Think like a Russian

So my husband is an epic story-teller. No, I mean it. Apparently something in his Irish roots make his hands flail and his volume increase when there's an event to re-tell. His most recent tale is worth sharing.

I think I mentioned that our car was in the shop. What this meant for us for the last few months was that we rode buses, cabs, and marshrutkas (basically van shuttles; quality varies)and sometimes walked. I don't balk at the tab-I pay the cab. It is a good 45 minute walk from the nearest metro to our "house in the country." He walks. But then he had a good idea. He could ride his bike into the metro in the morning, chain it up, remove the front tire, and ride back home at night. This seemed like it made good sense. Until he arrived that evening to find his bike gone. I'm not talking about a Huffy. This is a bike worth around roughly $600. Kind of a bummer.

He paid the piper (or cabdriver) that evening and came home with smoke fuming out of his ears. I didn't blame him. I didn't see any gaps in his logic. As he mulled it over in his mind, he realized that Russians don't keep trash. They pick it up. In fact, there are thousands of city workers whose exact job is to pick up trash. This is why we can readily litter anywhere in the city because someone will pick it up. For the record, I am not condoning or encouraging this behavior, just simply reporting truth.

Despite the bike chain, he figured if they saw the tire missing, they would assume it was broken. If it was broken, nobody would come back to claim it. If nobody came back to claim it, it was free game or trash.

The next day he took a friend to translate for him and they walked into a shop nearby where the bike was parked. The guards and receptionists were helpful enough and agreed to watch the security footage and call some of the groundskeepers. After several phone calls and explanations, they opened a closet and there was his bike! How crazy is that? Once they returned it to him, they chastised him for removing the wheel. Obviously, a bad idea in Russia. Next time, leave the whole bike so somebody doesn't mistake it for trash.

I thought of this little anecdote because I went grocery shopping yesterday. As I wandered through the aisles, I realized that shopping here has become easier for me because I just think like a Russian. Where are granola bars? By the flour, of course. What about the pretzels? Those aren't crackers so they go in the beer aisle. And my most recent favorite of all; Band-Aids. They aren't by cotton balls or hand sanitizer. I am proud to say I walked right up to them surrounded by condoms and tampons. I'm not sure I'll ever understand why exactly, but at least I found them.