I've started listening to my "Learn Russian" tapes in the car on my way to work. They were originally bought two years ago when my family took a trip to the Motherland, and everyone but my mother and me refused to attempt any of the native tongue. My grandmother, of course, was moderately fluent, owing to the Soviet occupation of her Estonian homeland (or "Russian times," as she calls it), and so she didn't need a posh-sounding British narrator to tell her how to identify the KGB. These days I am lucky if I can avoid confusing "pleased to meet you" with "how much do you cost?" But there are only so many songs on my iPod, and so many CDs in my car, and the British narrator on the tapes is, undeniably, very posh-sounding.
In an attempt to justify and validate this recent habit, I envisioned scenarios in which my knowing Russian would come in handy. Perhaps a young Russian couple on their first trip to America would stumble timidly into Sins of the Skin, the tattoo parlor where I work, and ask for directions. Recognizing their accent, I would greet them in Russian and employ some of the longer, fancier phrases I had learned from my tapes: "Ah, yes, my grandfather is Russian. What are your names? I would like two kilos of apples." The young couple would, of course, only use words and phrases that were familiar to me, and I would impress them with my practiced accent, and my coworkers with my knowledge of a foreign language. After a lively conversation, they would leave the shop with a spring in their step and an improved impression of Americans.
These are, of course, very silly fantasies, as I work at a tattoo parlor in Essex, and there is nothing in Essex that would be of any interest to anyone from a foreign country, and no reason that any person looking for directions would pick a tattoo parlor to ask for them.
Which is why I was surprised when, this afternoon, a young man timidly poked his head in the door and said in a thick Russian accent, "Hello--you open? You know of a place where I can get my hairs cut?" My boss, standing closer to the door, informed him that there was a barber shop nearby that you couldn't miss if you continued down the street. He nodded and turned to leave, and I--not wanting to miss an opportunity--chirped, "Do svidanija."
Already mostly out the door, he had to swing around to come back in, which he did immediately. "You speak Russian?" he asked in a pleasantly incredulous tone. "A little," I said. "You know, useful phrases." I shrugged in what I hoped was a humble way. "Good morning, good night, have you any Pepsi-cola? I would like to exchange my American dollars for rubles." He laughed in an open, rewarding way, sharing my humor and confirming my accent was at least somewhat intelligible. Perhaps I don't have a firm command of the Russian language. But I am pleased to say he left with a spring in his step.
In an attempt to justify and validate this recent habit, I envisioned scenarios in which my knowing Russian would come in handy. Perhaps a young Russian couple on their first trip to America would stumble timidly into Sins of the Skin, the tattoo parlor where I work, and ask for directions. Recognizing their accent, I would greet them in Russian and employ some of the longer, fancier phrases I had learned from my tapes: "Ah, yes, my grandfather is Russian. What are your names? I would like two kilos of apples." The young couple would, of course, only use words and phrases that were familiar to me, and I would impress them with my practiced accent, and my coworkers with my knowledge of a foreign language. After a lively conversation, they would leave the shop with a spring in their step and an improved impression of Americans.
These are, of course, very silly fantasies, as I work at a tattoo parlor in Essex, and there is nothing in Essex that would be of any interest to anyone from a foreign country, and no reason that any person looking for directions would pick a tattoo parlor to ask for them.
Which is why I was surprised when, this afternoon, a young man timidly poked his head in the door and said in a thick Russian accent, "Hello--you open? You know of a place where I can get my hairs cut?" My boss, standing closer to the door, informed him that there was a barber shop nearby that you couldn't miss if you continued down the street. He nodded and turned to leave, and I--not wanting to miss an opportunity--chirped, "Do svidanija."
Already mostly out the door, he had to swing around to come back in, which he did immediately. "You speak Russian?" he asked in a pleasantly incredulous tone. "A little," I said. "You know, useful phrases." I shrugged in what I hoped was a humble way. "Good morning, good night, have you any Pepsi-cola? I would like to exchange my American dollars for rubles." He laughed in an open, rewarding way, sharing my humor and confirming my accent was at least somewhat intelligible. Perhaps I don't have a firm command of the Russian language. But I am pleased to say he left with a spring in his step.
-M. Tillery
If you would like to contribute simply email thegettingthere@gmail.com After all a story of a thousand miles begins with a single word.
If you would like to contribute simply email thegettingthere@gmail.com After all a story of a thousand miles begins with a single word.
No comments:
Post a Comment