From Russia with Love

Den' Pobedy (Victory Day)!! Or how I stopped worrying and learned to love Russian business practices

This post is a continuation of my adventures in Russian Electronic Hell (see earlier posts)



I’ve enjoyed my first two and a half weeks in Moscow; the city offers new and interesting attractions to the traveler everyday. Nonetheless, I have as yet been unable to fully enjoy myself because in the back of my mind, I can’t stop thinking about my adventure at Gorbushka’s and how I was swindled like a clueless tourist. At first I hoped that the problem was simple due to a faulty charger or battery, but after buying replacements for both (about 900 rubles all together), it became clear that I bought a worthless phone.
I consulted Tatiana Nikolaevna (my hostess) about my cellular problems. She told me to simply take the phone back, that they’d have to give me my money back. I explained that the small electronics stand, no bigger that 15 square feet, would most definitely call me a liar and refuse to give my money back.
"But, of course you have a receiptt and the box it came in, right" she asked matter-of-factly.
Weeeeell, I thought, in a word – "nyet. They didn’t give me anything, just took my money and gave me the phone.“ I recognized the expression on her face upon hearing this news; it was the same one I’d seen hundreds of times in my life, the one that seems to say 'You’ve got to be kidding! Were you born yesterday?’
"Nu, Mish, chevozh ty!!?? Mish, what’s wrong with you? You never walk away without a reciept, especially for something like a cell phone!“ I only ever heard her use that tone of voice with Manon (the dog) and when she was talking about Gorbushev ("That crook!“). "Well,“ she said, a little bit more collected "You can use my phone until you figure out what to do; I never use it anyway. Of course, it’s not the newest model. I actually found it under the bed one day; I’m not really sure where it came from but it works just fine. “ I was touched; no one had every given me a cell phone out of pity before! "As for your phone, maybe you can find somewhere to sell it.“
Sell it, eh? The though had occured to me before. The problem was, I had not idea how to sell a phone that wouldn’t even turn on, but Tatiana Nikolaevna’s scolding invigorated me; I would sell that phone, if for no other reason than so she wouldn’t think I was a total idiot.
I told Lindsey about my plans to return to Electronic Hell and sell the phone.
"I don’t know, man...I don’t think you can fool a Russian. They’re pretty sharp,“ was her response; I sensed she left out the end of that last phrase, " They’re pretty sharp; sharper than you, that is“). That was it, I decided; I was now on a mission to win back my honor in the eyes of my friends and family.
A night alone gave me time to think over my strategy. I also watched The Eleven Friends of Ocean (Ocean’s Eleven, po-russkii), which put me in the masterminding-mood for a grand heist. I figured if I could get the phone to work for at least a couple hours, I could probably get someone to buy it; the only hang-up being the phone’s one problem - it was in-chargable. Although, when I replaced the battery, the phone did work a few hours that night, and I was sure to get a reciept for the battery. Maybe if I could get the friendly neighborhood electronics store (ION) to replace my battery again, I could get the damned hunk of junk working long enough to cell it.
I consulted my reciept, and to my elation, in Russian that even I could understand was clearly written that the store provides a garuntee of 100% customer satisfaction (I didn’t even know Russian had the words for that kind of a promise!).
Excellent! The next day, I would put my plan in action...

I woke up with a mission and only one goal in mind – to get the cruel, satanic joke of a phone out of my life. On my way to the Metro, I stopped into ION and feined the look of a confused foreigner with the store clerk and explained, "I don’t know what wrong. One day it work, the next morning _______!“ (insert emphatic exhailation noise that sounds like a fart), "You maybe can re-put a new battery on her....er,him? Da? Da?“
I knew that mobilnik – cell phone - is a masculine noun in Russian and in general was perfectly capable of expressing what was wrong with the phone. I was just trying to work the hopeless foreigner angle, hoping that if I made his ears bleed enough, he would just replace the battery and send me on my way. That is exactly what he did, after, of course, providing the all-powerful stamp of authentification to my reciept.
Phase one of mission "Give Russia a Taste of Its Own Medicine“ complete; now, back to hell! Off to Gorbushka’s I went.

I entered and immediately began looking for one of the many hanging flags that advertise the 'stores’ that buy, sell and trade. The first merchant I talked to called over his friend to appraise my phone. This second fellow turned the phone on and asked how much I wanted for the phone, and I told him 2,000 rubles (a couple hundred less than I payed for it, not realizing that this was only a difference of $4-5). He looked at me as though I were a squirrel that could talk, scoffed and offered 800 for it. I was expecting to haggle a little bit, but being my first bargaining experience in Russian, I was a little timid (I, by the way, was trying my hardest to loose the stupid foreigner persona. At this point, I was doing my best impression of an experienced businessman – a consumer who knew what he wanted). I suggested 1,500 rubles. He turned the phone off, handed it back to me and mumbled something that I couldn’t completely understand. I assumed it was something to the extent that I was crazy to ask so much for a used, not completely new phone. I took my phone and unphased, continued to look for another kiosk.
At the next store, I asked for 1,000, trying to be a little more realistic. The merchant answered with and offer of 500. I told him "nyet, spacibo“ and continued my search.
The next kiosk was no bigger than a closet and was by no means overflowing with merchandise or customers. I thought this a good combination and asked if they bought phones. The proprietor must have heard my English accent, or else he assumed that I didn’t speak the russkii (since I must have missed the blatently obvious sign advertising that they buy and sell phones) because he answered in a thick accent, "Yes, yes, dude. What you have?“
I presented my phone and to my surprise, he didn’t call over a friend to appraise it; he actually CALLED his friend to get an over-the-phone appraisal. He describe the phone and its condition to his collegue and confirmed the partner’s expert appraisal, "1,000? Da, ladno.“ After fishing around for a pen and paper, he wrote his offer (I was delighted that I wasn’t asked to make the first offer for once). To my surprise, it was 100 rubles less than his partner recommended (that is, 900 rubles). I brought this to his attention even though it was only a difference of about $2. I assumed that frugality was a defining trait of a seasoned businessman. He re-wrote the offer for the amount his collaborator had recommended and we agreed. I walked away with 2,000 rubles in my pocket and commensed to start phase three of mission "Give Russia a Taste of Its Own Medicine“.
I found the store where Lindsey and Adam bought their phones, knowing after countless T.V. ads that 'at Evroset’ prices were lower’, assured that I already knew two satisfied customers and at the very least, they would give me a reciept. I bought a blue Siemens A70, complete with charger and battery.
Feeling accomplished, I left the Electronic Hell (hopefully) for the last time and called Lindsey immediately to inform her of my success. She was congratulatory, as was Tatiana Nikolaevna. A little slice of American Mike felt bad for screwing over an owner of a small business, but then I just thought, 'When in Rome, right?’ Either way, I knew he would make a profit off my victory; a little detail like complete inability to function surely wasn’t going to keep him from selling it to another unfortunate soul.

posted by Misha Molodoi @ 9:13 PM