At the end of the 1990s I had to work in a company that was engaged in guarantee repair and maintenance of imported agricultural machinery, which was then straight to us. Foreign specialists were sent to perform these warranty works, well, and since most of them did not speak Russian, a translator was attached to each to ensure professional communication, and a light machine was provided.
This story happened when John and I were sent to the Tyumen region to confirm the guaranteed failure of one of the tractor nodes. Having done all the necessary work and overnight in Tyumen, we left home early in the morning.
At five in the morning, the traffic was still very sluggish and John, sitting behind the wheel, held clearly more than 60 km/h. During the conversation we did not notice the camera with the radar, and at the post we were already waiting.
It should be noted that the only long phrase in Russian that John was able to master at the time was "I eat English engineer."
From a distance we noticed the KPM post and a figure with a rod waiting specifically for us.
The young lieutenant boldly waved his rod and, approaching the driver’s door, quickly and diligently knocked out something weakly identifiable as his surname. John extended to him his international rights and, having mobilized all his linguistic abilities, immediately shot all his embrace from the "English Engineer", after which, considering his task fulfilled, fell out of further communication.
The lieutenant, being fully confident that the dialogue had begun, shouted, “Come on with me” – and headed to the post. John stood quietly on the spot, looking around.
In an attempt to fix the situation, I rushed out of the car and began to explain to the lieutenant that John does not speak Russian and I can help explain.
My appearance was perceived by the lieutenant as an unceremonious interference in his official duties and, in the tone of a film-like Mueller, he said harshly, “I will ask you to stay in the car!”
Oh yes? They don’t want us – not very much.
John is out!
He indicated the movement towards the car.
Unhappy John approached the lieutenant and outraged a lengthy phrase in English. In the silence that followed clearly sounded a click of the lower jaw of the lieutenant, fixed in an extreme position.
To his honor, he quickly recovered and tried to appeal to me:
What he said?
I gave myself a little revenge.
I was told to sit in the car, so do it without me!
No no no no no. Let us go through with us.
So is peace:
- Lieutenant, here is John's British passport, let the man sit in the car, he still does not understand Russian, and I am ready to go with you for explanation.
In the post room in front of the monitor, with a satisfied expression of the face, the captain stumbled on a chair. The lieutenant had something to say, but was stopped by a commanding hand.
The captain, not ceasing to shake, pointed to the monitor:
Their car?
The OUR.
And your speed?
The OUR.
Who is driving?
and John.
and UGU. We violate?
Well, it has done so.
The smile on the captain’s face became wider:
Do we write a protocol?
Let it go.
The captain nodded, stopped smiling and grumbling, pushed a form to fill out the protocol, entered his data and extended his hand to Lieutenant John’s driving license.
The lieutenant, feeling himself in my skin, began to find a taste in the situation too. He just handed the papers to the captain and moved so that he could not see his face.
Here it is necessary to explain for those who have never held in their hands international driving license. This is a book of 15 pages, and the first three pages are designed, if I remember correctly, for China, Japan and Korea, and are filled with crustaceans, respectively. The only page in Russian is somewhere 2nd or 3rd from the end.
What else is this?! to
The Driving Rights.
Where in Russian?
I went to the desired page:
Here is!
This is who?
and John. He was driving the car. Here is his passport. He is here on a trip.
The lieutenant already understood everything, and the captain couldn't turn off the autopilot and dumbly followed the learned algorithm:
Where is the license here?
They have no licenses.
How is it? Which city is it from?
- Well, here is a mark on issuing a passport in Birmingham.
So, we will write there.
Of course, let’s write. There may be problems with the Russian language.
The lieutenant, trying not to shrink, began to quietly slip over the wall.
The captain still on the machine took the pen over the blank, but then it came to him that he had to send the protocol to the county of West Midlands, Great Britain. The pause was somewhat delayed.
After a lengthy thoughtful effort, almost accepting the inevitable, the captain was already frightened and threw out the spoiled form, but then a saving thought came to his mind:
Do you want to make a protocol for you?
In the first moment, I accepted such an offer. In the how! The gentleman! The decision came immediately:
and easily. Without a problem. Write to.
The captain, breathing out relievedly, pushed a new form and began to fill it. I waited a moment and asked with the most innocent voice:
Is there anything I am wrong with?
How not? Where are they?
I never had them. I cannot drive.
The captain fell into a stupor and stopped navigating in space.
The lieutenant tried his best not to give sound signs of vital activity. And only a slight swallowing of a teaspoon in a glass on the table served as an indicator of his condition.
I stood and looked at the captain with devotion and readiness. The expression of his face was not expressed. Such a breakdown did not appear to have occurred in his life.
He smiled and threw out the second broken form and, looking at the side, with an indiscriminate irritation extended to me the documents of John:
and free. You can go.
and thanks. So we’ll go and I’ll give it to John so he doesn’t bother any more.
The captain led me out with such a glance that I almost started smoking.
It was definitely not his day.

P.S I had rights. I didn’t want to be divorced so cheaply.