Dude, Where’s My Dood?

Sit right back, my loyal readers, for I’ve a story to tell. When I lived in America (in the old days…you know, like July), my Israeli friends would tell me that life in Israel was hard. And on the flip side, life in America was easy. Or, to be more accurate, convenient. Go to your run-of-the-mill (ech omrim “run-of-the-mill”? Rahn ahv deh meel) grocery store in the suburbs and you’ll see what I’m talking about. In the last 15 years, they’ve turned into the ultimate one-stop shops: pharmacy, movie rentals, photo developing, and more. (This is in direct contrast to the grocery stores in New York City where Calista Flockhart can barely fit down the aisle.)

Somebody call Harrison! I’m stuck in the croutons!

Dude, I had to buy note cards a few weeks back to study for my Ulpan. In the States, I’d head straight to the local Publix, Kroger’s, etc. Here? If you’re expecting to find anything but food and the essentials at a supermarket, you’ll be looking for a long time. I had to go to Kravitz, the supply store, to find them. So what am I bringing this up? Dude, you don’t want to know.

Let’s take just a moment to recap significant dudes in history:
1) The Dude, a.k.a., Jeffrey Lebowski:

Shomer (bleeping) shabbas!

2) Dude, Where’s My Car?

Horrible movie. Let’s just move on.

3) I got home yesterday to my roommate saying “Dohnt show-ehr!” What, like ever? “No! There is no hoht wahter! The dude is noht wohr-keeng!” Excuse me? Who is the dude and how can we get him back to work?

The dude…is not a dude. It’s the dood, otherwise known as the hot water boiler. As in the individual hot water boiler for each unique apartment. As in there’s no central water heater. As in each owner maintains his or her own. And as in ours BROKE yesterday and Daddy’s got no hot water. OMIG-D. Yeah, I know there’s this whole situation with the Arabs but in case you didn’t hear, I DON’T HAVE HOT WATER!!! Now mind you, I often don’t have hot water. Because with a dude, you have to flip the hot water switch outside your bathroom somewhere between 10 and 30 minutes prior to getting into the shower. Which means you have to wake up, flip the switch, then kill some time before getting Zestfully clean. That certainly doesn’t fall under the category of convenience.

My roommate suggested that I clean myself like she did on her Indian vacation, using a “hot bucket”. A hot bucket is when you boil water in your kumkum (electric water kettle, warrants its own post), pour it into a bucket, mix it with cold water, and then pour it over yourself. In other words, absolute insanity. When I asked her if she had lost her mind, she said “you ken write about eet een your blohg.” Yes, I can! BRILLIANT! I was prepared to do some investigative journalism until it was fixed tonight. The landlady sent a maintenance guy to fix it. Thank G-d…somebody wouldn’t have smelled good tomorrow.

A dude working on the dood. Also, a dude wondering why the strange American is taking a picture of him.


I’m glad it got fixed. I wasn’t prepared to use a hot bucket (it sounds like the latest special from KFC.)

It seems that a crisis was averted, my loyal readers. I can shower again tomorrow. I just wish I could rent a few flicks in the bathroom as well. It sure would be convenient.

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