how the city becomes me

Rules are very important in Russian life, but the first rule of all is that one should never consistently either flout or follow them. So, for example, in the hotel where I'm staying, the rule is, you leave your key with the receptionist whenever you leave, and in return she gives you a card which you can later redeem in order to retrieve your key. However, no one checks if you've surrendered your key or not, and so it is possible to avoid doing so until, of course, you lose the key, in which case you are busted.

Thing is, if you observe the hotel's card/key system, while you'll never lose your key, you might very well lose your card, which is not a minor problem for someone with a shaky grasp of Russian and an irrational fear of being yelled at in a foreign language.

So yesterday, after class, I go to reception, open my wallet, and search for my card. No card. I rummage in my bag. Still no card. I upend my bag on the counter, ignoring receptionist's disapproving stare. No card! Oh no, I'll never get back into my room.

And what if someone has stolen my card, and redeemed it for my key, and is right now in my room salivating over how many roubles my passport will fetch in Odessa?

I put my bag together and run upstairs to the program office. "I have a problem," I announce on my way in the door. One of the program assistants comes with me downstairs -- her English is shaky but my Russian is worse -- and together we make our move on the receptionist. She explains the situation in Russian, and the receptionist says something long and complicated.

"What's your room number?" the assistant asks me.
"413," I tell her.

She translates to the receptionist, who does something on the computer and then releases another torrent of Russian.

"430, you said?"
"No," I say, "413. 4-1-3."

Again, the relay of information, the violent taps on the keyboard, the angry and peremptory restatement of failure. I am not in the system. I am asked to spell my name.

Now this presents a problem. GRECO is in the Latin alphabet. We need it in Cyrillic. I know how to write Cyrillic, but I don't know the names of all the characters. Words are so complicated!

I dig in my bag for a pen -- I'll just write it out. As I do, lo and behold, there is my key at the bottom of my bag. Which brings me to another problem -- if I pull out the key, voila, then the receptionist will know that I have not only wasted her time searching for the card, but also that I have broken the rule about leaving the hotel without depositing my key at her desk. To make things even worse, I see on my key that my room is number 414, not 413. Oh dear.

So just bite the bullet and produce the key: "Look! How silly." I offer profuse apologies. The clerk delivers the expected lecture about the rules, and the dire consequences of flouting them, but she's half-smiling, and it occurs to me that even though she's laughing at me, the fact of her merriment makes it all better -- there's a person behind the rule book and she thinks this is all just hysterical.

Not taking yourself too seriously -- this seems to be the Petersburg ethos. I can't say I mind it...