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She hissed something in German that sounded like “Schitzenschfuckle,” and stormed out.

What in the hell is the matter with these Germans? I thought. You’d think they would feel guilty about what they’ve put everyone through. I mean, seriously.

“That’s it.” I told my doctor to hold on, hopped off the table on my good leg and went after her. “Excuse me.” I hobbled over to the nursing station she was at with my bad leg in the air, and I put my hand on the wall to balance myself. “What is your problem, Fraulein? I happen to be on the phone with my doctor in Los Angeles. I’m not on a social call. You need to be a little more professional.” I handed her my phone. “Here, talk to him.”

After she hung up and handed me back the phone, I told her, “Just so you know, I’m Jewish.”

After a very nice man wrapped my leg up and put it in a nice brace, I called Shelly. When she didn’t answer, I called Gina. When she picked up, she told me that they had gone to a chalet to have a drink, and Shelly had slipped on a set of stairs and landed on her elbow. They were all at the hospital.

“What?”

“Yeah, she slipped and fell down the stairs in her ski boots.”

“Oh, my god. What the hell is wrong with us?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she said. “It’s you two idiots. They think she cracked her bursa.”

“What is a bursa?”

“I thought it was a dance, but it’s not. It’s a bone in your elbow.”

“Oh my god. So where are you? I’m still here in the ER.”

“I don’t know. We’re at the hospital in Zermatt. Johann said the one they took you to is a two-hour drive away.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I guess yours is a bigger hospital. They thought you were seriously injured.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get back?”

“I guess a taxi.”

“A taxi?”

“Yes. It’s stupid for us to drive four hours when you can just drive two.”

“Thanks a lot. Like I know how to get a taxi in German.”

“Chelsea, you can get a taxi,” Gina assured me.

“Well, why can’t I just get a helicopter?”

“I don’t know. You can try. Shelly wants to grab a drink. She’s in a lot of pain.”

“Yeah, so am I,” I reminded her. “Well, I guess I’ll just walk back. I don’t know how to get a taxi.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“There’s no prognosis. They took an X-ray and said nothing’s broken, but my doctor in LA said it sounds like I tore my ACL. Something’s definitely wrong, but I’m just going to wait until I get back to the States.”

“So, can you ski tomorrow?”

“No, asshole, I cannot ski tomorrow. I can pop my knee in and out of its socket, and I’m on crutches. A torn ACL is what athletes get when they do a split by accident.”

In transgender voice: “Athletes?”

“Yes, like basketball players. Those are athletes. Thanks for nothing, Gina.”

I hung up the phone and looked down at my knee, which had been wrapped in an Ace bandage with a brace on top. A nice German emergency room man came over with my crutches and told me in English (but still in that accent) that there was a taxi waiting for me outside. I thought that was a nice gesture from a country that had already put me through such hell. I asked for some more morphine and pain pills, and went on my merry way.

Getting back took more than two hours, but I was on such a high at that point that I didn’t really mind. It was a beautiful day outside and it was a beautiful drive alongside a beautiful river.

Once at the hotel, I found Shelly, Sue, and Gina in our suite. Shelly and Sue were smoking cigarettes. Gina was not because she, of course, quit that forty years ago. Shelly’s arm was in a sling.

Next up: dinner.

Chez Heini is a restaurant in Zermatt that came highly recommended by our concierge. It is written up and recommended as one of the best places in all of Switzerland to get rack of lamb. Shelly had been there before, and she explained that the owner or manager comes over and sings, and the whole place turns into a party after 9 p.m.

There was some confusion over the reservation name, but once we sorted that out we were sat next to what I presumed to be a lamb oven. The waiter came over and Shelly ordered a bottle of wine for the table. I for some reason didn’t want to drink. The morphine was perfect and I didn’t want to mix it with anything, food included.

“You’re not having a drink?” Gina asked. “That’s a first.”

“This isn’t just a liver cleanse, you guys. It’s a lifestyle.”

“Well, I guess you weren’t faking it, because in four years [tranny voice] I have never seen you lose your appetite.”

“It takes a lot for me to lose my appetite,” I agreed.

“Cat-sitting for someone would probably do it,” Sue said, perusing her menu.

“Anyway, there’s no way I’m getting back on that train. I’ve been here for two days and have had two separate medical emergencies. I don’t trust these people, and I’d like to get to Italy as soon as possible. So,” I said, taking in the scenery, “we’re going to have to charter a helicopter to Florence.”

“Leave it to you to get into a fight with Switzerland,” Sue said, putting her arm around me.

The waiter came over with food we hadn’t ordered and started serving us on our plates.

We were all a little confused but started digging in to what seemed to be escargot and some sort of cheese array. Just then, a German homosexual stormed over to our table and told us to get out.

We stared at him in silence, wondering if this was part of the show. Then he stomped his foot and said it again. “Get out of this restaurant. You are not supposed to eat off those plates, you dumb women!” When I looked down at the plates I saw they had a picture of him and were also encrusted with what looked like Swarovski crystals.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you serious?” I asked him through my morphine haze.

“Get out!” he screamed. “Don’t talk out loud!”

“You brought us the food,” Sue told him calmly.

“Um, is that how you talk to women, you fucking lunatic?” Shelly asked.

“Get out!”

Shelly got up and announced, “We’re leaving.” As if it had been our decision. I was confused, and in my drug-fueled haze I was comprehending the events taking place at the same pace as Gina.

“We are leaving, you German asshole!” Shelly yelled at his face.

“What about our bottle of wine?” Gina asked.

“You get out, too!”

I had no idea if something had happened that I didn’t know about. I looked around the restaurant, which was packed, and no one was even looking at our table.

“Come on,” Sue said, helping me up. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” I told them. “We didn’t do anything. I’m not even drinking.”

We were basically tossed out of a restaurant in twenty-degree weather with no transportation back to the hotel. I had left my crutches in the restaurant, and when Sue realized it, she wanted to go back and get them.

“Never mind,” I told her. “Crutches are a sign of weakness. Let that asshole realize that he kicked out a handicapped lady.”

“Like he gives a shit,” Sue said. “Listen. I’ll be the first one to admit there have been many occasions in which we deserved to be kicked out of a restaurant, but that was not one of them.”

“We didn’t even get our wine,” Gina chimed in.

“That’s not really the point, Gina,” Sue went on. “How were we supposed to know not to eat off the plates they put the food on? We haven’t even ordered anything. Was that some sort of test?”

“That was so fucked,” Shelly said. “Ow, my elbow is killing me.”

I felt absolutely nothing at that point, because I was so high and the Velcro brace I was wearing was allowing me to put weight on my foot and just swing it around without bending it. The four of us walked home in shock and with a definite feeling of shame and humiliation. Four grown women walking home in the snow.