Day Nine

Today, something happened that was bound to happen sooner or later. No, I didn't get a marriage proposal; I was late. I was late by a whole 32 minutes because I waited for the subway for 25 minutes (it runs every 8 minutes on average here, as it's not the main mode of transport; cars are). Our Russian colleagues immediately started chattering about me being late. Then manager David (a bit of a nasty guy) showed up and immediately asked about the reason for my delay. I mumbled something incoherent (like I left late, instead of telling him about the subway!), to which he replied, "You can't be late, you have a schedule now, get to work." Well, work it is, we'll try our best.

One of our visitors had a birthday, so we immediately organized a piece of cake for her. Helber insisted that I sing too, saying nothing would happen without me. When we approached her and I opened my mouth to sing "Happy Birthday," everyone started chattering in unison and began singing some Brazilian song, which turned out to be the equivalent of the English version. I had no choice but to sing "a-ala-la-la, mi-ma-mu," as always very loudly (reminds me of elementary school, where I didn't know the words and had no ear for music, but sang the loudest in the choir). The "joke" was that the lady had to pay for that piece of cake.

I don't know why, but my compatriots started teaching the Brazilians Russian words they shouldn't be taught, especially Helber. They taught him the word "piska" (a vulgar term for penis), so he started using it everywhere. For example, as soon as he learned it, he said (all in English, except for this word): "Oh, there are many Mexican piska in the kitchen, I don't want to be there." Then the word "popa" (butt). He actually thought of combining them and said to me, "Slap my popa with your piska, slap me." Damn! We have a real den here, although maybe I'm taking this too seriously?