Wednesday it rained a lot. Audrey and I went to the café and were not too chatty. It was an off day for us. She was grumbling about selling her van in California and I was just noticing that my “creative life” needs to be supplemented with some sort of income. I hate reality.
The rain made the day kind of brisk, and by dusk I just wanted to curl up and watch TV.
One crazy thing did happen on Wednesday.
I had responded to an ad on Craigslist titled: “Private Russian Lessons.” This can only lead to bad things, right?
I responded to the email saying that I’d like to get private lessons for two hours a week and I could pay $25 an hour.
I speak a little Russian already. Russians always think that I am Russian, until I speak for more than five minutes…
So, a very accented Russian man calls me.
“You called about the Russian lessons?”
“Yes.”
“Let me tell you a little about me,” he says. (The Russian accent is very thick).
“Okay.”
“My name is Serge and I teach Russian. I meet with you and can teach you grammar and we can speak. I can also teach you other things.”
I’m already thinking he’s weird.
“I teach for large companies like New York Times.”
“Okay,” I say tentatively. “Can you email me your resume and some references?”
“Oh,” he says. “I guess you don’t want to learn Russian. All you want to do is check up on me.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“All you Americans are alike.”
With that he hung up on me.
The PopCycle 