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Yuri Gets Flamingo Fever


2010
07.25

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yuri-overworked-accountant-clipartThis weekend, I go to Florida. I am very, very excited, because ever since I was boy, I want to see pink flamingo stand on one foot.

Moldova not have pink flamingo, especially pink flamingo that stand on one foot. It is not that I not love my pet rat, My pet rat is wonderful. But I want to see pink flamingo too.

So I go to Florida, only I am not lucky. Never lucky. I go to Puerto Rico, I see hurricane. I go to get award at work, I get stuck in lift. I come to Florida, I get dengue fever from mosquito.

Harvey say, "This not me!"

Harvey say, "This not me!"

So Harvey tell me when he read this that I have to tell you that he does not give dengue fever, that it is other type of mosquito that give dengue fever, that it is not fault of Harvey. I think it is very funny that I have dengue and my boss is mosquito. Ha ha. But Harvey not laughing. So I tell you, and I tell you the truth, that Harvey is not dengue mosquito. But don’t stand too close anyway, just in case.

I saw pink flamingo on one leg!

I saw pink flamingo on one leg!

But you no care about Harvey, yes? You want to hear about Florida and pink flamingo. At my hotel, there is pink flamingo, but I never meet pink flamingo. I see pink flamingo from my bedroom. He is in pool area. He stand on one foot! But I stay in bedroom the whole time I am in Florida, which is more than weekend, because I am so sick with Harvey fever, I cannot go home.

I move my eyes, they hurt. I move my legs, they hurt. I move my neck, it hurt.

But doctor come visit. She is pretty doctor. I not understand doctor well when she talk to me. I not understand her #A because my head hurt too much to hear well. #B, she have Florida accent. #C, she very pretty, so I prefer to look and not hear.

But I do hear when she say dengue is also called break dance fever. I think it is that. Yes, I am sure. It is good name, very good name. Because I am very broken.

You know what really funny thing is? Break dance fever is not popular in United States. It is new here. Very, very, very, very few people get it. Just me, and very few other people. So I am what you call “early adopted,” yes?

And I have rash. Itchy, red rash, so maybe I am lucky, yes? I not meet the pink flamingo, I become pink flamingo instead.

I try to stand on one foot, like pink flamingo down in the pool area, but I fall, or maybe it is break dance.

Dengue rash is really pink!

Cheese!

Finally the last day in Florida, I feel better. I have to go to airport, but before I go, I take camera. I want to take picture of pink flamingo. The only picture of pink flamingo I have so far is of me.

So I go to pool. Yes, you already know what happen, because you know me, and I am unlucky.

The pink flamingo is gone. Maybe he die from dengue break dance fever too?

So I ask at desk. “Where is pink flamingo?” I hold my camera up in air so clerk know why I want to see pink flamingo.

The clerk no say anything for second, then says, “Excuse me?”

Where is flamingo?

Where is flamingo?

“The pink flamingo,” I say, really slow and loud, because I have tiny accent and maybe clerk not understand. Then to make really clear which pink flamingo I mean, I try to stand on one leg.

Bad idea. I am still really weak from dengue “Harvey” fever, so I almost fall. “There is pink flamingo in the pool area, yes?”

The clerk shakes head. “Uh, no sir, there are no flamingos at this hotel, pink or otherwise.”

“Oh,” I say. Then I laugh, because maybe clerk think I am crazy. “Ha ha. Okay, I go home now.”

And I do, very fast, because the clerk, he look at me funny.

So I go to Florida. Maybe I am lucky. Okay, I don’t get tan, but I do get color.  And I do see flamingo, even though he is not there.  But maybe that is good enough.

I have to ask Harvey if he do break dance. But not in person. But I will telephone. Just in case.  I don’t want to get more dengue and see flamingo in Moldova.  In Florida, is okay.  In Moldova, is crazy.

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Yuri Tackles Tax Time


2010
04.14

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Want me to fill out taxes? I fill out taxes!

Want me to fill out taxes? I fill out taxes!

So now I am in Alabama. Normally I travel weekends, but not this week. This week, I take April 14 off, and 15 too.

So now I am in Alabama. At airport. Waiting for airplane to take me to Georgia. People always say southerners in U.S. are friendly and cheerful, but many today not look happy. Why? April is Spring. They should be happy, no?

