The Russian

"The Stadium of Fire....and Rage."

Shortly after graduating college, I picked up on a job as a Field Engineer for a power company.  It was an exciting time of my life.  I had large amounts of time at my disposal, and I no longer had any grave horrific threats of failing an exam in the near future.  I was finally free to explore life away from the horrible clutches of school. 

It was at this time when I was told I would be getting a company vehicle, so I went ahead and sold my Suzuki Grand Vitara that was slowly dying.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t a company car immediately available for me.  My boss regretfully informed me I would need to purchase one.  I had very little money, certainly not enough to purchase a reliable car, and all the banks and loan officers at dealerships laughed at me.  I somehow persuaded my boss to authorize a rental car for 2 weeks while I went car shopping.  I got a simple sedan, but as I went to pick it up at Salt Lake International Airport, a sporty bright red G6 was recently returned.  The guy at Hertz casually asked me if I wanted the red one, and I agreed in a flash.  I had never had a sporty car before, nor had I ever driven one.  I’m not someone who expresses their ego by the car they drive, but I enjoyed having the obscene horsepower at my disposal. 

It was around this time when I started reentering the social life after going so long without the ability to be social due to the ridiculous demands of 18 credits of upper division engineering courses those last two semesters.  I met a girl we’ll refer to as Natasha at a church picnic in Salt Lake City.  She was cute, a little shy, but played a mean game of Frisbee.  I offered her a ride home, and she accepted.  I took full advantage of testing out the acceleration and turning capabilities of the G6.  We had fun, and I asked her out on a date.  For some reason, some scheduling conflict forced us to push back our date for another time.  At this time my cousin was able to obtain an extra pair of tickets to the Stadium of Fire, featuring the Blue Man Group.  Tickets were sold out minutes after being open, and were already being sold on Craigslist for obscene amounts of currency.  My cousin suggested I take Natasha and we’d go as a double date to the concert.  Score! 

However, good things had to come to an end with the G6, and my rental expired.  I returned it, and after not being able to find a suitable car in the meantime, I purchased my cousins “hand-me-down” 1987 Honda Accord that had over 300,000 miles on it.  It ran alright, but looked pretty hammered and beat up.  The speedometer didn’t work, nor did the AC or power windows, and the hood of the car was being held down by an elastic cord.  I picked up my cousin and his date in town, and went to pick up Natasha.  At this point I was informed that our ticket into the stadium involved some sort of cooperate promotion and we had to wear matching T-shirts.  Free T-shirt, and free concert ticket.  What’s not to like?!  When I asked more questions, it sounded like we also needed to sit in some specific location of the stadium along with others in the same group.  Oh well.

I soon greeted Natasha and her “family” out near Foothill Drive in Salt Lake.  Natasha is from a Russian background, and was staying at another family’s home during her stay in Utah.  As I gave her the details about the T-shirt, she didn’t seem all that thrilled, but accepted the shirt without question.  Then she saw my car.  Her mood changed instantly to ice cold.  A few times she appeared downright angry. 

Conversations with Natasha at this point became impossible.  Between my attempts to talk to her, and my cousin’s date trying to get a dialogue going, Natasha would either ignore us, or fire off a single word answer.  The drive down to the stadium in Provo was awkward as the alignment of the Honda oscillated the passengers side to side gradually.  We arrived a little later than planned due to traffic and other delays, so we were forced to park several blocks away.  When we eventually got to the stadium, there were a few different lines.  People with our colored T-shirts were instructed to remain in the longest line.  For there we waited for what felt to be hours.  My cousin and his date were a pleasure to be around, but Natasha remained ice cold and unwilling to converse.  Eventually we could hear the concert start, and we were still about a hundred yards from the stadium in a line that wasn’t moving!  A squad of F-18’s buzzed the stadium as the crowd roared in applause.  I was excited to see them along with everyone else, but Natasha suddenly became vocal in expressing her anger that the concert was starting without us in the stands.  It was out of our control, and I accepted this as part of the cost of free tickets.  In about 15 minutes, we were finally able to snake our way into the stadium where we took up our seats out in the field.  I thought it was neat being that close to the performers, but Natasha was under the impression we’d be in the stands, and grumpily stated her annoyance of this fact as well.

