Infrequent musings from my pops in Va. Beach.

This afternoon I was exiting the parking lot of one of our customers, when an attractive

young Russian girl riding a bicycle ran into the side of my truck.  She was none the worse

for wear, other than a small cut on her heel, and would not have incurred that had she been

wearing shoes instead of flip-flops.  I worry for intelligent life on this planet when

reasonably affluent women find fashionable the most basic footwear of third world

countries.

Anyway, she with the cut heel feigned no knowledge of English as a second language,

and her companion (another attractive young Russian girl) did all of the talking.  Our

conversation went like this:

Q:  Are you all right?  A:  It’s OK.

Q:  We will get you some help.  A:  No. It’s OK

Q:  Do you want to talk to someone who speaks Russian?  (I know a Russian mechanic

named Vladimir.  A really nice guy – not to be confused with Vlad the Impaler – though

I  have never angered him.)  A:  No. (shakes head)

Q:  We should call the police.  A:  No.  (shakes head vigorously)

So after this sparkling repartee, and our having stopped the bleeding, they mounted up

and rode off into the sunset.

Very likely they are illegals.  We have a large contingent of Russian students who come

over during the summer to work the hotels and 7-11s in the resort area.  They come on

three month work visas and often forget to go home.

I guess though that if one is to have an encounter such as this, tis a far, far better thing to

have the cast include a couple of attractive young Russian girls than a Rosa Kleb-esque

babushka with a plastic shopping bag.