Yesterday morning I had a doctor’s appointment, and when I walked into the office there were two women standing right inside of the doorway. I said, “excuse me.” They whipped around and looked at me with horror in their eyes.
They were staring at the floor when I walked in, so I took a look. There was a three-inch cockroach lying there dead on the floor.
The women were beside themselves.
I rolled my eyes, walked over to the receptionist, picked up two Kleenex, grabbed the roach off the floor, and threw it away.
They watched me as I squirted some hand sanitizer into my hands and mumbled to each other in Russian.
When I was in with the doctor, he stepped outside briefly to call his wife. He told her that his patient was the head of a Russian ballet company, and she had tickets for them to see the show. I laughed to myself, when I realized that this head of the Russian ballet company was the same woman freaking out over the roach.
After my appointment, I walked back into the waiting area and the ballet woman looked at me over her white Dior sunglasses. She said in a thick Russian accent, “That was very brave of you.”
I responded, “Thank you for saying that.”
I walked away thinking in a Russian accent: In former Soviet Union, you don’t kill cockroach, cockroach kills you!