Then I hear pretty stewardess talk to other pretty stewardess. She looks stressed. She says “I hate the arse.”

I am surprised. I see her arse (I not look. I just see. I promise.) Pretty stewardess’ arse is nice.

“Down with the arse,” says pretty stewardess number 2.

Funny. I thought pretty ladies liked arses…how you say? Perky.

“Ill have to fill out the dang forms tonight after my flight,” says pretty stewardess number 1. So many pretty stewardesses in America. In Moldova, stewardesses look angry. “I hope I get a better rebate than last year.”

Arse? Fill out? Get rebate for fill out arse?

Variety is spice of life. And I.R.S. has variety of tax forms.

Variety is spice of life. And I.R.S. has variety of tax forms.

Oh! Ha ha ha. I feel so stupid, I giggle out loud. Ha ha. Of course. I.R.S., not arse. April 15 is tomorrow.

I still feel so stupid, I say in loud voice to pretty stewardesses 1 and 2, “I.R.S., not arse. You have to do taxes!”

Stewardesses number 1 and 2 look at me, look surprised. Stewardess number 1 says, “Sweetie, I don’t get half of what you’re sayin’, but, yes. I have to do my taxes. And the I.R.S. is an arse.”

No, I think she understands me real good.

“I am accountant,” I say. I point at my face in case my accent is hard to, how she put it? “get”. “I can do taxes. Want me to do taxes?”

Stewardness number 2 smile real big. “Why, honey, that is the sweetest, most darling pick-up line I have ever heard. Of course you can do my taxes.”

Pick-up line? What is that? I smile and pretty stewardesses 1 and 2 sit next to me, one on right, and one on left, only number 2 was on right, and number 1 was on left, okay?

They pull messy papers from bag. This will be fun!

“Where are you from, sweetie?” pretty stewardess number 1 says.

“I am from Moldova but I take seminar on U.S. tax forms.”

They look at me funny.

“Moldova? You sure you know how to fill out these forms?” says stewardess number 2.

“Yes! I take seminar. For fun.”

They look confused, but stewardess number 2 gives papers.

Muffled crying.

Muffled crying.

“Well, sweetie, as long as you can do ‘em better’n me. And anyone can do them better’n me,” says stewardess number 2. Or maybe stewardess number 1. Now I am confused. “Our flight leaves in an hour. Will that be enough time for you?”

“One hour. Yes. Plenty,” I say. “Why you not do taxes sooner? It is fun.”

“Honeycakes, I’m glad you think so,” says stewardess number…pretty.

So I finish taxes. Very easy. American taxes are fun. When I give papers to pretty stewardesses, old lady near us looks at me.

“”Excuse me, young man,” she says.

“You can call me honeycakes,” I say. Old lady looks surprised. “Or sweetie.” Still surprised. It is okay. I am more southern than she is maybe.

“I overheard you were an accountant,” old lady says.

“Yes, yes! I do your taxes?”

“Thank you so much. I left it till the last minute. I was going to do them on the plane, but I hate doing taxes.”

“No, no. Taxes, they are fun.”

Old lady looked surprised again, then she smiles. “I hate to ask this, but would you mind terribly helping my daugher with hers too?”

“Yes!” America in springtime! I come more in Spring from now on.

“Leigh Ann!” old lady screams loud. “This fine young man can help you do your taxes.”

Suddenly, no one is talking. Everyone look at me. I’m famous. I smile. “Make line. I do taxes.”

The more the happier!

The more the happier!

Southern Americans are very friendly. Grandmothers kissed me and gave me food. And almost everyone wanted to pay me! For filling out paper! Pay me to have fun! I say no. I can not accept , but they insist.

One problem. There is saying my grandmother used to say: “Have fun, and time will kick you in the arse.”

Or, in this case, the I.R.S.

This expression means that taxes were so fun, I did not see time. I did not hear stewardess call my name. I did not see airplane go bye bye.

Bye bye.

Bye bye.

Yes! I have so much fun, I miss airplane.

But it is okay. I meet many nice people. They call me “honey,” and “sweetcakes,” and “sweetie.” Old ladies want to marry me. They give me food. And put money in my pocket.

So much, I can stay in hotel. Tomorrow, I take airplane.

Do you not love April 15?

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Yuri Gets His Spirits Lifted


2010
03.03

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Award-winning accountant

Hard work!

