So, I had another funny encounter that I was going to write about the other night, but didn't have time. It was about a drunk guy who fell down after hailing a cab, then the cabbie drove off without him after arguing for a few minutes in an animated manner. The only reason I even saw this exchange was because I hopped on the wrong trolley-bus on my way home the other night... The only reason that I didn't post about it was because I ran out of time.
But now... I have a different story to tell you about, but, it is slightly embarrassing. I know, jumping on the wrong trolley-bus is pretty embarrassing... especially when you have been taking the same bus every time you get on at this particular stop.
I was dreaming about being robbed. I felt like I people were rifling through my pockets and I was aware that they were shaking me. Maybe I am being mugged I thought. It was surreal, I thought it was really happening, I felt like it was really happening, but everything was blurry. Then I opened my eyes and instead of the image washing away or snapping to reality, it simply came into focus.
It was really happening. I was being shaken, I was lying on the ground with four guys standing over me. But, I wasn't being robbed or mugged at all. The guy was asking me if I was ok.
My mind began to race. Why in the world was I on the floor of a bus? How did I get here? Why was that guy asking me if I was ok? Why would I lie down to sleep on the bus? Thanks for giving me my hat back, wait, how did my hat come off? Why does the back of my head hurt? Where is my backpack, oh there it is...
I was on trolley-bus number 85, headed to the Profsouznya Metro stop. I was on my way to Russian lessons. I had been on the bus for 35 minutes, and was running late. At the next stop I was about to get off. I had suddenly felt hungry, and within a minute, I felt like I was going to vomit. You know the feeling that washes over you when you know you are going to throw up. The one that makes your skin feel cold. The one that makes your thoughts turn from whatever they were focused on, to trying to figure out where you are going to throw up at. The one that makes you think, "If I can only make it to the bathroom..." Yeah, I was hoping to make it off the bus. I put my book away, and my driving thought, as the bus stopped in traffic was, "If I can just make it to the next stop, I can run over to the grass and... well, at least there won't be vomit on the bus."
I put my book away, adjust the way I was leaning on the railing at the back of the bus, and... then... I woke up.
So, in an ironic twist... I was the guy laying on the ground needing help. I was the one that innocent bystanders thought was drunk or high. I couldn't explain myself... because I was totally freaked out, the little Russian I did know was the farthest thing from the front of my brain.
A woman got up and gave me her seat... Everyone was staring at me... I was hot, but I felt a cold sweat rising to the surface of my skin. I was weak, I had a headache, I was confused.
I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Sasha and his busted Melon.
The cold was beginning to bite just a little as I was fidgeting with my music player... trying to feed the headphones up my shirt and to my ears. I was just putting the buds in my ears as I noticed a man lying on the street. Now, this is not uncommon for Moscow, and at night, I would have expected nothing less then a man lying on the ground. But, it was Saturday just after 11am. Then I noticed the very thing that affixed my attention, his busted watermelon. Late summer is the watermelon season here in Moscow, with cages appearing overnight filled with melons. Back to the topic at hand: There was this elderly gentleman, who was disposed on the ground, with a melon split neatly into two halves next to him.
As I neared, I was fighting with myself. Do I ignore him and make it to my destination on time? Or, do I stop and check to make sure that he is ok? I was leaning toward ignoring when the man looked up at me desperately and asked me for help. So much for making it on time.
I stopped and tried to asses the situation further. Was he hurt? Did he simply stumble? Heart attack? Stroke? Drunk? Was the melon salvageable? Did he speak English? Could I summon enough Russian?
I put my hand out and offered it to him. He ignored it and struggled to get up with his own power. After he was standing, he asked me to hand him the melon. I picked up one half and placed the dripping husk into his arms. I picked up the second half, and had to fit it on top of the first half, this caused both halves to begin to seethe juice onto our despondent friends arms. He muttered his disapproval, but took the melon halves.
"Всё хорошо?" I asked, "Everything ok?" I might still make it on time...
He asked me to help him get to his house... I was surprised at this, and asked him where he lived. He said, the second building, like I should have already known. "Куда?" And, where is that? He motioned with difficulty, the melons didn't exactly stack perfectly and were beginning to shift unsteadily in his arms. Off we went.
My mind was still trying to understand exactly what had occurred... He was walking with a bit of a limp. Was it a new injury? His knee? Ankle? I simply don't know how to ask those things in Russian. A construction worker who was shoveling asphalt gave us a funny look as we made our way past his pile of blacktop.
