For the first time I understood what foreigners thought of us when I was 13 years old. I went to the motorcycle salon with my uncle, and of course I wanted to take a photo on the protective bikes. The administrator girl was at first opposed, and after the uncle said that I am from Russia, she did not allow me to be photographed, she also gave a firm bandana, a bunch of calendars of lunches, candy and other things. It seemed offensive, but the gangster was offensive.