Spare a square, not the roll

I am a big proponent of gratitude.  Not just having it, but showing it, too.  I can't help it.  It's been ingrained in me since before I can remember - probably in the womb sometime.  It's pretty simple, really.  If someone does something nice for me, whether or not I expect it, I thank them.  If someone helps me out when I need it, whether I ask them to or not, I let them know I appreciate it.  We're not talking rocket science here.

Growing up in the professional ballet world, I learned on day one that part of ballet class etiquette is thanking the teacher after class.  The way to do this is to wait in line (you know you've really made it when you're the first in that line), and when your turn comes, you take the teacher's hand, curtsy with your head bowed, and say "thank you".  Now, keep in mind, this is the same teacher who over the course of the last few hours has taken away your snacks, thwapped your feet with a wooden cane if you misstepped, told you that you'd never become a dancer, and screamed at you multiply to "smile!", even as your entire body felt like it'd been through a woodchipper.  So why "thank you" and not "go to hell and die"?  Because, a valuable thing I learned about ballet is that, however harsh, if the teacher yells at you, that means you're worth their time.  That means they want you to succeed and they are going to try to make you better - whatever fucked up way in which that manifests itself.  Ballet is about perfection, after all.

So "thank you" to me, has always taken on a great deal of meaning or significance.  "Thank you" is essential - it's not just two words to throw away.  It isn't something to say in passing.  Even if it's just to the old man who gives me my sesame bagel from the cart every day.  Making eye contact and thanking him, then wishing him a "good day" or a "good weekend" lets him know I think he's doing a good job.  Him particularly.

I tend to actually be overly gracious at times, at least, according to our society's standards.  When someone has clearly gone out of their way to be nice to me or lend me a hand, or has just been awesome in general, I let them know.  Multiply, specifically, and constantly sometimes.  Because it's important to not just say, "Hey, thanks.  That was really cool of you"; but rather to say, "Hey, thank you.  Seriously.  What you did <insert translation of person's action and the result for me>, that really meant a lot to me.  You rock."  Because no one has to go out of their way - most especially for me.  Particularly in New York City where you're lucky to get enough time to breathe, let alone take time out of your day to do something unnecessary for someone else.  To me, it's vital to let someone know that I notice, I get it, and I appreciate it.  Because it's never nothing.

This is odd, though.  I couldn't tell you all the strange reactions I've gotten to my gratitude.  The general public is afraid of it - as if there were strings attached.  As if by thanking them, I was telling them they had just promised me their first born.  That because I don't just say "oh, thanks", something dark and strange lurks beneath my blonde hair and 5'4" frame, waiting to pounce next time they're not looking.  Clearly, I'm a threatening presence.  It's so odd.  To experience someone's fear and wariness over the simple act of expressing gratitude.  And sad.

In Moscow, most public bathrooms in schools, office buildings, etc. don't have a supply of toilet paper.  I think it's a throw-back from the bread lines and such.  Because, trust me, if you go into a grocery store in Russia, there are like two whole aisles of toilet paper in every shape, color, grade, style, and softness.  Anyway, I learned pretty quickly to carry my own if I didn't want to "drip dry" or pay five Kopeks for it.  Now five Kopeks is essentially nothing, but let me tell you, when I had to pay to piss in a dirt hole in the ground, it made me a little cranky.

Anyway, I carried a roll of toilet paper in my bag at all times.  One day, maybe about a month into my time living there, I went to the bathroom at our school, roll of toilet paper in a plastic bag in hand, and when I returned and entered the graduate break room (basically a closet with a tea kettle and some chairs), there was an eruption of laughter.  Of course I immediately became red in the face and asked, in my best broken Russian, what was so funny.  Well, apparently, it's not really "acceptable" to carry the whole roll.  It's not feminine.  It's not...cool, for lack of a better word.  You're supposed to carry a dainty amount slipped into your sleeve so no one sees it.  What I was doing was the equivalent of carrying a whole box of tampons to the bathroom in plain view.  And here I thought I was being generous - that I had this supply. If anyone asked me to "spare a square", I could have spared two.

I guess, as with thank you's, you're really only meant to spare one square.  No more.  Maybe less.