I am very excited. I win award for accounting. Award is called “Mid-Bi-Quarterly Excellence in Accounting Record-Keeping for North Central Chişinău.” It is great honor. They will present award at special lunch in fancy hotel on weekend. Normally, I travel on weekend, but this weekend, I stay home to accept award. I give speech too! I think. When I ask lady who call with good news if I have to give speech, she not say anything for few seconds. Then she say, “Ummmmm. I ask for you, okay?” I say, “Okay! I call back to find out.” She say “No, no, don’t call,” and hang up real quick.

So I go to hotel to get award and eat lunch. Lunch is on top of hotel. We get great lunch, great award and great view. And great speech, if they let me give speech.

What to push?

What to push?

So I go in lift to get to restaurant. Normally I do not use lifts because lifts, they are dangerous. They break and leave me stuck and maybe I die because I smother in sealed box. But today I take lift because A) I do not want to get to lunch and speech very sweaty because there are many stairs and B) because maybe I am not so unlucky anymore. I get award for excellence in accounting and get to give speech (maybe). My luck is turning on a new leaf. So I get in lift. I press the button 10 because the award is on the floor 10.

I start to practice speech. Not in high, high voice, because other people in lift will think I am crazy. And if they go to lunch, they do not want to hear speech before real speech. They will be disappointed if I spoil surprise. All these people in lift maybe going to lunch. Maybe they all hear speech. Especially the pretty lady with the briefcase? That would be nice.

No, they are not going to lunch. They get off on the floor 7. I am alone in lift. I am disappointed first, then I think, “This is good. I can practice speech loud and practice my hand movements.”

The floor 8.

The floor 9. Good, lift still works. See? My luck is better.

The floor 9 ½.

The floor 9 ¾.

The floor 10.

Then lift stop. But doors stay closed. I hit door. Very hard. At same time, I practice speech, because my luck, since it is better, will let me out of lift in time for lunch.

But my luck, I think, sneak into briefcase of pretty lady who get out of lift on the floor 7, because no one pays attention to my bangs.

Then I remember that I am important guest at lunch, not like last year, and year before last year, and the last ten years, when I was not winning award. Someone will see I am not there and will say, “Aha! He is stuck in famous, broken Moldovan lift!” So I keep practicing speech, and then I see emergency button. See? Good luck is not now with pretty lady.

Yes, good luck is with pretty lady. The button fall off when I push it.

Maybe it is tired of always being pushed. Lift buttons in Moldova work very hard. They too should receive award.

My hands hurt, so I do not want to bang door more. It is just my luck that button falls, but door does not. I put eyeball next to crack to see if I can see something. I put ear on door to see if I can hear something. I hear “Bwok, bwok, bwok…” I think meeting is already started. I can hear them, a little. Why do they not hear me?

I do not give up. I look down and see my briefcase. I get good idea. I sit down and rest back against wall. Then I throw briefcase against door. “Babang!” Really loud noise.

Good idea, until briefcase bounces off door and hits me in lip. I see blood go on my coat. This is not good. My first award, and I accept it all bloody.

Then I get better idea. See? I am smart. I deserve accounting award. I sit in corner, then throw briefcase, then briefcase bounces on the wall, but not on my lip, because my lip is in corner. Good! So I throw briefcase.

And throw briefcase.

And throw briefcase.

And fall asleep.

Then big boom wakes me up. The lift makes noise, like it wants to work again. But instead of opening door, it starts to move down! No! I am late for award. Maybe I can not give speech, but I want award. And some mamaliga too, because I am hungry.

I look at buttons, but I do not want to touch them. Maybe they fall off. So when door opens on the floor 1, I run out. Then run back in.

Why? Do I love lift?

Eeeeeeeeeech!

Eeeeeeeeeech!

No, I want to get briefcase. It is still in lift. With speech that fall out when briefcase breaks going “bang bang” against door. I bend down to get papers, then look at door. (I must look through my legs like American footballer because my tushie is facing lift door.) The door is closing. I want to save speech, but I also want to get out of lift. I evaluate. (That is why I am award-winning accountant). I look at door, then at papers. At door, then at papers. Then I grab papers and run to door backwards. The door closes on my fingers. I pull. Door pulls. I pull. Door pulls. We both win, which means I lose, because lift has half my speech and I have other half. And now my fingers are bloody too.

