Alaskan Bulgarian

Another Case For the Annals of Bulgarian Customer Service

Coming home from a long day Monday, I stopped in at the OMV across the street from my apartment. OMVs are a gas station/convenience store combo common across Bulgaria. They're one of the few large franchises here and, in an interesting point bordering on irrelevance, each store looks exactly the same, something common in America but almost creepy here. I was feeling a bit off at the time and needed to get some cold-clearing supplies for the night: a bottle of water, Vitamin C-enriched juice, etc.

One of the things I love about OMVs is that, even though they may not have everything I need, I always know exactly where the things I want to buy are and can get in and out in a hurry. The OMV is the only place in town where I have the power of gathering my own stuff before I get to the register. Everywhere else I have to point while the shopkeeper gathers. Where things get iffy is when I get to the register, and the spectre of change rears its ugly head.

In America change was never something I worried about. I would give a cashier a bill and that cashier would give me a collection of bills and coins without fuss. The coins would go in a jar at home, and if I ever felt active I'd take the jar to a Coin Star or a bank and get the whole thing turned into "real money." In Bulgaria, I've had to completely overhaul my change philosophy. Stores never seem to have any coin, and if I give the cashier ten or, God forbid, twenty leva, I usually get an angry look before the cashier stares glumly at the register, trying to figure out what to do with me and the money I've given them.

So I always keep a supply of change in my pocket, ready for action. If that cashier wants three stotinki (roughly equivalent in importance to 3 cents), I'm ready with it. But I was sick Monday, my pockets were stuffed with Kleenex, my head was sagging, my eyes drooping, and my nose was clogged to all hell. So I took a risk, and when I got to the register I dropped a ten leva bill on the counter and crossed my fingers in the hope that the cashier would give me change and I could drop it in my pocket and just get home quickly.

No such luck. She glared at me.

"Do you have stotinki?"

"Nyamam," I lied. I had change somewhere in my pocket, but I didn't want to dig for it. So I shrugged my shoulders and looked sorry. She stared at my ten leva for a moment, then glared at me again.

"You have no stotinki?"

So she'd beaten me. It would take longer to continue the evil lie. I dug into my pocket, pulled out my Kleenex and keys, and finally got to my change, which came out in a big handful. The cashier's eyes got big and she grabbed by hand . . . grabbed my hand, people.

"LUZHETS!," she cried, loudly. Liar. She called me a liar in the middle of a convenience store. After that, she tried to pry the right change out of my hand before I could get it for her. I beat her to it, she settled the bill, and I grabbed my bag to get out of there and get home to relax. She happily chirped "priyatna vecher!" ("Have a good evening!") as I was walking away and I angrily mumbled something that sounded like "priyata veka" through my roadblock of a nose and throat.

I stumbled home and managed to get to the apartment where I happily drank my juice and water and found myself much better the next morning. Haven't seen that cashier again yet, but it's not really my way to seek revenge, even if I had some idea of what the revenge for this situation might be. This is Bulgaria, and if I knew that woman I'm sure she'd be inviting me over for dinner every other night, but as long as we're strangers across a counter, she has cart blanche to be as rude as she wants to be. It just seems to be the way of things around here.

On a slightly similar note, I realized today that I can now be proud of one major and tangible accomplishment here in Bulgaria. At the very least, by the end of my first year here, 120-odd Bulgarians will now ask "May I go to the restroom?" instead of "Can I go to the toilet?" when dealing with Americans. I don't let my students go anymore if they ask in the wrong way, and they've adapted quickly. I'm sure this change will be critical for each of them someday, although I have little idea how. We'll just have to wait and see.

Posted by Rob at March 10, 2004 07:14 PM