He never stopped muttering as we made our way down the street toward a building, and I thought I heard him say several times, "there is my car." I don't know what he was thinking, but I was not getting into a car with him. I have no idea where the hospital is, and I do not have the proper documents to drive in Russia, and he was acting erratically enough to make me hesitate on riding as a passenger. In Russia, your address may have a doorway number in it, such as Building 12, Doorway 3, Apartment 1234. He paused near the second doorway of the building, and for the first time, I really started to wonder if he was drunk.
I know, you think I would have smelled it, but, nope. I never did get extra close, and from a few feet away, I didn't smell any trace of alcohol. Of course, it may have been his lack of personal hygiene that may have aided in covering this smell, as our friends body odor was evident in the involuntary flaring of my nostrils. He finally decided that this was not his doorway, his was the next, he muttered about the car again as we turned up the walk to Doorway #3. My fears were solidified as he handing me the now sticky melon halves and began to dig for his keys. Instead of pulling out a key ring however, out came a 1/5 of vodka. Like a clown pocket, first I noticed the tip of the bottle, and it kept coming as he lifted it out of the folds of fabric. I could not believe that the entire bottle fit there, I certainly do not have pants with pockets that deep! The bottle was also nearly empty, just a few swigs left swirling in the bottom.
Next from his pocket, he produced his keys. Opened the door. I tried to pass off the melon and wish him well, and he told me, "I'm on the second floor." So, up to the second floor we went. Several times up the stairs, he steadied himself on my jacket sleeve. We arrived to the second floor, and he began the arduous task of unlocking the door. Normally, unlocking a door is a simple mundane task... but when you are inebriated, everything is more difficult and exciting!
Our friend tried to fit the key in the lock, and simply could not succeed, once he got the key in, but could not turn the lock. He knocked, rang the bell, and was yelling for someone to open the door. No one did... I was sure that he was ringing at the wrong apartment. Finally, I set the melon down, and asked if I might try the key. It fit in fine, and clicked over, the door open with a sigh. I placed the melon inside the doorway on a footlocker that was in entryway. I bid our friend farewell, and as I was turning to leave... he began speaking to me.
But, this is of course, where the language barrier rears its ugly head. I had told him once already that I understood Russian poorly, but that was previous to the knowledge that he was drunk. So I am guessing that he thought he wasn't communicating very clearly. This is what it now sounded like to me (in my English thinking brain).
"Thank you very much, you've helped me, [something about] a monkey who belongs to you."
A what! A monkey? Wow... this was when I was really lost. I said you are welcome, and again tried to turn to leave.
Raising his voice, "Do you know what you have done for me!?" Well... I though so, but, a monkey? I told him it was nothing. He was pleading with me, and even made the physical gesture of grabbing my arm loosely. "Monkey belongs to you. Monkey, you. Thank you, how much do I owe you?" I told him he didn't need to pay me, and I again told him that I spoke very little Russian. He looked confused, so I explained that I was American, and asked if he spoke any English. He was very surprised, thought about this, said he didn't remember any English.
That is when he said... "Well, I don't have any money, but how much do you want?" I told him nothing, he didn't need to pay me. He was insistent, "I will pay later, monkey, where do you live?" Since I live with a very nice Russian family who doesn't need to be disturbed by drunk melon smashers, I told him that I forgot my apartment number, but that I lived close.
Some people came in downstairs, and he told me to wait a second for these people. Two guys came up the stairs, and he approached them. I couldn't make out what he said at first, but then he said... "I need to pay this man. Give me some money!"
I said, "There is no need to pay..." The guys laughed and continued up the stairs. They could clearly see he was drunk. Why didn't I see sooner? I was really late by this time.
"Monkey, big monkey!" Was he calling himself a monkey? Maybe it was a nickname for being drunk? Was he calling me a monkey? I checked my watch and realized that I really needed to run. I gave him a card to our church, and explained that there would be translators there.
"You are such a good guy, I won't come to church, [something] next week, never [something]. Monkey! You are such a good guy." I was examining his eyes for the first time since our encounter began... they were moist with newly forming tears. He looked as though he was about to cry. As his eyes fell away from mine, I said in Russian. "What is your name?"
"Sasha." He said, and his face brightened a little. "I'm Chris, nice to meet you Sasha." I continued, surprising myself in my Russian... "I have no time left now Sasha, You do not owe me anything. If you come to church, there are translators." His eyes fixed on mine, he drew me in for an awkward embrace. "You are such a good guy. You are such a good guy."
