While having a drink in a bar one evening, Hari, an Indian journalist, was telling of us about first moving to Poland. He said that one of the hardest things for him to get used to was the cold and ice, commenting on how he remembered coming down the frozen staircases in the morning to retrieve milk left on the stoop. Every morning, he would carefully navigate the stairs, grab the milk, and before he could ever make it to the top of the stairs, he would slip, fall, and break the milk bottles. Every day, it was the same, come down the stairs, get the milk, fall, break the bottles. His neighbors apparently derived considerable pleasure from this, as one might imagine.

All of this had me thinking about things one finds on their doorstep. You can’t get milk delivered to your door anymore (mostly because I think if it isn’t nailed down, it’ll be swiped.) Interestingly, however, there are a great many things that you can get delivered right to your door.

One expects, in the regular course of events, to have pizza delivered. I also find it quite normal to order Chinese take-out, and in some parts of the country, you can get Take Out Taxi, bringing a variety of foods from restaurants in the area. You also expect a certain amount of door to door activity, cable guys, Girl Scouts selling cookies, even Jehovah’s Witnesses. I’m always struck however by some of this. Maybe I’m in the minority here, but whenever I tell someone ‘no, I wouldn’t like a carpet cleaning’ or ‘no thanks, I’m good on toilet seats,’ or ‘no, really, I couldn’t use another fiberoptic drawing of the Last Supper’ (all of which, I might add, I have been offered) they want to come in. The point is, whenever I decline a water testing for excess lime or whatever such nonsense, everyone asks me to either use my bathroom or asks for a drink. I wonder what they’re thinking, ‘gee, maybe I’ll go check out those toilet seats for myself’? I just don’t get it. I remember on one such momentous occasion that someone actually stayed so long that I thought I was going to have to make them supper. Deliveries and door to door services are something that one comes to expect. Anyway, when I moved to Poland, I didn’t expect things to be much different. Was I in for a shock.

One of the first strange doorknob adverts that I ever found was for a TeleKebab. This telekebab industry would be an offshoot of TelePizza, again which makes perfect sense. The most notable TelePizza location, by the way, is in the former resistance headquarters in the old ghetto in Podgorze. I thought that being able to order a kebab by takeout was a bit strange to say the least. Nothing, however, prepared me for TeleZiemniak. Ziemniak is Polish for ‘potato.’ You can actually have potatoes delivered, hot, fresh, and filled with fixings right to your door. I thought perhaps it was a joke at first, but it really, truly wasn’t. There really were potatoes that you could have delivered. This could only happen in Poland.

I also found it quite interesting that one can have KFC delivered to your door. As a matter of fact, I believe it’s the only way you can actually have it. That aside, I was quite impressed by the ability to have fried chicken (poor fried chicken, but whatever) to your door at a whim. You can also have McDonald’s, Coca-Cola, shoes, and any plethora of other things delivered to you by taxi. Barbakan taxi company can be phoned in an instant and you can place any variety of orders: cokes, socks, laundry detergent, and potatoes. Doesn’t matter at all what you want or need. There is still something distressing about this service, and I really don’t know why.

I haven’t, as yet, had any Jehovah’s Witnesses come knocking, but I returned one day to find a note from a priest saying (roughly): ‘Sorry I missed you, I’ll be back later to save your soul’ and ‘for a good confession call ###.’ There is door to door priestly services. I couldn’t imagine hearing a knock at the door, toddle over in my bathrobe and slippers to open the door to a nun and priest. What do you say? Do you invite them in for tea and cake? How do you decline a soul saying? More importantly, how do you restrain from asking what nuns wear under their habits?

There are some advantages to having door to door service of the bizarre kind. I had the pleasure of having the doctor come round for a house call the other day. Up to this point, when illness had struck, I was forced to drag myself across town (getting lost the first go) to Medicina for a doctor’s appointment. Poland, in this regard, has been unkind to me. Even as I write this, I am battling respiratory illness #7, after a round of the flu, two infections, and a stomach virus. Poland, in effect, hates me.

I have had the incredible bad luck of always getting appointments with .03% of the doctor population that does not speak English. In these occasions, I’ve had to call in my trusty translator Jaime to do my bidding. It’s very strange to actually go to the doctor and do nothing but show up. The poor guy knows more about my phlegm than most people really should about their significant others. In the end, the very shady doctors prescribe medicines for me not in my name so the government pays for it. I give them my zlotys and go about my merry way. However, even this has come with surprises. I’ve actually been prescribed antibiotics as suppositories, which I politely declined. I see no reason to use any crevice but my mouth to take medicine. If I’ve survived this long without it, I’ll make it a while longer. Just, no.

Anyway, on said occasion calling for the doctor most recently, I was stricken with some type of serious rib and back pain. The nice doctor came round, poked, prodded, and sweated profusely. He seemed quite nervous but gave me a diagnosis and drugs and was on his merry way. I actually had a house call from a doctor. That just doesn’t happen anymore really. It was really quite incredible.

All in all, I’d say that it’s been interesting. I’ve derived endless pleasure from TeleZiemniak and have made it a quest to get to the root of the potato madness that is Poland. (More on this forthcoming.) I’m also quite amused by the mobile priestly services, but really impressed that doctors still make house calls. Well, I’d love to share more of the door to door adventures of a lone American in Poland, but I think there’s someone at the door.

LINKS:

Quote for the week:
“Never knock on Death's door: ring the bell and run away! Death really hates that!” -Matt Frewer

Latin Phrase of the week:
Hocine bibo aut in eum digitos insero?
Do I drink this or stick my fingers in it?