Volodya, the garage supervisor, just called me to offer me Mondays, besides Saturdays. Cool! Now I’ll get $400 more per month. Of course, Mondays are a major drag at the garage—cars galore. Buy what choice do I have? And I could drop $40-$50 on an ad for my business via Google. Incidentally, my receiving extra hours meant someone was deprived on them, or fired. And I know whom. But, you know, I honestly don’t care about this: no gloating, no sympathizing. Interesting, but while writing up to this point, my sense of happiness disappeared. In its place, a feeling of calm and self-confidence. Welcome to America! Everyone for himself. Shoot for the top and don’t look back. If I’m to conquer America I have to enlist in this system. You know, I think I’m changing.

[3/9/2007 9:15 PM, 2 months, 3 days in the U.S.]

I earned my first buck in the U.S. very simply—it was a tip I got working as a parking attendant in a garage. Actually my second, also, in that same garage, 15-20 minutes later. To tell you the truth, this all disappointed me, since I had really wanted to get my initial dollars in the U.S. for real work—for something that required my labor, with or without sweat.

And I was doing it! At that very moment, in that very same garage, when those, ground-breaking tips were thrust in my undeniably Slavic face, I was in the process of washing a car—a Jaguar, probably ‘78—for which I received $15. But only later; in fact several hours later, so my plans had been thwarted.

This was the first episode when events developed in America not according to my desired script. But definitely not the last: I won’t beat around the bush, for everything I had planned to do here while still on the other side of the Atlantic turned out to be unreal. So, back to the starting line: Whadayagonna do?—as the Brooklyn guys say. In general, I earned $102 that day–$29 from tips (minus $2 a client cheated me out of) and $75 as a salary for 12 hours of work.  Of course this was also a scam, since 12 hours at $6.50 per hour = $78. But this is America, baby! No cheating, no surviving! This is the way it is here. Fine, I like it here!

[2/25/2007 9:19 AM, 1 month, 19 days in the U.S.]

Sometimes it seems to me that this, in fact, was the reason for the joy I experienced on landing at New York City’s Kennedy Airport on January 6, 2007—I was on the ground. My flight took on added meaning owing to the fact that yet another time I quit the bottle, even turning down on board an offer of my beloved dry, red wine, something I regret to this day. But during my first days in the United States I had to do a lot of flying; actually on the following day, at 6 AM, I took a plane to the U.S. west coast, to Las Vegas.

[1/06/2007 10:00 PM, 1st day in the U.S.]