To Sing Frogs Chapter 27c

Celeste, Sarah and Denney. Bolshoi Theater in the background

We exited back through the revolving door. Lots of hotels use revolving doors but in Russia they’re symbolic. Amy spoke with Julia on the way to the embassy. She was trying to politely obscure the fact I was ignoring the coordinator. I’m more obtuse than that though. If Julia had an I.Q. north of a reasonable belt size, she knew I was livid.

The baby-faced American at the embassy was friendly, courteous, helpful—I guess I could quote the Scout Law here, but why? In the end he was useless as a lifeboat on a sand dune. “I’m sorry, Mr. Simmons. Your coordinator is right. Unfortunately, this is a problem with the Russian side of things rather than the U.S. side. There’s nothing I can do. The passport will need to be sent back to Vladivostok for correction.”

Scout’s Honor? I decided to forget it. I wasn’t in the mood to explain the quip to Julia. Besides, whether this guy could help me or not, nothing good would come from insulting him.

 

 

Julia keyed the buttons on what looked like an ATM. It was standing room only at the Aeroflot office a half-block away from the hotel. She didn’t tell me what number the machine assigned our help-ticket. Good call. The last thing she needed was me subtracting out the digits formed by red lights on the “number-serving” sign back behind the counter. No big deal. There were still two hours until quitting time and there was no place else to go.

We had dropped off Amy and the kids at the hotel to wait until we returned. My credit card and I were all that were needed to change the plane tickets for Celeste and me. Julia kept giving me chances to talk. She was good. The opportunities were always posed in a manner allowing me single word responses, or more if I wanted to talk. She didn’t push.

Even though I was justifiably angry (why wouldn’t she help me do business the way that Russia did business?), I know a good employee when I see one. Julia was nothing if not an excellent employee. She was doing exactly what I would expect her to do if I was the owner of Little Miracles. She was even acting with textbook perfection on how to work with a customer who was being a jerk. Soon my responses were lengthened to three or four words each. Then she knew she had me.

I calmed down. This was just part of the wait; the perpetual wait that is international adoption. Eventually you learn that you can curse, you can moan, you can scream, and you can cry. You can even fight it but it doesn’t do any good. You never prevail against waiting.

Julia answered my questions about Russian history. Even though nothing could make the workers go faster, conversation accelerated time.

“It has been quite difficult for people from former Soviet States to assimilate into a capitalistic environment,” she said.

“They have to work?” I asked while staring at two gabbing workers behind the counter.

“That’s funny,” she said while granting a charity chuckle. “No. It’s because they have to market themselves.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, in former Soviet times no person in the system was supposed to be better than any other. Claiming to be so could place you in very difficult circumstances.”

Like pounding on boulders with a sledgehammer at a gravel manufacturing site in Siberia? “So what do they do?”

“There has been a real division. A few have caught on and they do very well. Most just wait for old ways to return.”

I imagined a job interview. “Why are you the most qualified candidate to fill this position?” “I’m not.” “What skills do you have?” “The same as everyone else in my field.” “Why should I hire you?” “Because I need a job.” “Will you work for less money than the other applicants?” “What? Doesn’t everyone get paid the same?”

Our conversation on economics killed an hour. It also filled my mind with understanding. When incentives to excel are deemed evil, poverty reigns.

 

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