It starts like any good crime story would: four guys, sitting around a table, discussing which pop songs to adapt for their Christmas concert. Unlike K-pop, I have yet to become interested in Russian music, so you can imagine how very little I had to add to this conversation. I got bored, I went home. I thought that was the end of the excitement for the day, but it turns out I was just a hair's breadth away from being cuffed and incarcerated.
It wasn't long after I left the House of Culture that Mikhail, Sergei, and Artyom followed after me. September brought nothing but bone-chilling rain, but last week was бабье лето. The boys decided to enjoy what little remained of the nice fall weather by sitting in the park behind the HoC and enjoying a beer. As it turns out, this park is regularly cruised by cops looking to bust gopniks violating the open-container law. My three friends get nicked. I would totally have been right there.
This should have been the end of the story, which really wouldn't have been worth sharing. However, it's Ukraine, and nothing is rarely as simple as drink your beer in the park, go down to the station, pay your fine. When the boys arrived at the station, they were sat in a waiting area under supervision while an officer ran their documents. You see, the penalty is weighted by the repetition of the offence. Only by looking up citizens in the system by their passport numbers can the police know the difference between a first timer (off with a warning) or a third (257UAH).
Luckily for the guys, there had been a power outage, causing a system reboot: a system reboot which, for whatever reason, wasn't working so well. While waiting for an hour to be punished, Misha, Seryoja, and Tyoma sat around the waiting room under the heavy glare of area babushkas. Already busted for drinking on government property, they asked the cops if it was fine to finish up their beers, so as not to let it go to waste. They ended up spending the hour drinking with the policemen and debating the merits of the law. In the end, the system never did work (what system here ever does?), so my friends were released with no penalty and a good buzz. Justice done.
70% of me wishes I hadn't skipped out on the harrowing adventure. The other 30% regrets the irony that, while a first-hand account would have made for a better story, I would not have felt comfortable telling that story because all my bosses read this blog.
It wasn't long after I left the House of Culture that Mikhail, Sergei, and Artyom followed after me. September brought nothing but bone-chilling rain, but last week was бабье лето. The boys decided to enjoy what little remained of the nice fall weather by sitting in the park behind the HoC and enjoying a beer. As it turns out, this park is regularly cruised by cops looking to bust gopniks violating the open-container law. My three friends get nicked. I would totally have been right there.
This should have been the end of the story, which really wouldn't have been worth sharing. However, it's Ukraine, and nothing is rarely as simple as drink your beer in the park, go down to the station, pay your fine. When the boys arrived at the station, they were sat in a waiting area under supervision while an officer ran their documents. You see, the penalty is weighted by the repetition of the offence. Only by looking up citizens in the system by their passport numbers can the police know the difference between a first timer (off with a warning) or a third (257UAH).
Luckily for the guys, there had been a power outage, causing a system reboot: a system reboot which, for whatever reason, wasn't working so well. While waiting for an hour to be punished, Misha, Seryoja, and Tyoma sat around the waiting room under the heavy glare of area babushkas. Already busted for drinking on government property, they asked the cops if it was fine to finish up their beers, so as not to let it go to waste. They ended up spending the hour drinking with the policemen and debating the merits of the law. In the end, the system never did work (what system here ever does?), so my friends were released with no penalty and a good buzz. Justice done.
70% of me wishes I hadn't skipped out on the harrowing adventure. The other 30% regrets the irony that, while a first-hand account would have made for a better story, I would not have felt comfortable telling that story because all my bosses read this blog.
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