Never greet or say goodbye on the threshold—invites bad spirits

Setting:
A chilly March evening in Yaroslavl. Snow is melting, the roads are slushy, and two longtime friends—Dima and Yulia—are standing at the door of Dima’s flat. Yulia is about to leave after an evening of tea, pirozhki, and endless debates.

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DIMA (holding the door open):
Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow at the book club, yeah?

YULIA (stops just short of the threshold, alarmed):
Wait! Don’t say goodbye while I’m still standing in the doorway. You want evil spirits hanging around your flat?

DIMA (blinks):
You’re seriously doing this again?

YULIA (crosses arms, half-playful, half-serious):
It’s not “doing this again.” It’s called respect for ancient wisdom. Never greet or say goodbye on the threshold—it splits energy. You want our friendship to fracture too?

DIMA (laughs):
I don’t think our friendship is held together by floorboards. Come on, Yulia, you’re an accountant—you calculate interest rates, not spirit vibes.

YULIA (gestures dramatically at the threshold):
Exactly why I have to believe in something beyond spreadsheets. My babushka swore by it. She once scolded the milkman for waving at her from the porch. Two days later, her cat disappeared.

DIMA (mock horror):
A cat, you say? Clearly the ghosts dragged it into the shadow realm for waving across the planks.

YULIA (grinning):
Mock all you want, but when your phone starts glitching tonight or your radiator breaks, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

DIMA (leans on the doorframe):
Yulia, phones glitch because software is buggy. Radiators break because… well, Russia. You think spirits have time to haunt us over manners at the door?

YULIA (shrugs):
Maybe they don’t haunt. Maybe they just nudge. You ever have a perfectly good day ruined for no reason?

DIMA (tilts head):
Yeah. Usually after I eat cafeteria borscht.

YULIA (laughs):
Touché. But seriously, don’t you think these old customs exist for a reason? They’ve lasted for centuries.

DIMA:
Sure. But so did bloodletting and believing the Earth was balanced on a turtle. Longevity doesn’t mean accuracy.

YULIA (smirking):
Tell that to my grandma’s pickled cucumbers. They’ve lasted since 1994 and still taste like divine intervention.

DIMA (grinning):
Now that I’ll believe.

YULIA (points at him):
You laugh, but customs are cultural memory. Maybe the threshold rule started because it’s just awkward to talk while someone’s half-in, half-out. Maybe it’s about not leaving things unfinished.

DIMA:
Okay, that I can get behind. But why not just say, “Hey, it’s awkward, step all the way in or out,” instead of invoking spirits?

YULIA (shrugs, a little softer):
Because sometimes stories stick better than logic. It’s how people pass down values. Even if the ghosts aren’t real… the feeling of something sacred might be.

DIMA (nods slowly):
You know what? That’s fair. I just don’t want to live in fear of invisible penalties. Let’s build a world where we close doors on doubt, not on friends.

YULIA (mock-serious):
As long as that door isn’t closing mid-goodbye on a threshold.

DIMA (laughing):
Fine, fine! Step outside. I’ll wave dramatically once you’re on the stoop.

YULIA (steps off the threshold with theatrical precision):
Thank you. May your pipes remain unclogged and your Wi-Fi ever strong.

DIMA (bows):
And may your pickles never mold.

YULIA (winking):
See? You do believe in something mystical.