Got milk

The milk man got a megaphone. And every night between 10 and 10:30 he drive around on his truck with a megaphone with enough static to electrify the neighborhood yelling “Malako.” “Malako.” (This is the Russian word for milk). And I might have mentioned that though I live on the 5th floor, people below my window sound like they’re right outside. Even the nationals who have stayed with me have commented on it. In any case, for 30 minutes every night “Malako” is hollered by a rusty, old male voice into a rusty, old megaphone into our patir (apartment).

The sweetest icing on this cake is the sweet little song he plays as he drives around the neighborhood, in the nature of a US ice cream trucks of the ‘50s. And what would the song be that helps him sell milk? Yes people, I tell you the truth, every night I listen to the call for milk to the sound of “Happy Birthday.”

Welcome to westernization!