It was close to midnight on Monday when I noticed the little green envelope that represents an as-yet-unheard message on my cell phone. For about as long as I can remember now, I only receive bad news in voicemail form but I felt the winds of change whistling through the…well…garbage outside my apartment and I was seized by an unusual bout of optimism. The speed with which this optimism consumed my better judgement could be rivaled only by the sheer force of reality reclaiming its proper place, the pillars of hope collapsing and pessimism regaining the upper hand. I recognized immediately the broken English:
“Mike, I make pointment wif plumbers. I vaant you vait for dem in morning.†Click.
This is just a small sample – a taste, if you will – of some of the engaging and intellectually stimulating banter I enjoy with my Russian landlady, Olga. For Olga, eloquence, in any language, is – apparently – not a priority. As such, more often than not, it finds itself in the backseat for the benefit of deadly – and often misguided – efficiency.
Background: A leak has been festering in my apartment, dripping on and off for three months. It is a shy leak. Shy in that, whenever I invite someone over to take a look at my leak, the leak stays away, usually returning after the visitor has gone. I believe this is an attempt on the leak’s part to turn Olga and I against each other. So far, this seems to be working. Most recently the leak has been on vacation – probably skiing upstate – for about a week.
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