Then I turn around. And stop. And look really hard. And close eyes, then open them again, and look really hard.

It is dark outside. Lunch is over.

I think maybe I should ask at desk if they know what happens at accounting lunch, but people look at me funny. Why? Then I see mirror. Oh, blood on face. And fingers. And speech.

Okay, so I go home before they ask me questions. With my luck, they find dead body of pretty lady with briefcase and think I kill her to get my luck back.

So I call accounting office next day to tell them why I miss accounting lunch. I speak to same lady that I speak to first time. I tell her about lift. And about speech. And about award. “Too bad,” she says. “When winner is not there, we give award to next person on list.”

“Why?” I say. “I am excellent accountant. I deserve award.”

Yuri is in lift. I win!

Yuri is in lift. I win!

No, she says. They pick name out of hat. They always pick three names in case winner 1 and winner 2 can not go. Then winner 3 can accept award. It looks better for company.

“Can I give speech?” I ask, then realize I can not. Lift has half of my speech. “I mean, half a speech?”

But lady already hangs up.

Okay, at least if I win next year, I have half a speech already. And I will take stairs.

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Yuri: How to Learn French Underground


2010
01.31

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All aboard!

All aboard!

So weekend comes again, and I hop plane from Moldova airport to Paris. I go to Paris this weekend because when I was in high school, I studied French. My French now, it is little rusty, not like English. English - how you say? - top notch.

So I go to Paris to practice French. Maybe I don’t talk too much. Just listen this weekend. Get used to French again, and next weekend… Next weekend, I practice talking. So while I am on airplane, I open my ears really wide to listen and… I fall asleep. Not surprise. I always fall asleep on plane. And on train. And in car, even when I am driving. Ha ha. Yes, it is true. I am not joking.

So I wake up on runway in France and think, it is okay if I fall asleep on plane. I will stay awake on Paris Metro because I will stay standing. And I will jump off and on Metro a lot so I do not fall asleep. That way I will not end up in dangerous suburb like I did last year. Very bad to fall asleep and wake up in dangerous suburb. Very bad.

So first thing I do is get Metro weekend pass ticket and get on Metro. I stand near seats that are filled with people, so I can hear a lot of talking. The doors close. I listen.

And I hear German. And Italian. And Arabic. But no French. I look around me. I see French people. But I do not hear French people talking. Foreigners, like me, they are all talking real loud. And the French?

The Metro stops. I trip over old lady’s leg because I want to get off Metro and find Metro where I can hear French language. I apologize to old lady, in very, very good French. She looks grouchy, but answers back: “It is okay.” It is okay? It is not okay. That is not French. That is English.

Doors shut, so I cannot get off. Suddenly I see two people say hello with the French kiss. Not that one. The one where they kiss both cheeks. That French kiss. They are French. No doubt. The Metro is already moving, so it is hard to walk, but I manage to trip toward the two French people who are actually talking on Metro. I only stub toes two or three times. It is okay. I get to where I want to go when Metro jerks forward. My face hits pole and I grab on. Excellent. From here I can spy.

I turn my back to ladies so they do not know I am spy. I hear nothing. I take newspaper and hide face so I can look over shoulder without giving away secret. One lady is very pretty. She has pretty smile. The other lady is old and looks like she swallows frogs. I do not want to mess with her. That is not okay.

They are definitely talking, so I turn my back to them again and lean back a little. I hear English from tourist in front of me, but no French from behind. I lean back little more. Still English, no French. They speak too quiet. I lean back little more. And little more. And little more.

Doors open. Then close. Suddenly, I hear nothing. Did something happen? Was there accident? I look around. People are looking at me funny. Then I see why. I see myself in window. I am leaning far, far back, like I am really important part of the letter “V.” The French-talking lady behind me who eats frogs looks like she wants to eat me. I stand straight and hug pole. I hide my face in newspaper, but I cannot practice French still, because newspaper is upside down.

Next time, it will be better if I fall asleep and go to dangerous, dangerous suburbs.

When the doors slide open, I rush out. I run upstairs. I find pastry shop. If I cannot practice French language, I will practice French food.

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Yuri: When All Else Fails, Throw Party


2010
01.29

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Tropical breezes

Tropical breezes

Since Harvey is in Puerto Rico now, I thought it would be good if I submitted article about my first visit to Puerto Rico. I was going for weekend.

