Last night I had dinner in a Russian restaurant.
The waiter was from Eastern Europe but definitely not from Russia. I thought Romania or Bulgaria.
At the end of the evening I decided to ask him: “Excuse me, but are you by any chance from Romania?” You cannot live on fantasy alone.
He smiled and he answered: “Oh no, but I know the Romanian revolution. Beautiful revolution. I’m from Poland. Are you from Romania?” I was flabbergasted and I hailed a cab.
Perhaps in this restaurant the question “are you from Romania?” was a secret code for “do you do contract killing?” And the answer meant: “I do roughen up people for money, but I don’t do the actual killing.”