My first human contact with the
Fellowship group was with the main administrative coordinator,
Jennifer. She was an Americanized Russian girl who had came to the
States long enough ago to speak both fluent Russian and English, both
without accents. She greeted me in the lounge that the Fellowship
had set aside. “How are you?” she asked.
“I'm good,” I said shaking her hand. “And yourself?”
“Good. This is the lounge area,” she said, pointing into the room, “where tomorrow you'll wait for the interview and the language test. And over here is the dining room, where you'll meet the people who will interview tomorrow. We'll have dinner at 6:30.”
“Excellent,” I said back. “Then I can catch up on a little sleep. What should we wear dressing-wise? Is this okay?” I pointed to my own clothes: a brown button-up shirt tucked into blue jeans and hiking boots. A bit like a President Bush at Camp David.
“Something more formal,” she said. “You should wear your suit.”
“Ah,” I said. A suit. I didn't have a suit. I had been in Peace Corps in Georgia, where I didn't wear a suit for my entire two years - except twice to meet Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton - and then I had been traveling for five months, when it would be a bit impractical to carry around a suit. I could have bought a suit in Ukraine, but of course, without knowing if I would have received the Fellowship or not, it would have been a bit wasteful to have bought a suit. So I made due with what I had. “How about slacks and a dress shirt?”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes lowering a bit.
This might be a problem, I thought to myself. When I went up to my room, I unpacked my clothes. It was time to get to ironing. I ironed out the dress shirt that I had brought and then looked around for my tie. I apparently had left my only tie back in Ukraine. This might be a real problem, I thought to myself again. I didn't even bring a tie. I did bring a vest, so hopefully that might do. The vest and shirt looked nice enough together. I'd go to the dinner with only the dress shirt and go to the interview in the vest. Maybe they wouldn't notice I didn't come in a suit and tie. Anyways, how shallow could they be? They knew I was flying in from Kiev, they knew that I was in the Peace Corps and they knew that I was on the road. It would be ridiculous to judge me from my dress. Anyways, I hadn't yet seen how everyone else was dressed.
I got down to the dinner – a supposedly “informal” affair of meeting the interviewers – I saw that everyone was dressed for success. All the other men were in suits and ties – if not suits, at least sport coats. Some of the interviewers had sports coats without ties. I'd always been used to taking off my jacket for dinner, but everyone remained wearing their jackets. I wasn't in Texas or Colorado anymore; those were the last two places I had a job where I needed to wear suits on a somewhat regular basis. I did my best to schmooze, despite my current disposition.
On my right, was a giant of a man, who seemed to be the type that didn't care about suits. He himself was only dressed in a sports coat, with a blue button-up undone to reveal a white shirt. “The name's Gary,” he said, introducing himself. Gary was of the talkative sort, and easily reminded me of any number of Texan businessmen. “I work with the consulting and lobbying with the Kurds these days,” he told me. He advised the Kurdish government on different practices on logistics and legalities. It was the kind of job I dreamed about doing. “One time,” he told me, sipping on his Coca-cola while I sipped on a glass of dry red wine, “we got this payment from the US government. 2.8 billion dollars. Do you know how much money that is in cash? In one hundred dollar bills, that fills up just about this entire room. Anyways, first, we had to figure out how to transport this cash to the Kurdish government. And then they had to figure out how to use it. They paid for everything in cash. There aren't any banks around there to store it either. So we kept it in this warehouse, covered with security. I wanted them to take it out of there and invest it somewhere. Think how much interest you could get from 2.8 billion dollars! But then there was the pure logistical problem of getting a helicopter full of cash out of there. Can you imagine?”
He had other stories to tell as well, which he told when our steak dinners were brought out and placed before us on the table. “Once, there was this party that we were holding. Just the problem was, they guy wanted me to throw this party even without having anything of his own. No chairs, tables, nothing. So we quickly called some Turkish companies – we couldn't go through Iran or Syria – and had them come in with big truck loads of party gear. The Turks have a surprisingly good relationship with the Kurds in Iraq. It's just the Kurds in Turkey that they have a problem with.”
