Arrhythmia Read Free Page B

the mentality of a city slicker on vacation at a spa came up against that of a provincial from Lower Bavaria. Mutual intelligibility was the biggest problem. And I’m not talking about our allegedly difficult accent . . .
    On this particular day, for example, we had a situation involving an absolute lack of understanding when the gentleman with the sawed-off thumb was seen before the lady who had banged up her knee. The outrage! She had, after all, arrived before him. Plus she was from Berlin and, most importantly, her next spa treatment was in an hour and she had to get back to her hotel!
    What a shame. The ER nurse on duty—that would be me—had no sympathy for the poor woman from Berlin. With a smile, I pointed out to her that she would naturally have been seen first had she severed her finger and that I had a sharp knife I would be happy to bring her if she wished.
    The woman gasped indignantly as another patient next to her—most likely a Bavarian—laughed out loud and applauded. I strode away with my head held high, knowing full well that I had just risked reprimand. Normally, my work ethic dictated that I always treat patients kindly, but some situations just made it impossible. Particularly given the mood I was in.
    I had, of course, called Vera as soon as I had dragged myself back to my apartment, injured and disappointed. I’d dialed her number, determined to bitch her out for my misfortune, but by the time we’d finished our conversation, she had persuaded me to go out with her that evening and drown my sorrows in prosecco.
    Damn it!
    I couldn’t figure out how Vera had managed it. I really didn’t feel like going out. Sure, it was Friday and I had the weekend off, but I wasn’t in a party mood. I was tired and irritable, and work had been particularly stressful. Plus, my butt hurt with every step I took.
     
    In spite of it all, at eleven o’clock that night, I found myself standing with Vera at one of the bars in Go Disco and trying to find something redeeming about the situation.
    Go was the only club in Wollbach but, considering Wollbach, it was surprisingly spacious and exclusive. It attracted patrons from miles away with its infamous theme nights. Our party-loving neighbors, the Austrians, were regulars there.
    There must not have been a lot of other options that evening, because the club was filled to capacity. I leaned my back against the bar and watched the dancing while Vera told me something about her work. The loud music drowned out half of what she was saying, but I dutifully nodded during the appropriate pauses and tried to seem like a good listener.
    “. . . at me?” asked Vera.
    I noticed the rising inflection of a question and focused my attention on my friend. “WHAT?”
    Vera placed her hands on her hips and looked at me in annoyance. “I ASKED IF YOU WERE STILL MAD AT ME!”
    “NO!” I screamed in reply.
    No, I really wasn’t. It was too hard to stay angry with Vera for longer than ten minutes. She had one of those impossibly buoyant personalities. Her face was permanently fixed with an infectious grin. Vera was the personification of a good mood.
    I affectionately tousled her brightly dyed red bob and leaned closer to her ear to avoid shouting myself hoarse. “I’m not mad!”
    “Hey, easy on the hairdo!” Vera indignantly checked on her holy of holies with her hands.
    “No worries!” I countered. “I’d break a nail on that much hair spray before I could make a single strand move!” It was true; her hair showed no sign of my attack. A classic case of hair-spray hair.
    Laughing, we toasted each other and then silently sipped at our proseccos.
    All of sudden, Vera jabbed me in the ribs. “Look, it’s the super slut from the third floor.”
    I followed her eyes and spotted said slut, otherwise known as Nurse Steffi from orthopedics, on the dance floor.
    Even though I barely knew Nurse Steffi, I didn’t like her. Our few brief, work-related conversations had been