can you explain to the lady inside I want diet powder?” I mentally scratch my head … “HUH???” I look at him, full of doubts: “I can try…” He smiles beatifically: “Vous etes tres gentille, mademoiselle.” I go in, talk to the shop assistant. She explains that she does not have sugar as a powder for diabetics (aaahh!) and then presents us with a showergel which is 2-in-1. I translate this – and then have to translate it back to the shop assistant who regards me with the careful eyes of a Grand Inquisitor. The man looks at me, points at the bottle, mutters “shampoo” and blinks in disbelief. I leave him sniffing at the showergel and run to the safety of my home.