The evening past further with Gary's stories, as well as the stories from the girl to my left, who had other stories that weren't so wild of a nature. “Gary loves to tell his stories,” she said, almost as if she was a little jealous about them.
After the dinner, I went out to meet up with Jose. He was at an Orient mixer, a mixer for the Asian people in New York and for those people who are interested in Asian people and their culture. As most of Jose's girlfriends in the recent past have been Asian, it was clear why he was there. He was clearly a fan. Also on schedule to come was Joseph, the lawyer who was backing Jose in the book affair.
“Is Joseph here yet?” I asked Victor as we sipped on our wines. I decided to stick to wine after I saw the lineup of beers offered at the posh New York bar: Budweiser, Coors and, for the truly beer snob in all of us, Heineken, all at a minimum price tag of 8 dollars. “Red wine,” I told the blonde-haired waitress who was taking my order. Just before she left I asked, “Where are you from? You've an accent and a look about you.”
“I'm from Poland,” she said.
“I almost guessed Ukrainian. I live in Ukraine, right now, actually,” I told her. “I haven't been to Poland yet, though I'd like to.”
“Really? What are you doing in Ukraine?”
“I don't really know. I was in the Peace Corps in Georgia and then I took to traveling around Europe. I like Ukraine for now, it seems a good place to practice my Russian without having to go through a crazy visa regime.” Lots of Americans were in Ukraine because they wanted to study Russian culture but the Russian government wasn't too fond of having American visitors. It meant they'd come to Ukraine. It was good for Ukraine, as all these Americans would come away from Ukraine loving their country all the more, and soon Ukrainians would be able to travel abroad and hear a “Jak spravoe?” instead of a “Kak dela?” when people found out they were from Ukraine. As Russia closed itself off to the world and acted all mighty, they became more insignificant, and would make their former “colonies” all the greater and more independent – undoubtedly the opposite effect they had intended. It is an example that the United States should keep in mind. All these countries are open to America now, but how much longer can they remain open as the US treats their citizens like criminals and terrorists?
“I'm good,” I said shaking her hand. “And yourself?”
“Good. This is the lounge area,” she said, pointing into the room, “where tomorrow you'll wait for the interview and the language test. And over here is the dining room, where you'll meet the people who will interview tomorrow. We'll have dinner at 6:30.”
“Excellent,” I said back. “Then I can catch up on a little sleep. What should we wear dressing-wise? Is this okay?” I pointed to my own clothes: a brown button-up shirt tucked into blue jeans and hiking boots. A bit like a President Bush at Camp David.
“Something more formal,” she said. “You should wear your suit.”
“Ah,” I said. A suit. I didn't have a suit. I had been in Peace Corps in Georgia, where I didn't wear a suit for my entire two years - except twice to meet Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton - and then I had been traveling for five months, when it would be a bit impractical to carry around a suit. I could have bought a suit in Ukraine, but of course, without knowing if I would have received the Fellowship or not, it would have been a bit wasteful to have bought a suit. So I made due with what I had. “How about slacks and a dress shirt?”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes lowering a bit.
This might be a problem, I thought to myself. When I went up to my room, I unpacked my clothes. It was time to get to ironing. I ironed out the dress shirt that I had brought and then looked around for my tie. I apparently had left my only tie back in Ukraine. This might be a real problem, I thought to myself again. I didn't even bring a tie. I did bring a vest, so hopefully that might do. The vest and shirt looked nice enough together. I'd go to the dinner with only the dress shirt and go to the interview in the vest. Maybe they wouldn't notice I didn't come in a suit and tie. Anyways, how shallow could they be? They knew I was flying in from Kiev, they knew that I was in the Peace Corps and they knew that I was on the road. It would be ridiculous to judge me from my dress. Anyways, I hadn't yet seen how everyone else was dressed.
I got down to the dinner – a supposedly “informal” affair of meeting the interviewers – I saw that everyone was dressed for success. All the other men were in suits and ties – if not suits, at least sport coats. Some of the interviewers had sports coats without ties. I'd always been used to taking off my jacket for dinner, but everyone remained wearing their jackets. I wasn't in Texas or Colorado anymore; those were the last two places I had a job where I needed to wear suits on a somewhat regular basis. I did my best to schmooze, despite my current disposition.
