Diplomat

A number of us Americans were attending an important event in Russia. As diplomats, we rode in a limousine to the hotel where the affair was to take place. A slim faced older gentleman with wavy gray hair and watery, ocean blue eyes offered me, and only me, a drink while three of us sat in the backseat. For some reason, he picked me out as the most important person there.

I was hesitant to take the drink thinking it might be poisoned. After all, these were Russians! Nevertheless, I drank the mixture of water, and what I thought was vinegar, so I would not hurt their feelings. I smiled showing my gratitude. It would help prove that I trusted them.

When we arrived at the hotel lobby, where many others had already gathered, us foreigners were given long green robes to wear. They reminded me of the silly church robes the choir members wore at Powder River Congregational in Broadus, Montana. A couple of bellboys ran around checking the tags in the collars of the robes. That enabled them to determine a person’s status by checking the tags. (Either that or they were making sure we each had the correct size and/or the robe assigned to us.)

The tables were laden with exotic foods, offered buffet-style, for everyone to enjoy. Oddly, several people insisted on serving me, suggesting that I was someone special. I thought they must have had me confused with someone else; but no one else was waited on. Several attractive young women walked through the line with me showing me how they served and ate their traditional dishes. I enjoyed the extra attention, but also felt guilty being the solitary recipient of the special treatment.

The crowd began to quiet down as they sat at long tables covered with white tablecloths, their plates full of food. A dramatic event was about to take place.