As the performers continued, the quality of music increased, and so did the energy of the stadium.  People were cheering, laughing, jumping, and having a great time.  All except Natasha.  She sat down avoiding eye contact, and refusing to acknowledge my presence entirely.  During one moment of dancing, I bumped into her slightly.  Natasha erupted, “STOP TOUCHING ME!”  I backed off and gave her considerable room.  Had this been a more quite setting, that would have been extremely awkward, but luckily I’m not sure many people around could have heard her outburst.  I tried my best to find out what was pissing her off so much, and asked her if she wanted to leave or whatever.  She responded in her typical icy silence and eye contact avoidance.  That was the last straw.  I had it.  I was tired of trying to cater to someone whose intent was to sabotage such a concert.  I ignored Natasha for the remainder of the concert, and escorted her to the car to drive her home.

Traffic was awful while trying to depart Provo.  We were creeping along at a walking pace while my cousin and his date were excitedly talking to each other in the back seat.  Natasha sat up front with her arms folded, silently looking off into the darkness.  Then without warning, Natasha erupted, “PULL OVER!  PULL THE CAR OVER!”  I thought there was an emergency, and I got slightly anxious that I couldn’t immediately due to the density of traffic.  I asked what was wrong, and she replied, “PULL OVER NOW!  LET ME OUT!”  I did so when traffic permitted, and she instantly jumped out of the car and started hastily walking away on the sidewalk.  Luckily traffic was moving slowly, so I could follow her and tried to coax her back in the car.  Even my cousin’s date was saying, “Come on honey, just get in the car please?  It’s dark and cold outside.”  Natasha shouted, “LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” 

At this point I was through playing games.  I pulled over in front of her and urged her to get in the car, because I wasn’t going to be responsible for her walking alone ALL the way back to Salt Lake City, almost an hour’s drive away in the middle of the night!  It was downright dangerous and stupid.  Natasha shouted at me again, “LEAVE ME ALONE, AND DON’T FOLLOW ME!  I’LL BE FINE! GO AWAY!”  Then walked around the car, and off into a random parking lot away from the road we were on.  With cars starting to honk behind me, and my two other passengers in the back obviously distraught, I had no other choice but to keep going in traffic. 

It was a first for me, abandoning my date on some random road dozens of miles from her house, late at night.  I didn’t know what to do.  Every effort to get Natasha in my car was met with hostility.  I kept driving.  It was silent in my car for several miles.  Words couldn’t describe just how awkward and confused I felt, as well as my two passengers.  Out of the blue, my cousin’s date exclaimed, “WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU DO TO THAT POOR GIRL!!?”  To this I had no response.  I just stammered a bit, and shook my head.  I might have started laughing a bit because my brain was still in denial that something that absurd actually happened in real life. 

Natasha never answered my texts after that night, which was somewhat concerning since the contents were just for confirmation that she got home safe.  Thankfully a few days later, I saw her hanging out with some of the same people I originally met her through.  I could finally relax a little, but still the question remained in my head, what on Earth happened that night?  The solution was explained to me a while later when talking to someone who had been Natasha’s roommate in the past.

I explained the events of that evening in detail, including her hasty departure to her old roommate.  When this girl heard that part, she casually said, “Oh, she did?  Well, that makes sense.”  My jaw dropped.  “How?  How does that make any sense?”  The girl then described the culture that her and her family was raised in.  They didn’t have a lot of money, but it was of the utmost importance that people within the community think that they had a lot of money.  She told me about how Natasha’s mother who was making minimum wage and working part time, would still wear expensive fur clothing, and would have her nails done professionally for several hundred dollars every few weeks.  “It is all about the appearance of wealth, even if you have none.”  

It made sense.  Her attraction to me with the fancy red G6 sports car, and then the frugal date with free tickets and me driving a beater of a sedan with 300,000 miles on it.  Natasha couldn’t allow her friends to see her being dropped off in such a vehicle, and would much rather walk dozens of miles at night to avoid being seen a moment more in such a shabby appearance.

Some people I’ll never be able to understand.  Glad I dodged a bullet on that one.  An awkward date is a small price to pay to avoid that garbage.  Plus, it makes for a fun story to tell.