Sadly, a lot of the best stories coming out of Russia involve alcohol. Never alcohol which I've consumed (I do have rules to follow and an academic program to take seriously, sorry folks), usually that which has been consumed by complete strangers. Today's adventures make an excellent example.
I was on my way to be a pathetic American and go to McDonald's when a man approached me and asked if I have a cigarette. I explained that I don't smoke (the idea of “not smoking” is strange here for some people) and he heard my accent. This prompts the typical “Oh, you're a foreigner! Where are you from? Are you British?” conversation that certain people are still delighted by, although the slur in his speech made it considerably harder to follow than usual. I explained that I'm from the States, and a look of wonder came across his face. “American? Do you have dollars with you? I would like to see dollars. Just a look!”
At this point my spider-sense started tingling, but nothing prepared me for what came next. I explained that I didn't have any American money, and instead of showing any disappointment, he hugged me. A genuine, Kazanskii hug. Granted, the fruity smell of whiskey made me a little dizzy, but I kept my senses. I reached into my pockets (fortunately I didn't have any valuables on me and my wallet was on the inside of my coat, but I'd prefer to play it safe) but he didn't try anything shady. At least, nothing he stole was valuable enough for me to have noticed that it's missing. He asked my name, and I gave him Alexander. Hearing a Russian name from a foreigner tends to baffle people, because it's not like these things can be international.
“Comrade Alexander,” he began, “do you have any dollars?” Yes, he addressed me as Товарищ Александр. Yes, he already forgot that I don't have American money. I explained again that I'm only carrying Russian money. At this point, the booze started speaking, and he went from desperate drunk to idiot. “Oh, Russian money? Can I see? I haven't seen Russian money” he started. I told him that wouldn't be necessary. “I understand you are a foreigner. Do you need to sleep? I have an apartment not far from here” he continued, pointing at a nearby, under-construction, shopping mall. “You should come to me, as a guest.” I thanked him, but declined. Spending a night in the half-finished ГУМ is always cozy, but I have a better place to stay. He hugged me again, and I covered my pockets again. This was the point at which I decided things had gone far enough, and I went into Hobo-repellent mode. He also wanted to “see” Russian money, so I took advantage of my profound lack of money. I grabbed my wallet, and started to swing it open. I by no means encourage bribing hobos to go away, but if you can do it for little enough...
I offered him ten rubles. For those of you who don't have to do these conversions on a day to day basis, that's about thirty cents. Naturally, it was insufficient for him, so he grabbed for my wallet. Not a problem, since I had everything I care about in my inside pocket still. He found another ten, which I let him have, and having discovered my lack of money he thanked me, called me comrade again, and stumbled away. Look at it however you will: maybe I paid a drunk hobo to go away, maybe I helped a local in need, maybe I made a new friend.
Hell, maybe I need to go look for my wallet.
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