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Of all the covers and jobs to have, Yuliya seems to be have a busy one. She currently waits in line, carrying an armful of papers and most likely photos in a folder, while a camera case hangs from her shoulders. The woman dressed in business attire looks like she's been busy at work, as she looks tired. However it doesn't stop the Eastern European woman from patiently waiting at the counter so that she can place her order. Nope, she doesn't try to hide her accent, even if it might gather a few strange looks.
Julie is sitting at a counter, with a fellow who looks like the Queens version of a greaser, and there there's coffee cups, a pair of little tin ashtrays, and the remains of some blue-plate specials and a couple of cardboard boxes, all seeming to be in play in the combination, as the girl thoughtfully hefts a small piece of complicated-looking mechanical equipment out of one. Flicks with a finger at some moving parts, and peers through it at a light bulb. Her own accent's New York Italian, one that speaks more of Brooklyn than this neck of the woods, and indicates another box. "Nah, that's straight as a razor, I checked," she continues whatever conversation. "Carmine's just got this thing where he tries to cheat compression shaving his gaskets, and he ends up blowing the works. You know we keep giving him a hard time…" This conversation may go on a few moments, but it seems eventually, carboard boxes of things are traded and parting pleasantries are exchanged. The girl shuffles a Chesterfield out of a pack lying on the counter and lights it, glancing about the place.
Yuliya carefully adjusts her camera case, and sits down at the counter on one of the spare seats near Julie and the Greaser she's speaking with. The discussion about mechanical dohickeys actually causes the Eastern European girl to arch a brow and glance in their direction for a moment, complete with a faint smile. She then carefully places the folder on the counter, though a couple of pictures do slip out. One appears to be a picture of a car accident, while another is of a partially collapsed building with sketches and notes in what looks to be Russian.
Julie hrms, as her greaser-inspired companion makes his way off. The loose car-crash photo does catch her eye. She tsks, a bit. "Some people just don't take driving serious enough," she opines. The Russian doesn't go unnoticed. "So, what's this, you in insurance or something, miss?
"A lot of people do not take things seriously," Yuliya replies to Julie, as she offers a bright smile, as she reaches out to return the photos to the folder. She shakes her head a little and purses her lips. "I am in insurance. I am an insurance adjustor during the week and I run a small market stall on the weekends." She wrinkles her nose a little bit. "It pays the bills, and has seen me move from Europe." She considers the diner thoughtfully, as if considering her own career. "I am just another immigrant chasing the American dream. "Oh, I am Yuliya."
Julie smiles a little. "Dizzy, and, I guess, welcome to America, if you got out of there just lately." Because, yeah, Russia's a place to escape to many Americans, and that's the kinder view of Russians. "My folks deal with some insurance claims here and there. If you asked me, those companies ought to invest in making some kind of better tires. Maybe brakes. You'd save a bundle."
"I spent time in France before coming here, but it is… A different world," Yuliya admits sheepishly. "There is a lot more here to learn how to cook with." She tilts her head to the side and hmms softly. "While making tyres better would help, I think it would be better to train people how to drive in all conditions. Training in all things goes a long way, and with enough practice, it becomes just a reflex. But as long as there are accidents, I will always have work." A friendly smile is then offered and she nods her head. "It is good to meet you, Dizzy."
Julie does laugh a little about reflexes and training. "Well, it's a different world here, I guess, not that I been to France. People here just kinda want their cars bigger, faster, prettier, and more, I dunno, cushy. Which I guess is OK till your brakes overheat or you ain't really able to stop." She raises her coffee cup a little, and offers a ciggy. "So, been here in New York long?"
"France is different to Russia, and both are different to here," Yuliya replies, though she does fall silent for a few moments as she considers what she just said. "I know I would like a big car and a big house," she chimes cheerfully. "A nice garden out the back. I think I will avoid American made cars if they have problems stopping. I'd like to be alive to enjoy a big car and house." She then shakes her head and smiles. "No, I am only new here. Head office transferred me here to handle the more tricky claims on larger buildings." She pauses for a moment. "Well, when the need comes up. I do not know what to do for fun in this city yet."
Julie ahs, tapping neglected ashes off, then puffing on her smoke, and then wagging it around a bit for emphasis. "Oh, ain't much better than American cars, just… Keep to something kinda moderate-sized. Foreign jobs can be pretty keen, but you gotta wait for most parts, and they either got no guts or break all the time if you don't pay em enough attention." She gestures a hand loopily around toward the ceiling. "Anyway, as big houses go, basically you can have more house and less New York if you want space, but that's kind of all about what your idea of fun is." She smirks a bit.
Yuliya watches the tip of Julie's cigarette and she looks thoughtful for a few moments as she listens. "Oh, uh. I would happy getting just a little car that is not too fast. Maybe something that is tough," she admits in a soft tone. "I am not a very good driver, so it would be safter for me." Not other road users apparently. She arches a brow at the other woman's comment and looks a little confused. "More house and less New York is an idea of fun?" she asks. "I think going out trying new things is one of my ideas of fun. Maybe cooking classes so I can learn how to cook American style."
Julie ahs. Shrugs. "Some people like that, I guess. Go to thesuburbs or the country if they want more space.. On yer other hand, , New York's a place where you could learn and see anything, I mean, people like youse come from all over, so you can meet almost anyone. It's just so many people want to be here, you can't really buy a big house or yard here. Unless maybe your Papa owns that insurance company." She shrugs, a little. "Anyway, with what you do, a smaller car might be what you need. Having your wits about you's more important, but if you want something tough, my uncles could maybe set you up with a Studey Lark or something. The good part is they're big old American cars cut down to be smaller, the bad part is that's all you get. But they're tough. "
Yuliya laughs and shakes her head at the mention of her father. "My father, he is one of the reasons I left," she admits. "I could not do anything without him knowing about it." She wrinkles her nose. "But I think I will look for a place in the city itself. I can go out, party like an American!" No doubt set-up her market stall with a hangover, too. "You would help me find a car with the help from your uncles?" She seems rather surprised and smiles brightly. "I would really appreciate it." She purses her lips again, and takes a deep breath. "Also, if you ever need a new radio, I will give you a good discount, just as a way of saying thank you."
Julie hrms, and tilts her head. "I guess, what kind of radio do you mean? You in that business, too, or what you talking about, here"?"
"Radio, as in radio you listen to music on." Yuliya replies with an arched brow. "I have a small side business I am starting. They are new radios, not broken ones that do not work." She offers a nod and then frowns softly for a moment. "I was saying I would give you a discount if you helped hook me up with a car."
Julie ahs, "Well, if it was a car we hooked up, we'd fix it first, at least, but we got all kinds of Studenaker stuff. My Uncle had to kinda branch out cause they had supply problems, but the business used to be mostly a dealership, so we can find you something, no problem." She fishes out a business card from a pocket, it reads, "Uncle Sal's Garage" with an East Village exchange phone number.
Yuliya takes the offered card, and quickly reads over it, before slipping it into her camera case. "Thank you," she offers, as she hunts through one of the pouches of the case and pulls out oa card of her own. It doesn't have her name on it, but it does belong to a multi-national insurance company. She quickly writes down her name on the back, as well as a number and slides it over the counter. "I think it will be interesting to see one of these Studenaker cars," she replies. "Also, my office number is on the front, in case you are in the market for a radio or just want to, what is the saying? Hang around?"