Got milk?

Well, you're really fucked now. You're out of milk and have to go to the store to get some. It's only two blocks away, but it means you have to go out THERE. Into Beautiful Romania.

First, grab your money, and make sure you have a handful of change. Second, put on your hiking boots. Get your pepper-spray and your gun. Put one in the chamber and leave the safety off. Bring your passport and ID card. Now you're ready to go get milk.

You need your hiking boots for the sidewalks, or should I say, what's left of the sidewalks. In Romania, people park and even drive on the sidewalks. Of course this destroys the sidewalks, leaving areas of broken concrete and mud. Why do they park on the sidewalks? Any city dweller knows that parking is always a problem. One of the things a normal person asks himself when buying a car is "Where will I park it?" In Romanian the answer is simple. Park anywhere you damn well please. After all, fuck your neighbors, fuck the pedestrians, fuck everyone. "I have a car. I am a big man now. I will park where I please and you can walk in the fucking street."

This is why you wore your boots.

So you're on your way to the store now, ankle deep in mud. The place is littered with garbage as usual and you notice a more than usual amount of dogshit. That's because in Romania, there are stray dogs all over the place. The government makes a half-assed attempt to control the population of stray and feral dogs, but they can't compete against the Romanian's effort to keep them alive. I know a guy whose pregnant wife was attacked by a stray dog on her way home from a shop. The dog only bit her a couple of times, but being nine months pregnant, the attack shook her up pretty bad. I asked the guy what did he do about it and he didn't get the question. I asked "What did you do to the dog?" and he said "Nothing, it's a dog, it's harmless." Way to go, buddy. 

Anyway, that's what the pepper-spray is for...

So when you get to the shop, you find your milk. You take it to the counter and pay for it. The woman working the counter will not smile. She will not greet you. She will roll her eyes and huff at your appearance. She will become even more perturbed when she realizes you are a foreigner. She will appear downright bitchy  if you tell her you don't have the correct change. If you don't have change, instead of giving you change (even though her till is full of coins) she will give you some gum or something to make up the difference. She will NOT, under any circumstances place the money in your hand. It's a cultural thing. 

"Thank you for shopping with us! Have a nice day!"

Now you're ordeal is almost over with. You have your milk and are on the way home. Except, standing on the corner are a group of young, Romanian males. In Romania, instead of basketball or street hockey, one of the main pastimes of young Romanians is to stand on the street and insult the people who pass by. They will insult you for being old, young, short, tall, poor, rich..whatever. They seem to get a lot of amusement out of this. Don't object, because they will kick your ass. In Romania, assault is a petty crime with no real consequence. I have a friend who was going into his building and saw a bunch of guys standing in the foyer, throwing trash and cigarette butts on the ground. He told them they should have more respect for their building. As he turned to walk up the stairs, one of them hit him in the back of the head with a brick and when he went down, the other guys started kicking him. He was hospitalized and filed a police report. The police told him he was stupid for confronting them and that they were "just boys being boys." Firearms are "illegal" in Romania (unless you are the police, a government official, or very rich.) They are also pretty rare. Romanians are afraid of guns. In the U.S., I would never brandish a weapon to scare someone, but I've had to do it twice here.

"Where you going with that milk?"

So, you finally made it home, unscathed, mission accomplished. Wait, you forgot to get cigarettes...fuck.