Then I said, "Listen Sasha, today, you have had enough vodka, ok?" "Ok, big monkey!" He drew me in for another awkward moment in the stairwell. The door opened downstairs, and the distraction gave me just enough room, I bid him farewell, and exited the building.
Later, since I was totally confused by the presence of a monkey in our exchange, I asked some friends about it. It turns out that he was not talking about monkeys at all! The word for monkey is very similar sounding (to the English ear, ok?) to the verb "Indebted." Huh. There is your Russian lesson for the day.
As I neared, I was fighting with myself. Do I ignore him and make it to my destination on time? Or, do I stop and check to make sure that he is ok? I was leaning toward ignoring when the man looked up at me desperately and asked me for help. So much for making it on time.
I stopped and tried to asses the situation further. Was he hurt? Did he simply stumble? Heart attack? Stroke? Drunk? Was the melon salvageable? Did he speak English? Could I summon enough Russian?
I put my hand out and offered it to him. He ignored it and struggled to get up with his own power. After he was standing, he asked me to hand him the melon. I picked up one half and placed the dripping husk into his arms. I picked up the second half, and had to fit it on top of the first half, this caused both halves to begin to seethe juice onto our despondent friends arms. He muttered his disapproval, but took the melon halves.
"Всё хорошо?" I asked, "Everything ok?" I might still make it on time...
He asked me to help him get to his house... I was surprised at this, and asked him where he lived. He said, the second building, like I should have already known. "Куда?" And, where is that? He motioned with difficulty, the melons didn't exactly stack perfectly and were beginning to shift unsteadily in his arms. Off we went.
My mind was still trying to understand exactly what had occurred... He was walking with a bit of a limp. Was it a new injury? His knee? Ankle? I simply don't know how to ask those things in Russian. A construction worker who was shoveling asphalt gave us a funny look as we made our way past his pile of blacktop.
He never stopped muttering as we made our way down the street toward a building, and I thought I heard him say several times, "there is my car." I don't know what he was thinking, but I was not getting into a car with him. I have no idea where the hospital is, and I do not have the proper documents to drive in Russia, and he was acting erratically enough to make me hesitate on riding as a passenger. In Russia, your address may have a doorway number in it, such as Building 12, Doorway 3, Apartment 1234. He paused near the second doorway of the building, and for the first time, I really started to wonder if he was drunk.
I know, you think I would have smelled it, but, nope. I never did get extra close, and from a few feet away, I didn't smell any trace of alcohol. Of course, it may have been his lack of personal hygiene that may have aided in covering this smell, as our friends body odor was evident in the involuntary flaring of my nostrils. He finally decided that this was not his doorway, his was the next, he muttered about the car again as we turned up the walk to Doorway #3. My fears were solidified as he handing me the now sticky melon halves and began to dig for his keys. Instead of pulling out a key ring however, out came a 1/5 of vodka. Like a clown pocket, first I noticed the tip of the bottle, and it kept coming as he lifted it out of the folds of fabric. I could not believe that the entire bottle fit there, I certainly do not have pants with pockets that deep! The bottle was also nearly empty, just a few swigs left swirling in the bottom.
Next from his pocket, he produced his keys. Opened the door. I tried to pass off the melon and wish him well, and he told me, "I'm on the second floor." So, up to the second floor we went. Several times up the stairs, he steadied himself on my jacket sleeve. We arrived to the second floor, and he began the arduous task of unlocking the door. Normally, unlocking a door is a simple mundane task... but when you are inebriated, everything is more difficult and exciting!
Our friend tried to fit the key in the lock, and simply could not succeed, once he got the key in, but could not turn the lock. He knocked, rang the bell, and was yelling for someone to open the door. No one did... I was sure that he was ringing at the wrong apartment. Finally, I set the melon down, and asked if I might try the key. It fit in fine, and clicked over, the door open with a sigh. I placed the melon inside the doorway on a footlocker that was in entryway. I bid our friend farewell, and as I was turning to leave... he began speaking to me.
But, this is of course, where the language barrier rears its ugly head. I had told him once already that I understood Russian poorly, but that was previous to the knowledge that he was drunk. So I am guessing that he thought he wasn't communicating very clearly. This is what it now sounded like to me (in my English thinking brain).
"Thank you very much, you've helped me, [something about] a monkey who belongs to you."
A what! A monkey? Wow... this was when I was really lost. I said you are welcome, and again tried to turn to leave.
