Wordie Goes To The Store, Hilarity Ensues

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Gentle Reader,

I’m here!  It’s cold.  IT SNOWED ON MY FIRST NIGHT HERE!  I’ve decided that I can be excited about snow for awhile.  Apparently this excitement will last until approximately March.  At which point it will be replaced by a feeling you didn’t learn about in Sunday School.

Anyway-yesterday I went shopping for a blowdryer and hot rollers (you know, the essentials) and then some basic groceries.  The trip to the store that sells the electronics entailed the Metro.  I had forgotten.  OH!  I had forgotten.  The Escalators.  And here we have our first Tale of Public Humiliation For Your Entertainment.  (Because it had already been a whole 24 hours since I had arrived…I think we all lost money on THAT bet.)

So here, you buy your Metro Card, and then you stick it in your purse or your coat pocket and you eventually get into a handy little rhythm where you kind of hip-check the card reader thing that lets you onto the Escalators of Faith.  

I have lost my rhythm since last trip.  

And my abs STILL hurt from the grey gates that slam out when you try to go through without paying.  OW!  (OWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!)

The good news is that the Dude With The Gun likely recognized that I was not a native, and let me through after I successfully hip-checked the card reader and after only a few minutes of rapid explanation of something I didn’t quite understand.

The wifi is not yet installed in the flat yet, so I’m at the mercy of the [place where I work] wifi.  So I won’t try to overwhelm it with my usual detailed analysis.  I haven’t yet gone to Red Square this trip, I hope that happens tomorrow night after class because it’s stunning at night and I’m pretty sure you’d appreciate seeing pictures of that rather than the American brand TP that I found last night.  Though there was a happy dance in the Cheap Grocery Store by the flat, let me tell you.  (There is a Cheap Grocery Store which equates to approximately Dean and Deluca prices with Chevron Station quality, and then there is the Nice Grocery Store which is where I had to go to find my olive oil last night.  I am not completely up-to-speed on my conversion rates but I think I just cashed in my entire retirement plan.  Upshot?  They put it in the bag for me.)  Anyway-I did the rest of my shopping focusing on buying Russian things because I’m here to eat Russian food, not expensive and likely stale American imports.

Except I have no idea what I bought.  I think I bought some kind of rice dish, and some kind of soup.  And some kind of salami.  I KNOW that was cheese that I bought.  (And by “KNOW”, I mean, “I’m kind of thinking it because it looked vaguely familiar and the label was in French so I could kind of triple-translate.”)  (Also, for the very first time uttered by any human, ever, “THANKS, GOD, FOR THE FRENCH LABELING LAWS!”)  And I bought yogurt, because I actually recognized and read that in Russian and understood it in Russian and I’m calling that a victory.  (And those of you who actually speak Russian-do not rain on my parade on this front.  I’m still calling it a win.)

And on that note, I’m going to end for today.  I know Andy’s busy and doesn’t have time to read too many words.

Photos?  I’ve taken three.  For your enjoyment:

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And to answer your question, I have no idea, either.  But those are apartment buildings (of which there are many) on the outskirts, from the air.

Goodnight,

Wordie

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