At least he was straightforward.

So I'm in Kievskaya Stantsia metro waiting for someone to go on a boat tour of Moscow. I'm early for a change, and I sit down on a bench. The young man (henceforth MCh) sitting next to me turns to me and says,

MCh: What time is it please?

I've been thinking in English all day and I'm not feeling very good, so I just take the lazy way out and hold up my watch so he can see the face. Note: It's 6:40. I'm meeting Ksenia at 7.

[Pause.]

MCh: Tell me, please, what metro is this?

Me: This one?

MCh: Yes.

Dude, are you serious? You're sitting here in a metro station that's well marked and where there are actually three connected stations all with the same name and you're asking me what its name is? I'm still processing kind of slowly and having none of this.

Me: I don't know.

[Pause.]

MCh: Where are you from?

Me: From America.

MCh: America?

Me: Yes.

[Pause.]

MCh: Do you have a morsh?

Me: A what?

MCh: A morsh, do you have a morsh?

Oh man, is my Russian really this bad? What the heck is a morsh?

Me: And what's that?

MCh: Morsh, morsh, morsh. You don't have a morsh?

He seems to think this is a really obvious word. Wait, is he saying muzh? Oh my, that's direct. I start laughing, which is the wrong thing to do. He probably thinks I'm flattered rather than flabbergasted.

Me: No, I don't have a husband.

MCh: Would you like to meet one?

Me: What?

MCh: Would you like to meet one?

Man I KNEW there was something I wanted to do in Moscow. I can't believe I almost came back home without a Russian husband!

Me: I'm sorry, I don't understand you.

MCh: Would you like to meet one?

Me (Shouting over the train): I can't hear you! I don't understand you! I don't speak Russian very well! [All previous protestations to the contrary aside.]

MCh: ...

Me: I'm sorry! I don't understand!

The conversation ends there, but I'll be darned if I'm giving up my primo seat on the bench to avoid this guy. So I sit there stubbornly for the next 15 minutes until my friend texts me.

In retrospect, I would kind of liked to have seen him in action with a Russian woman. I wonder if he just hangs out at Kievskaya asking women in they're married, like the Dan Hammond of the circle line. On another note, the other day when I was standing in line at the Kremlin ticket office, I heard some overaged frat boys asking the Russian woman in front of them where her wedding ring was. I thought at the time that it was a ham-handed, language barrier-inspired pick-up line specific to Americans. Dear overaged frat boys: my apologies. Also, dear man I spurned: I bet you feel silly for approaching possibly the only woman in the whole station who didn't understand the word "muzh."