published in Eastern Economist #382, May 28, 2001
I barely managed to duck a flying “farched” tomato the other day, as I wandered towards the cafeteria entrance. Then a dollop of shuba slapped onto the wall behind me. There won’t be anything left of the appetizers today, I sighed, steeling myself for another food fight in the VR. Just then, Pan Charodeyev appeared in the doorway, all flustered and a dribble of mayonnaise trailing off his collar, looked left and right and shouted, “I’ll never let it happen!” Wondering if he meant getting his suit cleaned, I let the flustered and disheveled fellow pass and stepped into the dining hall. For a guy named “The Enchanter,” he most certainly did not have the touch. Sure enough, there was Stolichniy salad everywhere, the remains of at least five more tomatoes, and Kateryna Vashchuk standing next to the counter, paper in hand and cabbage shreds sprinkled all over her. “I have to present the Code,” she said, with only the slightest quiver in her lips, to Speaker Pliushch, who was stirring five spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee. (I know, I’ve counted them.) “It’s my job as part of the Agrarian Committee.” Pan Pliushch nodded sagely and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there for back-up. One way or t’other, we’ll get it through, dear.” It then dawned on me that this was a dress rehearsal for the Land Code debate. I supposed the idea was that, if Pani Vashchuk couldn’t handle a few shreds of cabbage, what would she do before a barrage of Communist rhetoric. Pan – oops, I mean Tovarish – Symonenko has made it perfectly clear that he considers a Land Code “unconstitutional” and against the interests of the “people.” What constitutes “unconstitutional” when Tov. Symonenko and his red buddies all refuse to pledge allegiance as elected representatives of the Ukrainian people is a question that has never been addressed. And after his recent alliance with the nation’s tycoons – oligarchs to most of us here – to oust the first premier who paid out pensions and teachers’ wages, it is clear, of course which “people” the communists are worried about. From what I understood as I looked over the appetizers, Pan Pliushch has his own secret weapon: the threat of article-by-article debate, something that could kibosh everyone’s plans for an early summer recess – including the communists. Fortunately, I saw, no one had dared to toss the pickled herring.
R2 D-tour
Accounting Chamber boss Valentyn Symonenko (no relation to that fearless supporter of oligarchs, Petro), apparently does more than handle mounds of financial data from dawn to dusk: he’s also a fair hand at handling mountains of the more rocky kind and was the lucky deputy to divulge that a Ukrainian team had made history in the Himalayas. Using a completely new route and climbing without canned oxygen, the Ukraine-Himalaya 2001 expedition to Manaslu conquered – “reached” to us pedestrians – a peak called R-2, which stands 6,521 meters or nearly 21,400 feet. Organized in honor of the 10th anniversary of independence, the team of four breathless men reached the peak and planted their zhovto-blakytniy or yellow-and-blue flag – not that anyone was there to notice, given that no humans have ever reached that peak before. But the best news is that the plan is to rename the peak to “Mount Ukraine.” Rumor has it that the team consisted of Serhiy Bubka, Andriy Shevchenko, Volodymyr Klitschko, and a retired runner called Valeriy Borzov. Way to go, guys!
Work to rule
When the new rules came out prohibiting the road warriors known as DAI in Ukraine from taking drivers’ permits, plates, money or phone-numbers on the spot, everyone hailed it as a breakthrough in the oppressive system of petty fines for petty violations on the nation’s roadways. So when we went for a brief excursion to L’viv this weekend, we were curious what would happen when our driver got stopped for speeding. Having previously bugged him for the purpose, we huddled over the miniature recorder and listened in on this illuminating conversation:
“So, buddy, you know you were speeding, don’t you.”
“Ha, ha, I guess I kinda was, wasn’t I?”
“Well, this is the bottom of a big hill with lots of bushes just at the edge of Village #43 on the road from Rivne to Kyiv and you know that if it’s a white board with black letters you’re only allowed–”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, 60 klicks. You guys are too clever for words, hiding just here.”
“Yes, we are, aren’t we? Well, a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. You were doing how much, would you say?”
“Oh, probably 110, 120.”
“I’d say that’s about right.”
“So?”
“So…”
There was the sound of some shuffling and scraping of gravel.
“So, I gotta write up a protocol for that, I gotta hand it in at my station tomorrow, and they gotta set up a court date for you. Then you gotta take your copy with you to the judge in Zhytomyr. The judge’s gonna fine you Hr 34-117, depending on his mood, you pay it on the spot – and that’s about it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
There was some more shuffling and scraping.
“By the way, I was reading about this special music camp for kids in Yevpatoria…”
There was the sound of a wallet unzipping and paper rustling.
“I thought you’d understand. Have a good day, sir. And don’t forget to drive safely!”
Our driver got back into the car: “Man, it’s just like the good old days, again. No points, no receipts, no big fines. Amazing what a ten hryvnia note can do.” •
–from the notebooks of Pan O
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