vlad.tribnet.com / Issue #155 / Social life / Reading article...

If shoe repair shops and fashion houses started cheerfully welcoming Russian housewives, we would think something went wrong in our nation. Seeing a smiling girl at a counter is as rare as an elephant sitting in a tree in downtown Vladivostok. I think part of our tradition is to look gloomier than we are, in order to scare customers, so that they feel guilty and regret they even came.

When I went to pick up my shoes from a repair kiosk last summer, I described how they looked. A big shirtless repair man in torn pants yelled, “These are not your shoes.” I was shocked. “What do you mean?” I said. I told him how much I had paid for them. This worked better; he was mollified, and he invited me to sit in his kiosk while he finished painting the soles of my shoes.

He was sweating and his pants were almost falling down because of his belly, and I did not enjoy his hospitality any more more than his hostility. He complained about new shoe dealers, who have no idea of a product’s quality and buy garbage from foreign firms. He waved an orange sandal in front of my nose. “Now look at this: A kid wore it for two days and he broke it,” he said.

When I brought my watch to another repair shop, a gloomy man came out to the window. “You dropped it,” he gloated. I felt like a criminal caught red-handed, and I quickly produced the 30,000 rubles he required for the repair. Trying to avoid meeting him, I sent my son to pick up my watch. Two days later it stopped working again.

I wonder what sales people think they are doing at work? Sometimes it is hard to disturb a girl who is looking into the distance: Maybe she is contemplating her transitory existence on earth. How can I tell her that I need a kilo of tomatoes? I have to hope she will notice me and say “What?” so I can make my down-to-earth request.

When I visited America, sales people always smiled and said hi to me. At first I was suspicious, but then I realized that at least they do not mind having me in their shops, and if I buy something, they will be happy rather than depressed. Maybe someone should organize a professional exchange of sales people with American sister cities like Tacoma, Washington.