The Way to Get Ahead in Life

Act like a Luxury Commodity

When I used to work at Moscow on the Hill, there was this woman named Ekaterina, Katya for short. We are all used to Russians being hot. I watched a YouTube video once that mathematically broke down the features of models, and the narrator said that ethnically Russians comprise the highest percentage of models and we define our beauty standards off of them, or off of Caucasians, which come from the Caucasus Mountains, aka South-Eastern Russia.

They are also venal, for better or worse. Chalk it up to growing up in hard times. Russian women seem designed for sugar-babying. Cold, calculating, venal, beautiful. This is why I’ve never dated a Russian. I’m not a money-man. And by man I mean blunt, forceful, brute, material, etc. You get the picture.

I’m not even attracted to women who clearly have an agenda to get paid. But Katya was that infuriating mixture of self-aggrandizing confidence and inflated self-worth which somehow magnetizes you against your will, and you become fascinated by the person despite your best efforts to despise them.

Katya had worked at the restaurant before me. That was I guess before she realized there was more money in sugaring. She was friends with my coworkers who’d been around longer than me. And so I’d see her come in and get love from my friends, but never acknowledge us newbies. She’d bring in a man who every time paid the whole tab. In a new outfit she probably just bought.

So one night she came in with a guy, let’s call him John. It was one of those legendary raucous nights when cocktail tickets were flying out of the printer, 15 deep. We were back behind the bar like snipers with a whole army closing in on us. Katya was in the cocktail lounge waiting for a table with John. She was being very cute with him. It was autumn, an early winter chilly night, and she had this beautiful full length plush coat, white, that she couldn’t take her hands off.

But Katya clearly thought she was above waiting. So she sent John to the bar to ask about seating. Which was strictly a power move, because she was the Russian, and she knew the owner, who was also the host on these nights.

This guy John started asking me about a table. I was like “Man, I’m a fucking bartender in the weeds right now. Fuck off.” I looked over at Katya, knowing it was her doing, and saw that she was up to a ruse. She sent John off to get rid of him. Because while he was over at the bar harassing us about a table, she was by the door, drawing attention to herself from a table of three men who to me looked exactly like John, but Katya must’ve seen greater value in them, either in their haircuts or the tailoring of their clothes or the make of their watches or something, like when you’re watching birds do their courting dance and you think “that bird has great plumage” but the female bird disagrees and flies away.

Before I knew it, she was at their table drinking their vodka. And let me pause to say this: a Russian who goes into a Russian bar without other Russians is not there to party. She was there to hunt. She brought a man into the bar so she could hunt for other men.

The next thing I noticed was Katya examining their watches to determine which one was the best. And by this time John was standing stupidly next to the table while Katya was now eating their appetizers. I couldn’t believe the audacity. She had a bidding war going on. John himself was a man of means and not a full-on idiot, so I guess he realized he had to fight this one out, so he was over there displaying his worth probably by telling these other men how well his portfolio did that week, trying — TRYING — to demonstrate value, but in a desperate, slipping-through-his-fingers way. The other men had nothing to lose, only something to gain, so their shows of excess and wealth (next I was popping the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon for them) were playful. Meanwhile Katya was really the one in control.

I don’t know what happened next because Kevin (my co-bartender, rest in peace) and I got slammed with a 12-top drink order and I had to put my head down and grind. But I do know that Katya came in next time with one of the men from that table, and not John. This time it was slower, and Katya and this new man, let’s call him Steve, sat at the bar while they waited for a table. Katya did this thing where she wouldn’t even acknowledge the staff and she would have her man order for her. So Steve ordered two martinis, then went to the bathroom.

When I dropped them off in front of Katya, we randomly made eye contact and on impulse I asked, “How do you do that? Flip men for a higher bidder.” And her reply: “If you want to talk to me, you have to buy me a drink.” I was so furious. It was an answer but it was also a play to gain advantage. Now, back in that era, I drank so much that if I got emotionally stirred, the solution was to have a drink. So I pulled two shot glasses out, and poured the house horseradish infused vodka (which was delicious) and put one in front of her. And she said, “I don’t like that stuff,” and refused to drink it. So I asked, “What do you drink?” and she said, “Stoli Elit.” To which I said, “I don’t want to talk to you that much.” And she shrugged, could’ve cared less.

Now Steve returned to the bar and I said, “Katya’s not drinking, you want this shot?” And so Steve and I took the shot. And then they got their table.

I saw her years later out of context at a cocktail bar in downtown Minneapolis. I was waiting for some friends to return from the bathroom. She came in with a Vikings football player. She didn’t recognize me at all. At a certain point, after searching around a bit, she came up to me and asked me where the bathroom was. I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “If you want to talk to me, you have to buy me a drink.” She was so caught off guard. I was wearing thrift store clothes. I could see in her eyes she was reading me, figuring out if I was someone not to be overlooked. She was a master of her craft and realized pretty quickly that I was nobody. But I was kind of drunk and in a mood so I continued, “You know when you get so rich you stop caring what other people think? Well, you’re not there yet.”

Knowing this whole charade would fall apart as soon as my friends got back from the bathroom, I got up and went to wait outside. When I looked back I could see Katya, still trying to figure me out.

I don’t know if she thought I was bullshit or what. But I know there was a seed of doubt in her mind. Perhaps even a little paradigm shift: that the biggest fish might be hidden in plain sight. I don’t even know if she remembers that encounter. I do. It was awesome. And it taught me something. If you want attention from big players, sneer at their luxury trappings. Condescend to their aloofness. Status is all a matter of belief.

Happy hunting.