Moscow Love and -Jitos

McDonald's is the embodiment of corporate evil in Western civilization/Richard's one-way ticket to hell by the age of 28. Yeah right, it's the saving grace of the Russian service industry. The first McDonald's introduced the following great concepts taken for granted stateside: full day friendly, fast service and clean bathrooms. This is so not the point of this post.
I said that people say they don't remember things when they get trashed only as an excuse to do things they don't usually have the balls for, and Stephen's project last night was to prove me wrong, introducing myself once again as the guinea pig. Fuck, this is still not the point of this post, but I swear it's coming.
I was in charge of bringing the Bacardi and ice, 2-liter coke if possible, which is basically everything we needed that Yuri doesn't have. First and last items were cakewalk, but where do you get ice in Russia? Stephen suggested going to a bar or cafe and buying a bag for 50 rubles. Screw that; low-class objectives require low-class operational environs. I saw a Poctuk'c (Rostik's, a fast junk food chain that I wouldn't normally enter) and decided to take a chance sans my pride. Two teeny-boppers (TBs) were the only people hanging out at the counter, not really ordering anything.
Ya: Excuse me, could I get some ice? How much?
Girlchik cashier (GC): It's free.
Ya: Yea, how about a bag of it? (Gesturing a shoebox-size bag)
GC: ...........
TBs: (giggle giggle)
Young male manager (YMM): (blah blah blah I couldn't understand)
Ya: I don't understand.
YMM: You want ice right?
Ya: Da.
YMM: What for?
Ya: (Oh shit, this is not going to fly, but better be honest)...um...for a party.
TBs: (giggle giggle)
YMM: Oh ok, this is what we'll do (pulls out 3 plastic bags and goes to fill them up with ice.
Ya: Just two bags is fine.
TBs: (giggle giggle)
YMM: (Triple layers the big bag of ice) (blah blah blah I couldn't understand)
Ya: (smiles and nods) Free, right?
YMM: Yeah, yeah (blah blah blah).
Ya: Big thanks.

I was surprised by how nice and helpful they were and how fun the little adventure was. Sometimes I do heart Russians. McDonald's helped.
Promises of alcohol aside, it seemed like no one wanted to come, I thought the get-together would be a bust. I thought Yuri would be disappointed. I thought he never liked me anyway; I'm not cool/gay enough. I shall never doubt Yuri again. I shall love him for all eternity...
As Stephen, Alina and I sat in front of the big (for Russians) flat screen TV, making fun of bad Russian boyband wannabes, Yuri appeared with glasses of beautifully made Mojito, a favorite of the late E. Hemingway. Ground mint leaves and sugar crystals lined the bottom while crushed ice bathed in Bacardi and lemon syrup. Yuri introduced us to the art of Mojito making, and people thought I just might hack it as a bartender. The drinks soon turned into Tejito (with Tequila after Bacardi ran out) and maybe Rusjito--do the math--but I already stopped caring. I loved contemplating trifles while UI: why Moscow doesn't have aircraft landing restrictions as tough as London; how can a single turboprop have enough thrust for a luxury 4-seater; how each glass of -jito had its own history, each slice of lime and lemon a palimpsest of refreshing imbibement already spinning my mind. Yuri is arguably the most awesome host ever, always dishing out the best stuff with a healthy dash of gaiety...aged Tequila, French cheese, red caviar, white mushrooms, French wine-flavored hookah(!!). Radio blasting, cigarettes lit (Stephen had to see my smoke rings, but I promise those two puffs were my first and last), we enjoyed ourselves in a way only Yuri can deliver, and his camera captured all the madness. As for the experiment, I still remembered almost every moment, however surreal. Second round: More -jitos next time.