So, when you think a directionally-challenged devushka tells you she is on the bus with her host father, always double check and make sure you heard her right. Don't make assumptions.
Monday morning was my first day of class at UNN. Everything was going to be fine. I knew I was supposed to take bus 2 all the way to the university, but more importantly, I knew I wasn't going to have to do it alone, because Yevgen- known as Zhenya from here on out- is my neighbor.
You see Zhenya is my classmate from the University of Florida- a fellow member of the Gator Nation, if you will. Zhenya lives with his very own babushka a few buildings down from me. Zhenya also has an impeccable command of both English and Russian. Zhenya happens to be a foot taller than me, thus seeing the world from a point of view that I will never know. All in all, Zhenya is my Russian-American savior. Or was.
Now, if you know me, you know that although I am a very intelligent woman, my internal compass is slightly off-kilter. I can ride along with you to the same place approximately 1,783 times and still be blissfully unaware of my surroundings. It isn't until I am faced with the challenge of finding my own way that I rise to the occasion. Unfortunately, "rising to the occasion" often results in my getting lost and calling my best friend or one of my poor family members who are obligated to help me find my way and put up with all of my nonsense about how, "These roads are so stupid," or about how, "These directions are just all wrong." False. I am all wrong. The directions are usually right.
Zhenya and I were supposed to meet at approximately 9 am Monday morning in order to catch bus 2 together. I was so happy. I bid farewell to my dear host father, Sergei, as I bound down our uneven stairs, en route to my and Zhenya's pre-established meeting place. After a few minutes of waiting around I called Zhenya, making sure I had not been forgotten. Zhenya answered, explaining that he and his babushka had had an untimely run-in with his neighbor's cat (if I remember correctly) and that he was now about to step out. I then explained to him that I was waiting outside. He simply said "Okay." I breathed a sigh of relief. I had not been forgotten. Five minutes went by. Seven minutes went by. I began to impatiently tap my foot, as women so often do when a male counterpart is royally screwing up their plans.
After calling Zhenya about four times to no avail, I received a text message saying, "On the bus." I don't know if I can really explain the hellish rage that filled my heart as I read those three little words. All I can compare it to is the wave of irrational anger that comes over me when I am experiencing one of my notorious bouts of hunger rage. However, seeing as I look like an American and the questionable man standing about 10 feet away from me was beginning to take note of my situation, I decided to keep my cool. I had two options. I could call Sergei, who would have gladly accompanied me on my journey to the university, thus ensuring my safety, or I could be a big girl and go alone. I am 22 years old. I like to think that I am independent. I like to think that when given very specific directions, I can follow them. I like to think a lot of things.
So there I was, furious with Zhenya, standing at the bus stop trying to ignore the stares I was getting. I could take either the 2 or 17. I hopped on the 2, feeling rather successful, but also feeling like I was about to vomit all over the ticket fairy who was impatiently hounding me for bus fair. Every bus here is equipped with some poor, unfortunate soul whose one objective in life is to make sure every person on her crowded, sweaty bus has paid their 15 rubles and recieved their ticket. I don't really know what they are called, nor do I particulary care, so I've decided on the title of ticket fairy.
About 10 minutes into my journey I began to feel uneasy. I had been squeezed into the middle of bus, unfortunately at eye level with about 17 different pairs of Russian under arms. Furthermore, the bus was not making announcements about the next stop, as had been promised, and I was beginning to become engulfed by an all-too-familiar wave of panic. In spazztic, broken Russian, I frantically asked the poor girl standing next to me if this bus was going to the university. Much to my dismay, her response was, "Which university?" Much to her dismay, my response was a blank stare. She decided it would be a more efficient use of our time if she just showed me, so we got off at the next bus stop, and she told me to take the 1.
Well, I knew I wasn't supposed to be on bus 1, because apparently I know all about the Nizhni bus system. I don't. In hindsight, I could have taken the 1 and probably avoided this whole fiasco. But the fact is I didn't, and you wouldn't be sitting here reading about my misfortune if I had.
Here I am, panicking on the phone with Cindy who is desperately trying to calm me down, explaining that I just need to get back on bus 2. Zhenya is calling me on the other line, also explaining that I just need to get back on bus 2 and that he thought our last conversation had gone something like this:
"I'm waiting for the bus with Sergei," said I.
"Okay," said he.
Well, dear reader, if you have been paying attention, you know our actual conversation went nothing like this. Now, here I am standing at some random bus stop in Nizhni Novgorod waiting to get on the bus that I had just gotten off of.
I would like to take this moment to address anyone who has ever complained about the RTS in Gainesville, myself included. Good Lord, shut your mouth. Next time you see that 20 roll around the corner with the words "Oaks Mall" scrolling across the ticker, you better thank your lucky stars. That tin can on wheels might as well be a solid gold chariot sprinkled with diamond dust being pulled by magical unicorns, and that bus driver yelling at you to "stay behind the yellow line" might as well be Tim Tebow. It's true. Just shut your mouth.
There is a saying in America that it's the little things in life that count. A smile can brighten someone's otherwise gloomy day. Little, intricate details can turn something ordinary into something beautiful. This saying should be taken more seriously, because there is a huge difference between bus 2 and bus 2t.
