I Am NOT a Novelty Item

(Written Wednesday)

And now a blog on Russian men. Now, having been here for just a little over two weeks, I cannot claim to be an expert on Russian men. In fact, I am sure that there are many really lovely men here…I just have not met any. I have had a few incidences with Russian men since I’ve been here, whether it be their fascination with my hair or the fact that I think I was mistaken for a “free-lance” operator. – You’re from America? You lie, wench. Now give me your number or I won’t serve you your tea. But tonight was particularly amusing. And I came up with the best rejection line in the history of rejection lines.

It was a dark and dreary night… Well, actually, it was quite an ordinary night. Dark, sure. Dreary, well, it’s almost always dreary. But a typical night nonetheless. My suitemate, Susan, and I headed down to the stolovia as per usual and were eating our regular fare of mashed potatoes, pastries, and tea (life is not good for a vegetarian in the cafeteria…) when some random dude approached us (apparently draw to us by our exotic, English-speaking ways). We started with the usual introductions – yes, yes, I speak English. Yes, I am from America. No, I am not lying. No, not all people from America look like Drew Barrymore. No, this is not a wig – you know, the usual. He then launches into his suave pick-up lines – “I speak English, too. Do you want to go to the cinema sometime?” Still young and naïve in the way of rejection, I continue to smile and agree – “I like movies, movies are good.” He then asks me for my number. Ah ha! An out! “Forgive me, kind sir, but I have just gotten a new phone and do not know my number. Unfortunately – and very unusually – I do not have my phone on me. Thus, I cannot give you my phone number. My humblest apologies, for it deeply breaks my heart.” I glance at Susan – wise, dear Susan who knows far more than I in the ways of Russian men – thinking I am saved. “Fear not, fair maiden,” Andrei (as I came to know him) exclaimed, “for I can give you mine.” – “But, sir, I do not have a utensil with which to write down said phone number.” He pauses, thinking deeply while I turn to Susan again, giving her a thumbs-up sign in my supposed victory.

I begin to pity Andrei, for he knew not how out-matched he was. “Do you come here often,” I ask, gesturing to the cafeteria. “Perhaps we could meet again.” “No,” he says, frowning in defeat. “I am an asperant (graduate student) and only come here on occasion.” Poor, poor Andrei. I pretend to be upset by this fact, until, mid-way through my pity face, her cries out: “Ah, yes! I know.” No, I think, please, don’t know. “I can come visit you in your room,” he proclaims, smirking in devilish satisfaction. And then, I deliver the BEST rejection line EVER: “I am sorry, but I don’t know where I live.” Check-and-mate. I pat myself on the back in a victory well-deserved. For, honestly, how can he overcome such an insurmountable fact? Meanwhile, Susan just shakes her head. Why you ask? Well, as I said before, Susan is much wiser than I. Let me explain… Andrei, unperturbed by my apparent lack of brains – or, perhaps, encouraged by it – decides to sit with us until we have finished our meal, at which point we would journey forth in a quest to find someone with a pencil. Well, crap. Of course, a pencil magically appears from my bag and I write down Andrei’s number, my head hung in despair. He saunters off in all his pasty-faced glory while I try not to cry. But, it is not a completely defeat. For I fear Andrei’s number might be lost, never to be seen again. What else would you expect from a girl that does not even know where she lives?

And thus concludes my dramatic evening. Stayed tuned for the next episode: When Potatoes Attack!