My job was keeping count of visitors so we wouldn't exceed the Fire Marshall's limit of 66 people in our eensie little building across from Sutter's Fort. The day was so cold and wet that once people got in, they were reluctant to leave, so some people waited as long as a half hour to get in. However many people I could let in the front door was directly dependant on how many people just left through the back door (I recieved the number via a little walkie talkie).
At one point there was a sweet little Russian Family of seven waiting in the foyer. I mustered up what few words of Russian I speak to address them as follows: "Seven people, please?", or rather, "Vo-seam Che-lo-vekki, pa-shal-sta" . I sounded a head waiter. The Russian family was so tickled to hear me speak some Russian, of course they were all smiles. So was I - until they relased a happy bombardment of Russian at me. EEEEK! "Yah nee ga-va-ree-u Pa-roo-ski!", i.e., 'I don't speak Russian!' I must learn to say, 'My vocabulary sucks!'
