On the first page, I want to talk about my first day of work, which happened just one day after arriving in the States. As it turned out later, it was the hardest one.

In the morning, Marshall—our employer—picked us up while we were still asleep. We got dressed in 2 minutes and left. At the warehouse, we quickly met Vlad, who had arrived a week earlier, and the American guys we were going to work with. We got our t-shirts and headed out. That day, I worked with Nikita, Marshall, Matt, and Steve. We drove through traffic (which is actually a rare occurrence), then took a ferry with the truck to Martha's Vineyard—a very beautiful place. On the way, we talked to a doctor—he recognized our accent because he had a colleague from Russia. Nikita asked him if he was of Irish descent. He was very surprised, called his wife over, and said that she was of Irish descent, while he was Italian. Before that, our housing manager Peter—the first person we talked to—said his ancestors were from Ireland. And after that, Nikita asked almost everyone he talked to about their Irish heritage. When he hit the mark, the person he was talking to would be very surprised-)

There are very narrow streets on this island, and the trailer is veeeery long. Marshall has been driving trucks his whole life and does it with amazing calmness. We drove without GPS using Google Maps printouts and, naturally, got lost (that happened almost always—in an unfamiliar city, we would sometimes spend 2 hours looking for a place. Why not buy a GPS for $150 is beyond me). Eventually, we ended up in a dead end where we couldn't turn around. Cops arrived, cleared the parked cars, and then escorted us to the right place.

The day was hard because we worked at a decent pace in the heat all day and barely ate—there was a risk of missing the last ferry.

I really liked the work from the first day for many reasons:

• interacting with interesting people
• physical activity
• lots of traveling
• not monotonous
• good tips if you're lucky

On Martha's Vineyard, a family was moving from California. The firm we worked for is called Hiltz moving&storage. It is an agent for Bekins—one of the largest and oldest moving companies in the country. A firm similar to ours handled packing and loading in California. An interstate driver delivered the van to our warehouse. Then we handled the unloading. So, unfortunately, we didn't get to drive very long distances. Our area of responsibility was only neighboring states. This system has a huge disadvantage—everyone blames each other for damaged items.

What was interesting on the first day: I learned what the title of one of my favorite songs, "Take Five" by Dave Brubeck, means. I thought it meant something like "Give me five," but it turned out to be "Take a five-minute break." Then there was a funny incident also related to translation difficulties. All boxes labeled "Damery" had to be carried to a specific place. I kept wondering what this word meant—maybe something like "fragile"? Moreover, the lady of the house told us, "Try not to show these boxes to my husband," and when the husband saw them, he said, "Ugh, Damery, I want to burn all these boxes!" It turned out that Damery was the maiden name of his wife's parents-)

It was very pleasant to work with the American guys. "I show you how to do it not because you do it wrong but because I want you to do it right." Matt is 29. He works in moving during the summer to relax—he actually works as a head chef in a restaurant without days off. Steve is 20. He once jumped off a train when he was late for work and missed his station. Then, barely alive, he went with us and worked the whole day.

We got $40 in tips each. Simple arithmetic kicked in immediately—if only it were like that every day... But, unfortunately, we received tips only 1-2 times a week. On the way home, the most pleasant part of the work begins—you sleep exhausted in the truck and get paid the same $10 an hour for it. At first, the system was different. We were paid 20 cents per mile for the time on the road. This is because that money is not taxed. After we gave Marshall the "Dear Employer" letter, he said that everything would be paid by the hour. Before that, he didn't know that we paid almost no taxes. It was a fateful decision because otherwise, we wouldn't have seen any overtime.

We made it to the last ferry, though not without difficulty. We returned home after midnight.

Marshall Carpenter

We were very lucky with our employer. I have never met a calmer and more imperturbable person. We had a game—inventing activities that are hard to imagine him doing. Here are the top three:

• Marshall playing drums
• Marshall riding a bicycle
• Marshall picking out clothes in a store

He is a bright example of the fact that Americans are fans of their work. The man has a successful business, 3 huge houses on a plot of several hectares, and yet he drives trucks himself, hauls furniture, and spends the whole day at work.

It is noticeable that he is very worried about the fact that the business belongs to his wife (it was inherited by her). Hiltz moving is a family firm. Marshall's wife, Jane, occasionally visits and shows by her whole demeanor that she is the boss here. Everyone calls her "Queen." Their daughter also works at the company as some kind of manager. What do they call her? That's right—"Princess"-)

All the Americans who worked with us don't like their bosses and talk trash about them behind their backs. They probably have their reasons. But we can only say thank you to him. We were paid nominally the same amount for the work as the locals. And in reality, even more, because they paid much higher taxes. When there were almost no orders for a couple of weeks in July, he invited us to work as landscapers (that's such a fancy word for working with a rake and shovel) at his home. And—I'll brag a little—towards the end of the summer, when there weren't enough orders for everyone, he often put us on the job, leaving the Americans out in the cold. And we would leave, while they would stay to work.

The only thing I didn't like was one incident that really spoiled the impression. During work, a customer called him, for whom other people were working. A mistake occurred—they forgot to bring the seals for the containers. The customer called Marshall with complaints. After that, something happened to him. Out of the blue, he cursed at everyone who worked with him, and then went to that place and said that his subordinates were to blame for everything. Very ugly. But he only snapped like that once.

And I'll tell you about one more incident that gave this blog its name. One time it happened that there wasn't enough room for everyone, and I had to ride in the back of the van. Nikita started whining, "Can I ride in the cab? You can suffocate back there." Marshall replied to him, "SHUT UP. WELCOME TO AMERICA."

We lived in a place called Little River Campground. http://home.comcast.net/~littlerivercampground/site/ This is the best you can find in Gloucester—housing is quite expensive everywhere. It is located in West Gloucester, 2 miles from downtown. Families with children mostly come here to camp with trailers and tents. Vlad and I rented a small house for $500 per person. In general, it costs $1200, and that's even without taxes. Peter gave us a good discount. There is also an option with rooms for $400 a month. By the way, the house is called "Tree house" because it is built literally around a tree.

Little River is a river that starts and ends in the ocean, thereby turning Gloucester into an island. An excellent place for fishing. We fished right from the porch of the house we lived in. And Gloucester, by the way, is officially considered the oldest fishing port in America.

But the main charm of this place is its owners. Peter and Judy are very lovely people. I got very used to them. They did a lot for us. Once, when we were thanking them for something, Peter said, "You're welcome, but when you return to Russia, tell your friends you met a fat guy in America named Peter and invite them to come to Little River Campground."