Krankenwagen

When it comes to emergencies, Americans take themselves very seriously. I never realized HOW seriously until I called 911 in Germany for the first time.

Two friends and I were out of the house for the night when one of my friends started complaining of back pain. She said she really wasn’t feeling well, and eventually we decided to go home early. About 5 am, I get woken up: “Stephanie, you need to get up now. Emma collapsed on the floor.” Groggily, I start to come to. Then I see her. My friend Emma is on the ground keeled over in pain. “Call the ambulance, call the ambulance,” she’s crying. Tiki looks at me, “Stephanie, call the ambulance. We don’t speak German.” Crap. I think to myself. Now, my Germans pretty okay, but over the phone describing symptoms? I’m nervous. I pick up the phone. “What’s the emergency number?” No one knows. My head goes into panic mode. I take a deep breath in, say a prayer, and proceed. I find the number on a website, call it, and receive a message: “Sorry, we are closed. Please call back during normal business hours”. What the heck? I mean, I am in Germany, the country of closed Sundays, but could it really be possible to only be able to get an ambulance during normal business hours?? I look on the internet again, and try the fire brigade. Ah ha! I get through. I calmly explain to the gentleman that I need an ambulance, and somehow manage to describe her symptoms, what has happened throughout the night, where we are, and what’s going on. Divine intervention I’m sure. He assures us they on their way, and I hang up.

Three minutes later, the bell rings. Someone’s here. Thinking we’re back home, Tiki and I run as fast as we can to the door to prevent them from knocking it down. We look for the keys—can’t figure out how to open the door. Both she and I panic, thinking any minute there will be an axe at the door as they run in trying to save our lives. We finally manage to open the door, and rush to the gate.

“Servus!” (Bavarian equivalent to “Whad up”) shouts not one, not two, but three gorgeous, beautiful young EMT’s. Tiki and I look at each other. She gives me the look of: Really? Is this really happening? Of all the times to send good-looking EMT’s, they had to pick now? “Great,” she says to me. Both of us are in our pajamas, five minutes ago I wasn’t wearing any pants, and it had just rained on us before we went to bed. Needless to say, we were looking pretty gross. They greet us casually, saying the German equivalent to “Sup dudes good morning. How’s it going?” Tiki and I look at each other puzzled. They calmly come into the house, just looking around saying, “So where’s your friend?” We direct them to Emma. She explains that she doesn’t speak German, and one switches to English. He had of the strongest German accent I’ve ever heard. He sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Doez it hurt hier? Ah okay. Und here? Ah okay. Und hafe you peid? Ja okay. I zink ve need to go to ze hospital!” He sings. Tiki and I can’t look at each other for fear of laughing. They help her up the stairs and into the ambulance. 

Off they go, to the hospital, no siren, no rush, just chillin having a peaceful journey, and I had yet another invaluable cultural experience. There really is no place like Germany. (Except maybe Austria, and parts of Switzerland, but that's another story)

PS.  I’m sure you’re wondering what happened to my friend Emma. Don’t worry, she was fine, just had an easy treatment and was out the next day.