Before I give story, I need to tell you something. I am from Moldova, so I am unlucky. How do I know I am unlucky? If I were lucky, I would not be from Moldova.

So it is not surprising that, after three delays leaving Chisinau Airport in Moldova, I arrive at the Marriott Hotel in Puerto Rico to smiling face of desk clerk.

“You are here just in time!” he says with smiley face.

For what? I think. For show? For special dinner? For inauguration of new sundeck by bathing beauties?

No, for hurricane.

Hurricane. Of course.

I come to sunny Puerto Rico, so sun hops on first plane out and leaves hurricane in charge. If I wanted hurricane to destroy travel destination, I should have gone to Moscow. Get revenge. Make some fellow Moldovans happy. And the ethnic Russian Moldovans really mad. And then they spread bad lies about my accounting business and I lose everything, which is not much. No, maybe it is safer if I never go to Moscow.

I look around hotel lobby while the clerk checks me in. Maintenance workers are slowly walking around. Two workers put up one hurricane shutter. Three workers supervise. They all work slowly. And they smile and laugh a lot. I don’t understand. Hurricane is coming and will pick us all up in its slimy, wet fingers and throw us to our deaths, and people are smiling. Two hotel employees walk behind me. My Spanish is not too good, but I think one is inviting the other to his family’s house for hurricane. It will be safer there. There will be party!

Party? For hurricane?

I ask hotel clerk, “What is his name?”

“Hurricane Georges,” he says.

Georges. Why do they always give teddy bear names to hurricanes? Why not scary names, like Stalin? Or Attila?

The desk clerk has my papers ready. He apologizes for Georges. He says I will get refund. Thank you for staying at Hotel Marriott. We blow you away.

The storm will come in few hours. It is still safe to go outside. I put on swim trunks in my bedroom. I am in room that is safe for hurricanes. Not too low to drown. Not to high to become human kite.

I go outside. There is no sun, but no wind. I put on sunblock because if I pretend I am in sunny Puerto Rico, maybe I will feel like I am in sunny Puerto Rico. I stop when people look at me funny.

There are only few guests at pool, mainly whiny children complaining they have to get out of pool because many workers are covering pool for hurricane. I tell children they are welcome to stay in pool and be sea monsters. Their mommy does not look happy. I move to other side of pool.

I am only supposed to be here for weekend but will stay longer. Georges will keep me hostage. I must wait for flights to restart. When I get back to Moldova, my friends and family will hate me. They are jealous that I get to come to Caribbean. They won’t know about hurricane. They won’t believe me when I say I stayed in room and waited for storm to stop. They will think I am hiding my good luck.

Only I don’t have good luck. I am from Moldova.

A couple of hours later, wind starts. The weather gets worse, and the people in hotel get happier. It is adventure for them. I don’t understand. In Moldova, we have party when good thing happens, so we almost never have party. In Puerto Rico, they have party for hurricane. Do they have party for everything?

I ask some people “Why you have party?” They look at me funny. They say “Why not? Have fun. Want a Medalla?”

I taste Medalla, local beer, but it is like bitter water. I take coffee instead. I don’t think I can sleep during hurricane anyway.

No one sleeps, especially Georges. He hits hurricane shutters. I go sit in front of window that is a little open. If you cover all windows in hurricane, you make roof come off. So there is opening in some places, and you can sit, sheltered from storm but watching it.

The waves are angry. Georges hits them upside the head, pulls them, pushes them and makes them break on sand. He pulls the palm trees down, then bends them the other way as he changes direction of his wind. I stare and, after a while, I think the trees look like they are dancing. Even the trees are happy in hurricane in Puerto Rico.

I realize Georges is beautiful in his own way. Then he throws something against shutters, something heavy and big. I jump and move away to windowless hallway. Beautiful, yes. But just like beautiful women, it is safer to stay away.

I go back to room, but I cannot sleep. The wind is too noisy dancing with trees.  It tells me, “Go back to party.”  So what if my trip is not sunny like I planned? So what if I don’t understand why they have party for hurricane? I am here. Beach is part of Puerto Rico. Sun is part of Puerto Rico. But so is hurricane. Hurricane is also part of who Puerto Rico is. In bedroom, I could be in any country in world. I will go join Puerto Rico.

I walk downstairs and try another Medalla. It could be worse.