The Saga of the Toothpaste Tube

Small things illuminate differences. I ran out of my travel toothpaste on the way to Moscow, and figured I'd just pick some up in the city. A simple, uncomplicated task, yes? 30 minutes and five stores later, I realize the language barrier is quite absolute. The scripts are illegible to me, I have no words to offer, and all my interactions with people are comprised of awkward sign language and dumb gestures. For some reason, the toothpaste is behind lock and key in the pharmacy, visible but under guard. The lines are long and meandering, the pharmacist sees the 5 women ahead of me in line before finally running through our strained exchange. You know you're an idiotic tourist when you find yourself in front of someone making gargling noises and miming brushing your teeth because you're incapable of forming a sentence. Hell, I can't even say thank you properly. Sigh.