There are some rules that I never seem to understand. In Latvia, there are lots of little things like the four kinds of police officers; I never understand which ones can do what. When you go to McDonald’s in eastern or central Europe, you must wait until they are done with filling your order before you pay. Or that a line in a shop should always curl back on itself as to impede the progress of others in the line most efficiently. I can almost remember now that refills are full price. Just another crime committed against the people.
However, there is something important to remember that I never seem to. Cream in Rīga is not free. Huh? Yeah, I agree that is stupid. This seems especially hard when your best friend likes one finger of cream in the cup when you make her coffee. She is right, and usually is about such things. The idea of paying 1.85Ls (3.50usd) for coffee in the first place seems a bit tough to take if it is not a super-grande mochacino with real Nigerian fat-free, lactose-free, reduced-calcium goat milk and decaffeinated coffee beans from Juan Valdez’s personal garden roasted and ground by his grandmother. So when I forget how many creams and sugars I used, because it does not seem important in the grand scheme of things I should be flagellated. Maybe the risk of corporal punishment in the Latvian Republic is not as scary as the kiss I will receive when I answer the question “Skalka cream you using with my coffee?”
The proper response would make Elsie collapse from dehydration. However, I can get a “Szanks!” a kiss and a huge smile when I pull another four or five creams and sugars from my pocket. Hey I really did not expect to be charged for them. It is great when she puts three more creams in her coffee, then puts her feet up on me and says “One day you be my real Latvian boy.”
I know a real compliment when I hear it.
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