Raising his voice, "Do you know what you have done for me!?" Well... I though so, but, a monkey? I told him it was nothing. He was pleading with me, and even made the physical gesture of grabbing my arm loosely. "Monkey belongs to you. Monkey, you. Thank you, how much do I owe you?" I told him he didn't need to pay me, and I again told him that I spoke very little Russian. He looked confused, so I explained that I was American, and asked if he spoke any English. He was very surprised, thought about this, said he didn't remember any English.
That is when he said... "Well, I don't have any money, but how much do you want?" I told him nothing, he didn't need to pay me. He was insistent, "I will pay later, monkey, where do you live?" Since I live with a very nice Russian family who doesn't need to be disturbed by drunk melon smashers, I told him that I forgot my apartment number, but that I lived close.
Some people came in downstairs, and he told me to wait a second for these people. Two guys came up the stairs, and he approached them. I couldn't make out what he said at first, but then he said... "I need to pay this man. Give me some money!"
I said, "There is no need to pay..." The guys laughed and continued up the stairs. They could clearly see he was drunk. Why didn't I see sooner? I was really late by this time.
"Monkey, big monkey!" Was he calling himself a monkey? Maybe it was a nickname for being drunk? Was he calling me a monkey? I checked my watch and realized that I really needed to run. I gave him a card to our church, and explained that there would be translators there.
"You are such a good guy, I won't come to church, [something] next week, never [something]. Monkey! You are such a good guy." I was examining his eyes for the first time since our encounter began... they were moist with newly forming tears. He looked as though he was about to cry. As his eyes fell away from mine, I said in Russian. "What is your name?"
"Sasha." He said, and his face brightened a little. "I'm Chris, nice to meet you Sasha." I continued, surprising myself in my Russian... "I have no time left now Sasha, You do not owe me anything. If you come to church, there are translators." His eyes fixed on mine, he drew me in for an awkward embrace. "You are such a good guy. You are such a good guy."
Then I said, "Listen Sasha, today, you have had enough vodka, ok?" "Ok, big monkey!" He drew me in for another awkward moment in the stairwell. The door opened downstairs, and the distraction gave me just enough room, I bid him farewell, and exited the building.
Later, since I was totally confused by the presence of a monkey in our exchange, I asked some friends about it. It turns out that he was not talking about monkeys at all! The word for monkey is very similar sounding (to the English ear, ok?) to the verb "Indebted." Huh. There is your Russian lesson for the day.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Next station... Wierd-skya.
Traffic lights and bus stops. Metro cars and drunk guys. Broken watermelons and bloody heads.
This is the official launch of my Adventures from the Metro. I have been living and working in Moscow for the last few months, and have a few more months left here before my internship is completed. Every day something funny/stupid/scary/exciting happens to me as I navigate the public transportation system in this huge city.
Some interesting facts about transport in Moscow:
- On a normal weekday it carries 8.2 million passengers.
- There are 172 active stations.
- 278.8km of railway. (about 173 miles)
- Commercial cruising speed of 41.6 km/h. (about 26 mph)
Bus Schedule Shenanigans
My last interesting encounter was very near my flat. I live in a nicer, mostly Russian area. The buildings are nice enough, but were probably built in the late 60's. I was at the bus stop, heading home, and I had paused to write down the bus times for the very bus I got just gotten off. I was listening to some Project 86 on my Creative MP3 player, when this man staggers up to me seemingly out of nowhere.
He mumbles something completely inaudible to me. I know, I don't speak very good Russian, but I can usually at least make out the words, even if I frequently do not understand them. I had no idea what this man just spit out. But, I did notice one thing immediately... he had a nasty road rash-esque cut that had taken over his left side of his face. It was juicy... not openly bleeding, but very gross.
I told him in Russian, that I understand poorly in Russian, then asked him if he spoke any English. He simply grunted in response, turned, and staggered away. When he turned... I saw that the back of his head was also matted in blood. The back of his head had suffered a worse injury then his face, he had a gash that was clearly visible through his bloody mat of hair.
I had no idea how to help this man. He was walking, albeit unsteadily, and there was a language barrier that was insurmountable, if he had been speaking clearly and slowly... but in his drunken and/or injured slurs... I was lost.
I sort of watched him walk away for a minute, finished writing my schedule down, then turned to follow him a little bit and make sure he didn't stumble out into traffic, because he surely would have been plowed by a suicidal taxi driver. Only, when I turned to find him... he was gone. As quickly as he had stumbled up out of nowhere, he stumbled away into nowhere...
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