New Russian Chronicles
Surviving monotaxocausofilia

The Turk, the Slovak girls and a scream that froze my blood

Ok, so I had promised this story long ago and finally I’m going to go ahead and tell it.

Guess who’s coming to dinner

During my first year in Russia I had different next door neighbors. It was inevitable, since it was a dorm with a high turnover. One day I had some Italian kids, another day I had a mixture of Basque, Italian and Slovenian, and one day I ended up having a crazy italian drug dealer as next door neighbor. But that’s a story for another day.

One month I had four extremely pretty Slovak girls as my next door neighbors. They were nice, we got along well, they did a lot of party. One of them claimed to be a lyrical singer, and my girlfriend at the time and I, one night we were very drunk, totally asked her to sing. We joked about that episode for years afterwards, so bullshity her singing was.
Also, one of them had a mobile phone that could take pictures. And she had used it to take pictures of her daughter. Yeah she had a kid, and her marriage was kind of particular. And she was showing me those pictures when, to my great surprise…

No wait, that’s not the story I wanted to tell. Let’s just say, since I do not want to tell that story, that If you have different kinds of pictures in your mobile phone, please organize them in different dossiers. Specially if you don’t want me to see them. (Though maybe that was the point?).

Anyway, back to the Slovak girls.

People’s friendship

Essentially, when they arrived, it took them something between 357 and 4590 Planck intervals to find themselves a boy to pass time with for the month. “People’s friendship” we used to call it, but that’s for another post.

One of the girls found herself a Turk. I knew the guy, he was a really nice guy. He had, and I kid you not, literally saved the finger of my then girlfriend from amputation. I promise. You don’t make up that shit.

And so, they merrily enjoyed their time in Russia, both during the day and during the night.

When you stare at the mosh pit…

Ok, the mess hall. The mess hall in my students’ dorm in Russia was really something. It was dirt cheap and the swings in quality of the food were awesome to see (but not to taste). You could go from fantastic, rock hard pelmeny one day to fish coated in sand. I freaking mean it. You know how things are coated in breadcrumbs? Imagine you do that with sand you took at a construction site. I’ve eaten that. Yes.
Not to mention the cockroaches. Did you know that Russian cockroaches are blond, not black? Of course, they are Russian. How often did we…

All passengers please disembark from this train of thought!

But the really cool thing about the mess hall is that every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday the tables were put aside and it became a… how could I call it? A pub? A discotheque? A clearing house for sex and debauchery?
No, I think the best term is… a Cathedral of Techno Hardcore Trance.

Come on, listen to it. Revel in it. Click here.

Striding confidently past the gates of hell

That night I had decided to temper the steel of my heavy metal heart on the searing flames of that temple of abominable techno. Black t-shirt, cowboy boots… and down I went.

I entered the venue and took a face. The regularse where there. Ravers flailing their arms and legs wildly to the primal rythms of bad quality russian techno. In the sides, lined with chairs, people drinking, resting their legs, making conversation above the extremely loud music.
Ok, let’s make a pause here. How did people have conversation there?
I always imagined that it was something like this:

-HEY, DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?
-FROM HUNGARY, AND YOU?
-YEAH, I’M ON THE FOURTH FLOOR
-WELL, I GO BACK HOME IN MARCH

On one corner, I spot the Slovak and the Turk, passionately making out. My mind briefly registers their location and moves on. The night was long.

Love… bites.

Not 30 seconds later, in the middle of the throng and bathed in sound waves, I heard it. An almost inhuman scream coming from deep within someone’s lungs. To this day I remain utterly convinced that THAT is how it sounds, when someone is being stabbed to death. It is a scream that will haunt my nights forever, soundtrack perennely scorched somewhere among my neurons…

My first reaction was to look around. I was sure someone had been stabbed in the gut, and you know what? Knowing that place I lived in, it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least.

And then I saw the girl, still sitting, looking vaguely shocked and very drunk. But where was the Turk?
He was on the floor, holding his neck, bleeding and screaming like a madman.

The poor guy probably thought he was going to get a love bite, and he was cool with that. Little did he know he was going to get a critical hit by a very, very drunk girl, who didn’t judge correctly the strength applied to the bite. She had excellent teeth too.

Moral of the story: If you drink… don’t bite. That guy did lose a lot of blood.

And you know what surprised me most? The nurse of the dorm. I have never, ever seen anyone so inured.

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2 comentarios to “The Turk, the Slovak girls and a scream that froze my blood”

  1. Oh my God. I love this this type of awkward stories. Tu t’es surpassé Pabloooo

  2. awkward situation and odd story 😀


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