Cheat, cheat, cheat

Russian students cheat. Outrageously. Insultingly. Blatantly. Adults and children alike, knowing full well that they are taking a test, will talk out loud. Some of them try to be sneaky, but simply calling them out will not stop them always. Nor will sitting next to the cheaters, looking straight at them, explaining in Russian that you can understand EVERY word that they are saying. Short of taking away their quizzes, nothing can be done. At one point I was actually waiting on the last quiz, hand outstretched, and the young woman turned to the guy next to her and asked him "how do you say....". It was so audacious that even he started laughing. The weird thing is, some classes don't cheat at all. It's a lot more disconcerting and insulting than I would have guessed...

Moving on, I now know for sure that I am not a shallow person. I have hands down proved that, thanks to Kamila. Let me set the scene. She had invited me to meet her classmates a couple of times already, and they were apparently really excited to meet me since they all study English. After a long, hellish day in which even my good classes were out of control, I was feeling sweaty, gross, and exhausted. The night before I woke up super homesick and sad and couldn't go back to sleep, so I was really dragging. Of COURSE that is the night that Kamila invites me out. I said yes, since I didn't really want to grade anymore anyway. Well, she picks me up with two friends, little bit awkward in the car, but whatever, finally we pull up to this restaurant. I take one look at it and realize that I am going to be the worst dressed person in the place. By far. BY FAR. I mean, there is Russian and American fashion differences and then there is just BIG BUCKS. Everyone in there was dripping with diamonds, I literally would have felt more comfortable in the waiter's clothing than in my own. We sat on the veranda overlooking this misty valley sparkling with lights, but it was hard for me to enjoy because I was so busy thinking about how damn expensive everything was. Some perspective? I didn't have enough money for a glass of wine and a salad. So there I was, hoping against hope that the Russian tradition of paying for guests was going to kick in, when we suddenly merged parties with some high rollin' business folks. Dripping with diamonds and makeup. And I was getting shown off like some sort of accessory, I was understanding almost no Russian, and eveyone was telling jokes for my appreciation (the punch line would be something like, ENGLISH LANGUAGE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA). So, kinda awkward.

Anyway, the key moment of the night came at the end (after someone did cough up for the crazy amounts of food they ordered for me as well as the entire rabbit that some of the men at the table had been gnawing on for a while.) The big, high class, big bucks business man that everyone had been teasing but really kissing up to all night long pulled up a chair next to me. (Earlier: What does that guy do, Sasha? Sasha: he is the BIG OWNER OF blah blah blah. Do you know? A huge law firm). I mean, this guy's suit cost more than some small villages in Russia turn over in a year, I'm sure. And, apparently the sweaty, matted hair, glasses, and college t-shirt did ti for him, because he slurred some incomprehensible "English" at me, and then tells Kamila et al that we have already agreed that his driver will drop me off later. "Ok!" chirps Kamila, while I made wounded baby animal eyes at her. She catches sight of them and back up. A millimeter. "Do you want to? I think it might be sort of fun. We can go together." "TIME TO GO!!!!" I bellowed in Russian with a forced smile. I mean, come ON!! Every one at the table except me and Kamila was employed by this guy. I didn't want to put Sasha in a weird spot since me brought me in his car, but NO. WAY.

Anyway, Mr. Big Bucks follows me into the backseat of the car, and we "give him a ride" up to his car, which is about 15 steps away, while I freak out because there are too many people in the back seat and this guy is one of them. He tried to pull me out with him at the end, clearly missing all the signals that I was sending his way (Me crawling up into Kamila's lap wasn't enough of a sign.)

So, I clearly got out of it, and I would have made a huge fuss if I'd had to. But, it was super disconcerting because I felt like no one was backing me up and working to get me out of the situation. I tried to explain to Kamila afterwards, and she was concerned but bemused. Just say no, was her take on it. Also, he is rich as hell. "And probably married!!!" I pointed out. Oh, yeah, he is, she confirmed. Weird. Weird weird weird. But if anyone was every worried that I was a shallow person, easily swayed by money, I feel that turning down a Russian millionaire at a time when I make like $2,000 a year is a good sign.