On my right, was a giant of a man, who seemed to be the type that didn't care about suits. He himself was only dressed in a sports coat, with a blue button-up undone to reveal a white shirt. “The name's Gary,” he said, introducing himself. Gary was of the talkative sort, and easily reminded me of any number of Texan businessmen. “I work with the consulting and lobbying with the Kurds these days,” he told me. He advised the Kurdish government on different practices on logistics and legalities. It was the kind of job I dreamed about doing. “One time,” he told me, sipping on his Coca-cola while I sipped on a glass of dry red wine, “we got this payment from the US government. 2.8 billion dollars. Do you know how much money that is in cash? In one hundred dollar bills, that fills up just about this entire room. Anyways, first, we had to figure out how to transport this cash to the Kurdish government. And then they had to figure out how to use it. They paid for everything in cash. There aren't any banks around there to store it either. So we kept it in this warehouse, covered with security. I wanted them to take it out of there and invest it somewhere. Think how much interest you could get from 2.8 billion dollars! But then there was the pure logistical problem of getting a helicopter full of cash out of there. Can you imagine?”
He had other stories to tell as well, which he told when our steak dinners were brought out and placed before us on the table. “Once, there was this party that we were holding. Just the problem was, they guy wanted me to throw this party even without having anything of his own. No chairs, tables, nothing. So we quickly called some Turkish companies – we couldn't go through Iran or Syria – and had them come in with big truck loads of party gear. The Turks have a surprisingly good relationship with the Kurds in Iraq. It's just the Kurds in Turkey that they have a problem with.”
The evening past further with Gary's stories, as well as the stories from the girl to my left, who had other stories that weren't so wild of a nature. “Gary loves to tell his stories,” she said, almost as if she was a little jealous about them.
After the dinner, I went out to meet up with Jose. He was at an Orient mixer, a mixer for the Asian people in New York and for those people who are interested in Asian people and their culture. As most of Jose's girlfriends in the recent past have been Asian, it was clear why he was there. He was clearly a fan. Also on schedule to come was Joseph, the lawyer who was backing Jose in the book affair.
“Is Joseph here yet?” I asked Victor as we sipped on our wines. I decided to stick to wine after I saw the lineup of beers offered at the posh New York bar: Budweiser, Coors and, for the truly beer snob in all of us, Heineken, all at a minimum price tag of 8 dollars. “Red wine,” I told the blonde-haired waitress who was taking my order. Just before she left I asked, “Where are you from? You've an accent and a look about you.”
“I'm from Poland,” she said.
“I almost guessed Ukrainian. I live in Ukraine, right now, actually,” I told her. “I haven't been to Poland yet, though I'd like to.”
“Really? What are you doing in Ukraine?”
“I don't really know. I was in the Peace Corps in Georgia and then I took to traveling around Europe. I like Ukraine for now, it seems a good place to practice my Russian without having to go through a crazy visa regime.” Lots of Americans were in Ukraine because they wanted to study Russian culture but the Russian government wasn't too fond of having American visitors. It meant they'd come to Ukraine. It was good for Ukraine, as all these Americans would come away from Ukraine loving their country all the more, and soon Ukrainians would be able to travel abroad and hear a “Jak spravoe?” instead of a “Kak dela?” when people found out they were from Ukraine. As Russia closed itself off to the world and acted all mighty, they became more insignificant, and would make their former “colonies” all the greater and more independent – undoubtedly the opposite effect they had intended. It is an example that the United States should keep in mind. All these countries are open to America now, but how much longer can they remain open as the US treats their citizens like criminals and terrorists?
Joseph was never able to make it that
evening. He had been busy with work the night before and had just
gotten home that night, as we were at the bar. He wanted some time
alone with his wife and his newborn, a perfectly understandable
position. But that meant, he wasn't there to hear our pitch, to have
me as the new writer on board the project. The pitch would have to
wait.
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