Chili, like in Italy

A fly whirs its wings and flies away from a flickering bulb in the corner of a hospital corridor. The pistachio-green paint smells of newness and sterile freshness. The metal that connects lined-up chairs, obediently in a row of five along the walls opposite the consulting room doors, matches the green. It’s 8 p.m., so only one is still open. Emergency care must be accessible at any time. You never know when something might happen to you.

The door flies open.

“Mr. Roast!” an older nurse shouts into the waiting room.

No one answers. The only response is the faint creak of the five-in-a-row chairs.

An older man in a brown leather jacket exchanges a glance with a woman on crutches sitting across the room. Suddenly, both are full of energy. Adrenaline floods their veins. Roast probably isn’t here, maybe their turn will come sooner than expected.

“Mr. George Roast?!” the nurse repeats, now with a sharper edge. The pensioners lean forward in their seats, practically hovering.

“Yeah, that’s me,” says a young man with greasy black hair, sitting right opposite her in a brown coat.

Disappointment spreads through the room. The man and the woman sink back into their chairs.

“Then why are you just staring at me and not saying anything? Are you normal?!”

Silence. The young man keeps looking at her with a detached, slightly confused expression. Finally, he mumbles:

“S-sorry.”

“Well then come on, please. You’re not alone here, we don’t have all night,” the nurse says more gently now, even forcing a warm smile.

“Yes… sorry,” he repeats and slowly stands up.

His eyes sweeps across the waiting room. She was right, he wasn’t alone. There were three of them.

“Alright, come in. What seems to be the problem?” the doctor asks, as the young man awkwardly starts taking off his dirty shoes right in the doorway.

“Oh come on, step inside so I can at least close the door,” the nurse snaps.

“Well, you see… um… I have… testicles.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” the doctor laughs.

“No… I mean, no. They burn.”

“Ah. That’s different. How long has this been going on?”

“Since lunch. About three hours.”

“Your testicles have been burning for three hours and you decided to come see us?”

“Well… y-yes… sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Undress and hop up here so we can take a look,” he says, exchanging a tired glance with the nurse.

The young man slowly takes off his socks, then his beige trousers with a light greasy stain the size of a coin in the crotch, and finally his black underwear.

The nurse scans the pile of dirty, crumpled clothes with visible disgust, then turns back to the young man, now lying on the examination bed.

“Jesus, you’re going to take that coat off too, right?!”

“Yeah, yes… sorry.”

“This is unbelievable…”

The doctor smiles. “So what were you doing today before this started? Were you sexually active?” he asks, pulling on a light blue rubber glove.

“No, I didn’t… I don’t even know. I was at home.”

“And what were you doing at home?” the doctor continues, now slightly annoyed.

“Well, I… I slept, and then I worked. I work from home.”

“And then?”

“Well… nothing. I just cooked.”

“I see. And what exactly did you cook?” the doctor asks, holding the young man’s slightly reddened testicles in his right hand.

“Well… nothing really. Bread rolls and ham.”

“And nothing else? That’s not much of a meal.”

“Well… coffee and oil.”

“What?”

I mean, not together. Olive oil on the bread. I, uh… I add salt and chili… like in Italy.”

“With chili?”

“Mhm,” he nods.

The nurse lets out a loud snort.

Silence.

The doctor lets go. The testicles land back on the rubber bed with a soft slap. The sound echoes through the room.

They all look at each other. He doesn’t understand. Neither do they.

“Well then, get dressed again.”

“Okay,” he says, nervously climbing down and returning to the corner with his crumpled clothes.

He slowly starts putting on his brown coat.

“Will it be okay?” he asks, slightly frightened.

Silence.

He stands there in his coat, naked from the waist down, staring at the doctor.

“Yes. Rinse it with cold water at home, and if it doesn’t improve by tomorrow, come back,” the doctor says, as a sheet of paper slowly prints out. He glances at it, amused, crumples it, and tosses it in the bin.

“O-okay,” the young man replies, pulling on his left sock.

“Should I wait for a report?”

The nurse says nothing. The doctor says nothing.

“O-or will you email it to me?”

“Please, just put some clothes on and don’t stand there naked, we don’t have all day,” the nurse urges.

He gets dressed, and as he slowly ties his muddy shoelaces, the nurse is already waiting impatiently by the open door. An older woman peeks in from the hallway.

“G-goodbye, and thank you.”

Silence.

Back in the waiting room, the same two people greet him with eager looks. Once again leaning forward, half-risen from their chairs—like greyhounds in starting blocks, waiting for the signal.

“Mr. Dickie ?!” the nurse calls out irritably.

The man in the brown jacket shoots a victorious glance at the defeated woman and shuffles toward the door.

"Come in, what is bothering you today? " the doctor asks

"Good evening, doctor, the pills you gave me are not working..."

"Well, perhaps that's because you have been here only yesterday..."

Mr. Roast slowly makes his way out of the hospital, “And they expect me to go to doctors,” he mutters under his breath as he passes the older woman, sunk deep into her chair.

Next to her, on a wooden seat, the fly lands again underneath the flickering bulb.