Call of the Oven: Life as a Video Game

On Sunday the temperature took a nose dive past the zero mark, ushering in winter.  Well, it is the end of December- it had to happen at some point.  There’s something very magical about sub- zero temperatures, it kicks up your metabolism and influences women to go on baking and cooking sprees.  Baking is tricky thing for me, despite my best efforts; I really kinda suck at it, especially brownies.  Ask anyone.  They either turn out soupy in the middle and rock hard at the edges or flat and tasteless like those gross things they try to give you in hospital cafeterias. 

Anyway, despite my misgivings, I couldn’t resist the Call of the Oven as I sat and pretended to lead a discussion group.  We were discussing happiness, and naturally food came up, since food makes billions of people happy, and it was about then that I decided that I was going to show my oven who was boss and make M&M cookies.  After all, not even I could mess up a simple sugar cookie, I mean, this is cookie making 101; even 10 year olds can make these things.  Challenge accepted.  After looking up the recipe online I realized that I would need brown sugar.  Understanding that I would need to go to the store for a very specific ingredient caused a wave of anxiety to course through my entire body.  Sure, it’s a simple enough thing, and I’m sure that on any other day when I don’t need it I would be able to find it everywhere, but now, at this moment when I really needed it…would I be able to find it? Unwanted memory flashes occurred: memories of hunting for black pepper, insulin…razors, hell even beer.  How did people in Soviet times ever make it 80 years?!    

Taking a few calming breaths I tried to laugh at myself and convince my brain that I was over reacting, it’s just brown sugar, how hard could it possibly be?  I went to Megas, one of the coolest supermarkets around because they usually have everything.  Usually is the operating word here.  They had brownish sugar cubes which looked like something which got rejected from space.  No deal.  I wasn’t about to spend ten dollars on questionable looking sugar.  Then I went across the street.  No sugar at all. Great.  This wasn’t looking so easy now.  So then I thought I’d just walk up to the giant flea market, because it’s where you find stuff when you run out of options.  I try booth number one.  No.  Two.  No.  Three?  No.  Then I got to thinking, this wasn’t just a sugar hunt, this was becoming an epic freaking adventure.  If I’m going to have to spend this much time, energy and risk losing my sanity then I should at least have a dragon or a magic sword or at the very least a wizard guide who can assist me with the locals.  Someone needs to design a game about hunting for basic products in Russia.  In this game the characters would have to battle a babushka or two using the stale black bread as weapons.  Then as you level up the quests would become more complex such as trying to buy a computer or any electronic gadget where you have to have your receipt stamped and torn by three different people for no real reason, but then at the end you are rewarded with a charmed bottle of vodka which you will later have to exchange for a ticket to Kazan or some other place. 

I’m hoping this making my readers smile and perhaps you think that I’m exaggerating a little, but sadly I’m not.   Not even a little.  It took me three hours to find brown sugar.  And yet, among all the stalls and tables and cardboard boxes of people selling random effects; at any given time you can be sure to find sushi paraphernalia.  I wonder if the Japanese know about the Russian love of sushi.  Although I think it’s more than love, it’s almost like a compulsive desire to serve sushi at the most unlikely places.  Places such as: Beer shops, fast food places where they specialize in kebobs and fried meat things, traditional Russian eateries, Chinese restaurants, and even my favorite Ukrainian restaurant serves sushi even though they don’t offer fish on the menu.  This of course will be another level of the game, the eating level. 

Speaking of life as a video game; today I had to take a taxi and instead of making life easy, the driver decided it would be a good idea to drive up to the door to meet me.  Since all walkways are covered in ice, I could almost appreciate his attempt at trying to make my life easier, but as I glanced at the Tetris style nightmare which was the parking lot, I couldn’t help but question the wisdom of this action.  I didn’t want to be late, hence, this is why I called a taxi in the first place, but since I was already seated I figured I would relax and let the driver work his magic; and the whole time all I could image was a Tetris grid.  Perhaps I am dating myself a little, but I tend to always think of Tetris when it comes to things such as packing or driving or even dancing.  Perhaps I need to make a life sized controller and this would resolve most of the traffic congestion in the city.        

Going back to Sugar Quest, yes, happily the sugar was good and the cookies turned out.  They were soft and sweet and everything which a cookie is supposed to be.  I’d love nothing more than to recreate my success a few more times, and if I’m ever feeling really brave I may try brownies once again.  

Just Another Day in Paradise

ESL attracts all kinds of people, but I think I can more or less say that there are three main categories: the people who genuinely love travel and adventure, the people who can’t function in their own country and the people who are married to either a foreigner or a travel addict.  I’d like to dedicate this blog post to the people who can’t function in their own country either because of radical political beliefs, religious beliefs or general strangeness or obscure social anxiety. 

