A big russian dude walks in to my little pre-op cubicle. He puts one leg up on the bed, an odd position to witness especially when the beds are above average height. Grabbing the packet of papers, he starts asking me questions in a dialect that shouldn’t exist.
Um…can we try that again in English?
He smiles at me and switches to another barely understandable dialect.
His voice is deep and his mannerisms are slow and spaced.
Chave you ehver chad surgery?
Ohkay. So how vas the anesthesia?
No side eeeffects?
And dream reqvests?
Oh lord have I got the best anesthesiologist in all of Rishon Litzion!
Um…Pink Floyd piped into my subconscious?
Slow smile and even lower voice
Ohkay. Dark Siiiide Of Zee Mooooon.