01 July 2008: Ogress in the Grocery Store

Happy July!

So, today Daniel, Karis, Henry, Claudiu, and I were on our way somewhere or other (my paper brain fails me) and we decided to get some lunch supplies. I think this was the day we ended up in the Yusopov Gardens, actually. The rest of the gang went off to there various locales for foodstuffs, and I went to get laundry detergent.

Here I must interject a small story. Irina came into my room and asked me if I knew I was supposed to buy laundry detergent. This was actually part of the housing agreement we had with our host families: they were to do our laundry once per week and we were supposed to provide the laundry soap. This was something I had sort of spaced out on. I told her that I would be happy to go get some soap if she wanted, but I would need to know where to go and what kind to get. For some strange reason she seemed reluctant to tell me. I repeated that I didn’t know where to find something like that, and that I couldn’t get any if I didn’t know where to go. She got a bit huffy and finally told me to go to “Dixie” and get some. And that was that. While it was part of the contract, I was still kind of put out I guess. It hadn’t been a problem until that point, and it just didn’t seem like a convivial, “hey, welcome to the family” sort of thing to say, bringing up the contract and all. I felt like she was being a little cold during it, but, like I said, it was my job and I screwed up, so I went looking for soap. (As an aside, I learned later that not another person in the Brown crew ever was asked, or did, buy any laundry detergent.)

I found the soap Irina had suggested and found my way to the cash registers. A woman behind me asked whether I was in line. My sarcastic side thought, “No, I’m just standing here with a box of laundry detergent for fun.” But that’s not a good way to make friends, so I just said yes.
“Which line are you in?”
“This one, for cash register number 5.”
“You’re not Russian.” Yeah, it was more of a statement than a question.
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, what are you then?”
“American.”
“Oh, I thought you were Polish.”
“Why did you think I was Polish?”
“Because all Americans are idiots.”
“Oh. I hope I’m not an idiot.”
“Why do you think you’re not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say I thought I wasn’t an idiot. I said I hoped I wasn’t an idiot.” This made her smile a sardonic little grin and she proceeded to ask me what I was studying and where and why I was in St. Petersburg. When I got in line, the woman at the register asked me that infuriating question all Russian clerks ask: “Do you have a (fill in the blank with a denomination of currency)?” No! For goodness’ sake, people, I do not have fifteen rubles! People like you keep demanding all my small change! The woman scowled as I said I didn’t have any smaller denominations. The ogress behind me made a point of informing our disgruntled friend that I was an American.

While there was no open confrontation involved, the situation was a little rattling, so I was glad to join up with Daniel, Karis, Henry, and Claudiu to be on our merry way.

I told this story to Irina later that night, and she said that woman was sick. Comforting, I thought.