On Wednesday I met, or rather saw a much older American man in the office.  I smiled in greeting and went to make a more formal introduction when this came out of his mouth, “um, IZ-ven-Ite, MOZHA YA…” (ExCUse ME, MAY I)- the capitals are to imply emphasis, Russian spoken by an American.  I know this is me pot calling the kettle black, but come on, if you’re going to speak a different language, please try to copy the tone and sounds.  It’s like when white preppy people try to speak slang or Spanish.  So I blinked at the guy wondering why on earth he was shouting terrible Russian at me only to realize that he was trying to talk to our office manager, Ludmila, who doesn’t speak a word of English.  Fine.  He’s trying to talk to her, so I walk away, feeling slightly insulted that he didn’t even acknowledge my existence.  I don’t often come across Americans in the middle of Siberia, so I’m always a little too excited when I see them and puzzled when they don’t return our assumed friendliness.  I should note here that Ludmila is in her mid-fifties, and I wouldn’t quite put her in the babushka column just yet, but she’s close.  As I said earlier, she doesn’t speak English, but at least she tries to speak slowly and clearly when it comes to dealing us non-native Russian speakers.  Daniel, the American must be a bit older complete with glasses and questionable fashion taste.

So there I am, sitting in the back of the office, trying to read my book when I hear this conversation, again the capitals represent shouting and accent:

Daniel (American man): UM, MoZNA, PASSWORD?! (may I have the password?)

Ludmila: SHTO?! (WHAT?!)

Daniel: Y VAS PASSWORD? ( you have the password?)  PASSWORD?  What is password, or yes, PAROL?  Y VAS PAROL?

Ludmila: ZA SHTO?! (What for?)

Daniel: Sorry.  Y vas INTERNET?!  (Do you have internet?)

Ludmila: DA!  Y NAS INTERNET, TEBE NUZHNA PAROL! (Yes! We have internet, but you need a password)

Daniel: Da!  Parole.  Shto Parol?  (Yes, password, what’s the password?)

Ludmila: Y NAS INTERNET!  ETA RABOTAET! (WE HAVE INTERNET !  IT WORKS!)

Seriously, shoot me now.  So there they are, shouting at each other when they were sitting opposite each other at a desk.  It was like a conversation from South Park making fun of old people.  At some point two of my younger colleagues joined me in the back of the office with the same eye-roll and trying-really-hard-not-to-laugh expressions.  However, when we all made eye contact with each other we couldn’t help but giggle a little.  Under my breath I asked one of them if I had that thick of an accent when I speak Russian and they both assured me that I did not, which made me feel better.  It is always frustrating to me when people don’t understand me and I’ve always thought it was my fault because of poor pronunciation- and while that may be the case some of the time, the rest of the time it’s because don’t want to understand.  Anyway, so after another five minutes of painfully loud shouting for no reason about the internet, I stepped outside.  I was also in need of laughter, so once I made it out into the hall I let myself go.  I was escorted by Constantine, a co-worker. 

Naturally we could still hear these two desperately trying to communicate with each other and yes I wanted to help but a part of me was enjoying the shouting match plus, I just wanted the guy to ask me for help.  Yes, I know how that sounds and at the end of it all, he never did.  Realizing that they had moved from shouting about the internet to shouting about the printer, we both decided that perhaps we should go and assist them.  Turns out, we didn’t need to.

Ludmila: ETA NASH KOMPUTER!!  PRINTER TAM! (THIS IS OUR COMPUTER ((ahem, it’s the only computer in the office, fyi)) THE PRINTER IS THERE)

Daniel: OK!  Kak work?  (and I love it when people mix Russian and English is the craziest way possible) How does it work?

Ludmila: AH!  JUSTINA!  KAK PRINTER PABOTAET!?! (Ah!  Justina, how doesn’t the printer work?)

Me: *taking a calming deep breath, it’s not as if this is the first time she’s ever printed something, why on earth is she asking me?* Bam nyzha parazhdite za 45 seconda, teperni, pozlausta (You have you wait 45 seconds, just be patient)

Ludmila: *now walking around in a tiny circle looking like a lost bird* pochimy kak dolga?  Mozna buit nuzhna remont?!  (what’s taking so long?  Maybe it needs to be repaired?)

Again, I’m confused, yes the printer is old, and in the grand scheme of things 45 seconds isn’t that big of a deal. What’s more, this not the first time in her life that she’s ever used it! She is the office manager after all, if anything she should now more than I do about how these slightly outdated machines operate.  Once the magical paper was loaded and the machine decided to wake up, everyone seemed happy.  I was looking for any reason to get out of the office so I took sanctuary in my classroom which was finally open.      

Now that I finally had a few moments of quietness I wondered about Daniel.  Where had he come from?  Was he really a teacher or was he just a native speaker?  It’s just a matter of time before schools learn that just because there are native speakers of English, it doesn’t mean that everyone can teach it, or that native speakers always speak properly.  Yes, I’m talking about all those people who use double negatives and ‘me and my friend’ when it’s really, ‘my friend and I’ and so on.  He didn’t quite strike me as teacher-teacher, but perhaps my own ego got in the way. 

So yesterday, which was Thursday, I saw him again and once again tried to be friendly, and once again I was ignored.  Was it me?  Perhaps.  I get it, not everyone likes to be friendly with other natives, Russian usually hate each other when they are in different countries, perhaps this is the same thing; and while a bit strange, I can almost appreciate it.  Then he asked me about the translation class. 

Daniel:  Where’s the book for the translation class?

Me: Are you talking to me?

Daniel: Yes, where is it?

Me: I have no idea what you’re talking about.  Perhaps it’s on the hard drive, isn’t that what Lilya told you?

Daniel: WOW! You said too fast.

Me: Um, what? 

Daniel: WHERE IS THE BOOK FOR THE TRANSLATION CLASS?!

Me: ASK LILYA!

Daniel: You don’t have to shout at me.

I need a beer.  Just another in paradise.