how long is too long? (ironically--it's long)

I'm into year #3 living in Russia. There are times when I start to wonder if I've been in Russia too long. For instance, when I'm given a sturdy bag while out shopping and I think, "Wow--good bag. Better save this one." I'm talking about plastic shopping bags here. And I do save them. I hoard them. Good size, good quality and attractive--that's a keeper.

The way things went with the mechanics on Thursday made me realize how much better I understand the culture now than I did when I arrived. I remember how frustrated I was when the internet service I requested be turned on before I even arrived took MONTHS to be connected. Our new-hires at school commented on how patient I was waiting for my car to be fixed. Back in the US I could take the car to any quick oil change places and have them hook up the electric diagnoser. It would take minutes to figure out what was wrong.

We've been talking to mechanics for weeks. I've asked a friend to help instead of the office (political fallout expected because that's their job--but the guy in the office thinks it just needs a new battery. He's wrong.) We called a friend of hers who's a mechanic. He was on holiday. When we finally reached him (maybe a week later) he said he didn't work on my car, but gave us a reccommendation for a dealer. I avoid dealers in the US but was willing to give them a shot here..

When we finally reached the dealer, they said it would be three weeks before they'd be able to fit us in. They were remodelling their shop and only had one open bay. I didn't want to wait.

So, we called the mechanics that the consulate use. They don't do any electronic work. They recommended someone.

We called them. They said we had to drive it to them. (*note: remember this for later) I planned to call the jump start people (my battery is too big to be jump started by most cars available) and then drive it over. The electro boys said they could come and jump start it for the same price. I asked if they could just come and get it and drive it to their shop and was told definitively and resoundingly that they did not do that. (keep remembering) We were to call them back on the following Monday to see if they could come on Wednesday.

We did call Monday, and they said to call Wednesday. They'd see if they could fit us in. They work for the city as well (in some capacity) and if there were many accidents, then we'd get bumped. When we called on Wednesday at 10:30, they were still sleeping. We were to call back at 11:00. We're in class at 11, so we called at 12:30. Too late--but we were first on the list for the next day.

On Thursday, they said they'd come when they could fit us in. This is not the best option as I'm in class and cannot drive the car to their shop whenever they pop by. We asked if they'd come after 3:00. No. That would not be convenient. But, why was I worried about missing class? They always travel in pairs and one of them would drive my car to the shop. I just had to sign a release. (see why you had to remember?)

They came just as my class was headed to library. After much rigamarole (They enlisted the janitor to help them push the car about 20 feet away so that it would be more convenient...even though there was no one parked next to me on either side. They really didn't need to move my car. And the janitor, when I thanked him, replied that my grandchildren would pay. The secretary who was translating thought it was hysterical.) they had the car started and said that I should bring it to the shop in the next few days.

Being the experienced Russia-dweller that I've become, I said that they were meant to take the car with them. They said they couldn't. I said they must. They said they couldn't--they might get stopped on the way. I said all I had to do was sign a waiver and they could take it. They said they couldn't. I told them that the car would not start again if we turned it off and I could not leave. They said that if they wrote out a note and I signed it they'd risk the militsia.

The thing is, I wasn't really surprised by this and knew right away how to play the game. They also said that I might have my car that night (the office staff laughed knowingly and made the international money sign by rubbing thumb and fingers together). I didn't hold my breath. It's a good thing, because I still don't have my car. Neither have I heard from them. But...I'm still optimistic. Maybe I'll have it on Monday.

I don't think the patience our new-hires attributed to me is what I've gained in living here. It's closer to resignation--though without the despair or discontentment that connotates. Or, that I associate with that word. It's closer to acceptance and understanding--though without approval. And that lack of surprise in itself is a sign I've been here too long! The fact that I accept that things here work very differently is either a sign to move on...or an incredible sign of growth, maturity and tolerance. Yeah, I'm thinking the former.

(Blogger spellcheck irony--doesn't recognize internet.)