Just when you think you can say just about all you need to say to get by doing all the basic things you do everyday, you find yourself needing to say, "What the hell do you mean the urine sample is only good for three hours unrefrigerated? What the hell kind of lab is this, serving warm pao de quieijo, cafezinho and soft (live!) guitar melodies for your wait, but no instructions?" Then you realize that "I need," "I want," "I eat," or "I buy," will distinctly NOT get any of the words across that you need to say and least of all in a tone that says, "I peed in a tiny vial at 6am and hand delivered it to you while juggling it and a toddler and I am very angry." (Ok maybe I did that with my eyes.) That is when I abandon all trying and say in caveman-like statements, through welling tears, "I call. My husband. He has good Portuguese."
I am lucky enough to catch Paul at his desk and unload on him about the bad urine sample, while the nice lady waits, "just 20 minutes too old!" I tell him, "please, tell this lady how mad I am and do not leave out any of my curse words!" I hand lab receptionist number three my cell phone and simply say, "Paulo." I listen to her explain to him the same thing she explained to me, (which I am now sure is God's way of torturing the language student, allowing you to understand nearly everything that is said to you before you can actually say what you want right back) and then I listen to her listen to Paul. Who is no doubt explaining to her using his signature, always diplomatic style, omitting all my curse words, that I am hormonal and pregnant and while urine flows freely and regularly in pregnancy, it does not usually get collected in a tiny vial and hand delivered at a precise hour, from a precise hour. He is then not only good enough in Portuguese to say all of this, but to then, suave enough to convince her to test the urine anyway.
I am totally writing about urine. Yes.
She hands me back the phone, dons a tiny glove, collects my inhumanely tiny urine vial and tells me to have a nice day...or to get effed. Either way. I collect my tiny boy (who has, by the way, been sitting amazingly quietly on the floor by me chanting pao de queijo! pao de queijo!") and storm out. I have no doubt I will be redelivering later in the week.
Brazil = 6,746
Elise = +/- 1
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