Excerpt from chapter:
“Joe Biden and Me, Sexist Pigs We Be”
I was reading a discarded copy of the daily newspaper Segodnya (Сегодня, Today) —more accurately, I appeared to be reading a discarded copy of the daily newspaper Segodnya, while really just looking at the photographs in the popular Russian language tabloid—when a striking young woman with shoulder-length blond hair sat at the table next to me. She was the type of woman you had to get in line to have a crush on. A statuesque, natural beauty, flawlessly turned out for a night on the town. She arrived alone, clearly waiting on an assignation.
As our eyes met she smiled and said, “Pree-V’EHT.”
Pree-V’EHT was a problem.
What did she mean by pree-V’EHT? Was she saying hello in Russian (privyet), or Ukrainian (pryvit), or asking me to dance the Pryvit? (A twentieth century dance that ensemble-groups use to begin traditional Ukrainian folk programs, where the performers welcome the audience bearing wheat, bread, and salt representing the land’s fertility).
Was hers an informal hello, or seductive invitation to gambol with her doing the Pryvit? I calculated the odds of each possibility. Hello would be the obvious inference, but maybe the way I was sitting revealed my show-business roots as a dancer, and I looked like the kind of guy who could still give a girl a good Pryvit. So in my best overheard Russian, I diplomatically responded, “Dobryĭ vecher” (Добрый вечер, good evening,) and went back to not being able to read the Segodnya.
My pronunciation must have passed muster because a few minutes later she leaned over and began to speak to me in Russian, or Ukrainian—I hadn’t a clue. Compliments of a crash-course review of the book Russian Phrases for Dummies, I was somewhat prepared. Remembering one of the few successfully memorized “Useful Questions in Russian” at my disposal, I asked in Russian, “Vy govorite po angliyski?” (Вы говорите по английски? Do you speak English?).
I could have just as easily asked in English if she spoke English, so my bastardized Slavic accent was a gamble. If she spoke Russian, the poor phonetic pronunciation would straightaway betray me as an unsophisticated foreigner trying to impress. If Ukrainian was her dominant language, I would come across as a somewhat mentally-challenged, mumbling drunk. Either way, it would be the best first impression I’ve made on a woman in years. To my relief she pointed to the center of the table and said, “Sorry, sugar.”
Sugar was a problem ...
