Alaskan Bulgarian

Helping Out

Last night, I was leaving my tutor's building on my way home when I passed three men in their eighties trying to do something with a TV that looked as old as the three of them. One of them told me to help, and although I didn't hear a please in Bulgarian, I've gotten used to that and opted to give them a hand.

They were moving the TV from a pair of jeans (I'm not exactly sure what it was doing there) onto a thick blanket. It was a big TV and they'd already struggled enough to get the TV onto to the blanket by the time I'd figured out what was going on. They all grabbed corners of the blanket, I grabbed my corner, and we walked across the parking lot to the apartment block on the other side. We took the TV down to the basement and one of the guys unlocked a storage room loaded up with all the canned goods and bottled wine you usually see in a pensioner's basement in Bulgaria. The man who had opened the door thanked me and asked me if I wanted some wine. They all looked very thankful and hopeful, so I said sure.

"Are you Bulgarian?" One of the guys asked. We'd gotten all the way down to the basement. I'd spoken several times, counting on the lifts and asking what was wrong with the TV and it took about 5 minutes for one of them to see that I might not be Bulgarian. I was pretty proud of my language skills, if I do say so myself.

"No, I'm an American."

"American?! Ahhh! C'mon. We have to have a drink! American?!"

So we went upstairs to an apartment, and one of the guys opened a bottle of wine and filled four glasses, watering them down a bit afterward. We went through the standard conversation: I'm from Alaska, Here teaching English in the language school, I've been here for a year, No I don't have a gadzhe.

"Oh!" The more over-excited octogenarian said. "I know a girl perfect for you. How old are you?"

"23 years."

"Oh." He seemed a bit disappointed. "She's 25. But I'm sure she would be perfect. You need a Bulgarka."

"I need a Bulgarka, huh?"

"I'll introduce you sometime."

After that the standard conversation continued on: I get enough money to get by, but I'm not rich, Pensioners get varying amounts of money in America but it's usually more than Bulgarian pensioners get (These guys were getting 100 leva a month from the government, about 70 dollars or so. It isn't much, and they often depend heavily on their families and village gardens.), I'll be here for another year.

Then the one of the three that hadn't been talking very much said something to the more over-excited one, and they talked very quickly about the over-excited one's girlfriend. He turned to me.

"I have a gadzhe." He was smiling.

"I'm sure she's beautiful." I said.

"She's 82. She's fine-looking and I'm happy."

"Well, happiness is important."

He looked at the quiet one who had asked about the girl then turned back to me. "It's hard to have sex, though," he said.

"I understand."

"But we try, right?" And the other guys nodded and we all laughed.

After about 20 minutes of chatting, I stood up with one of the guys who didn't live in the apartment and said I had to run since it looked like he was leaving, too. They all said goodbye and thanked me for the help and said that I had to come by again sometime. Maybe I will, I don't know.

I went home after that and read for awhile. It was an interesting way to spend an afternoon. They were a bunch of good ol' guys. Kind of reminded me of Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau in "Grumpy Old Men."

Posted by Rob at September 14, 2004 07:48 PM