This story comes from an Italian who’s spent a lot of time in Russia.
My friend, a successful businessman, was 50 years old at the time of the story. He manages a bank branch with over a thousand employees. But as competent and confident as he is in business, he’s weak with women – particularly young Russian women.
Since I was 25 years younger and I’m good with women, he took me with him to find his 20-year-old princess. His strategy was to search the Russian bride sites where 18-year-old half-naked girls look for a foreign man between 18 and 70, claiming they are family-oriented and love to cook and clean. He would spend thousands of dollars on these sites and I had to write the emails for him. All this time he believed he was their savior from their alcoholic men.
He got hooked on one girl from one of the saddest and most depressing cities in Russia. So we embarked on a trip to the country of vodka and pretty women. We arrived in eastern Russia and, at the airport, we had our first surprise – the hot blonde in the photos turned out to be a mediocre brunette that suddenly didn’t speak English and brought a translator for $20 an hour.
My friend actually believed that she was in love with him, and that she showed him a different picture because she was worried he wouldn’t find her attractive. I was clearly pissed off. But my friend sided with the girl and her translator, and told me to mind my manners. Since he was the one paying for the trip, I shut up. But the tone was set.
We went to overpriced restaurants out of town far from anyone that might know the girls. We paid too much for cabs. We heard things like, ‘It’s tradition for the man to buy a gift for the girl on the first date, lets go shopping!’ He believed her when she said she was a good girl and her parents wouldn’t allow her to go to a club with us, or spend the night with my buddy. A $500 shopping spree was not against her principles however.
This went on for about a week at $20 an hour until even all the vodka I drank every night couldn’t keep me calm anymore. I lost control and screamed at the two scamming bitches that I had enough of them sucking every penny out of my friend’s pockets.
Totally shocked by my behavior, the translator and the girl told my friend they wouldn’t see him anymore if I was with him. I was tired of sitting at dorky restaurants and having walks in the park anyway, so I agreed and went my own way. My friend asked me to please understand because she was the love of his life. He decided this after one week, even though she was clearly not the girl in the pictures nor the one writing the letters.
Happy to be liberated, I spent my week in a different town where I knew people. I was drinking and picking up different girls every night with friends until I got a disturbing phone call.
“I bought her a car,” he told me. “She lives 2 hours away from the city and nearly got raped the last time she took the bus.” He asked what else he could have done. I replied, “Anything except buy a whore a $20,000 car!”
I shook off the hangover from the previous night. I couldn’t let this go unpunished even though my friend had been a complete donkey. I went back with my Russian friends and told my other friend not to say a word to the leeches about me. I waited for my friend to meet up with the love of his life, and I wrote down the license plate number for her new car. You can get anything you need from Russian police – for a little money. In the 90s they would even murder.
For 50 bucks a cop got me an address. Unsurprisingly the girl had given my friend a bogus name. A buddy and I hid near her house and waited. The car pulled up after some time and, to our surprise, a huge Russian dude was driving. The girl and he happily carried groceries to their apartment. My friend just bought a Russian dude a car. She was living 5 minutes from the center, probably married to the guy, and never took a bus in her life. I took pictures.
My friend lost it. I told him to tell her he had to leave on business and keep quiet. I’d handle it while he went to Moscow. I waited a week, which was boring since I couldn’t show my face around town. I found some friends who wanted to make a $1,000. We waited until after dark several nights and, finally, one day she didn’t park the car in the supervised garage as she had been most days.
We soaked the car in gasoline, especially the wheels which make sure the fire keeps going once lit. We didn’t stick around to see the fireworks but her call to my friend implied we did a good job. She was suddenly fluent in English and cried about why this happened to her. She never suspected the naive foreigners.
I told my friend we should celebrate back in Moscow. He replied that he met a girl and invited her to a resort in Egypt, and he’d see me back home. Some people never learn …
A member on the Expat Chronicles Forum recently received some triflin’ emails from a Colombiana asking for money. He’s planning to teach her a lesson. Follow that story.
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