Monday morning was my first day of class at UNN. Everything was going to be fine. I knew I was supposed to take bus 2 all the way to the university, but more importantly, I knew I wasn't going to have to do it alone, because Yevgen- known as Zhenya from here on out- is my neighbor.
You see Zhenya is my classmate from the University of Florida- a fellow member of the Gator Nation, if you will. Zhenya lives with his very own babushka a few buildings down from me. Zhenya also has an impeccable command of both English and Russian. Zhenya happens to be a foot taller than me, thus seeing the world from a point of view that I will never know. All in all, Zhenya is my Russian-American savior. Or was.
Now, if you know me, you know that although I am a very intelligent woman, my internal compass is slightly off-kilter. I can ride along with you to the same place approximately 1,783 times and still be blissfully unaware of my surroundings. It isn't until I am faced with the challenge of finding my own way that I rise to the occasion. Unfortunately, "rising to the occasion" often results in my getting lost and calling my best friend or one of my poor family members who are obligated to help me find my way and put up with all of my nonsense about how, "These roads are so stupid," or about how, "These directions are just all wrong." False. I am all wrong. The directions are usually right.
Zhenya and I were supposed to meet at approximately 9 am Monday morning in order to catch bus 2 together. I was so happy. I bid farewell to my dear host father, Sergei, as I bound down our uneven stairs, en route to my and Zhenya's pre-established meeting place. After a few minutes of waiting around I called Zhenya, making sure I had not been forgotten. Zhenya answered, explaining that he and his babushka had had an untimely run-in with his neighbor's cat (if I remember correctly) and that he was now about to step out. I then explained to him that I was waiting outside. He simply said "Okay." I breathed a sigh of relief. I had not been forgotten. Five minutes went by. Seven minutes went by. I began to impatiently tap my foot, as women so often do when a male counterpart is royally screwing up their plans.
After calling Zhenya about four times to no avail, I received a text message saying, "On the bus." I don't know if I can really explain the hellish rage that filled my heart as I read those three little words. All I can compare it to is the wave of irrational anger that comes over me when I am experiencing one of my notorious bouts of hunger rage. However, seeing as I look like an American and the questionable man standing about 10 feet away from me was beginning to take note of my situation, I decided to keep my cool. I had two options. I could call Sergei, who would have gladly accompanied me on my journey to the university, thus ensuring my safety, or I could be a big girl and go alone. I am 22 years old. I like to think that I am independent. I like to think that when given very specific directions, I can follow them. I like to think a lot of things.
So there I was, furious with Zhenya, standing at the bus stop trying to ignore the stares I was getting. I could take either the 2 or 17. I hopped on the 2, feeling rather successful, but also feeling like I was about to vomit all over the ticket fairy who was impatiently hounding me for bus fair. Every bus here is equipped with some poor, unfortunate soul whose one objective in life is to make sure every person on her crowded, sweaty bus has paid their 15 rubles and recieved their ticket. I don't really know what they are called, nor do I particulary care, so I've decided on the title of ticket fairy.
About 10 minutes into my journey I began to feel uneasy. I had been squeezed into the middle of bus, unfortunately at eye level with about 17 different pairs of Russian under arms. Furthermore, the bus was not making announcements about the next stop, as had been promised, and I was beginning to become engulfed by an all-too-familiar wave of panic. In spazztic, broken Russian, I frantically asked the poor girl standing next to me if this bus was going to the university. Much to my dismay, her response was, "Which university?" Much to her dismay, my response was a blank stare. She decided it would be a more efficient use of our time if she just showed me, so we got off at the next bus stop, and she told me to take the 1.
Well, I knew I wasn't supposed to be on bus 1, because apparently I know all about the Nizhni bus system. I don't. In hindsight, I could have taken the 1 and probably avoided this whole fiasco. But the fact is I didn't, and you wouldn't be sitting here reading about my misfortune if I had.
Here I am, panicking on the phone with Cindy who is desperately trying to calm me down, explaining that I just need to get back on bus 2. Zhenya is calling me on the other line, also explaining that I just need to get back on bus 2 and that he thought our last conversation had gone something like this:
"I'm waiting for the bus with Sergei," said I.
"Okay," said he.
Well, dear reader, if you have been paying attention, you know our actual conversation went nothing like this. Now, here I am standing at some random bus stop in Nizhni Novgorod waiting to get on the bus that I had just gotten off of.
I would like to take this moment to address anyone who has ever complained about the RTS in Gainesville, myself included. Good Lord, shut your mouth. Next time you see that 20 roll around the corner with the words "Oaks Mall" scrolling across the ticker, you better thank your lucky stars. That tin can on wheels might as well be a solid gold chariot sprinkled with diamond dust being pulled by magical unicorns, and that bus driver yelling at you to "stay behind the yellow line" might as well be Tim Tebow. It's true. Just shut your mouth.
There is a saying in America that it's the little things in life that count. A smile can brighten someone's otherwise gloomy day. Little, intricate details can turn something ordinary into something beautiful. This saying should be taken more seriously, because there is a huge difference between bus 2 and bus 2t.
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