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During the month before the grand opening, 30 Soviet restaurant managers who had trained for several months in Europe and Toronto instructed new employees in company standards of quality, politeness and service. "Smiling and looking people in the eye are not things they do naturally," says a McDonald's executive. Using manuals translated into Russian and videotapes, the trainees have learned everything from how to wash windows and mop floors to the proper way to assemble a Big Mac. Customers have some learning to do too. Because Soviets are unaccustomed to eating finger food, many of those invited to a preview disassembled the Big Mak and ate it layer by layer. Despite the cultural hurdles, Cohon is enthusiastic about the huge potential market and optimistic about the adaptability of the people. Says he: "Soviet kids win a lot of medals in the Olympics. We can train them to work in McDonald's."
Unlike most Western companies doing business in the Soviet Union, McDonald's is catering not just to foreign tourists and businessmen but also to the Soviet public. The first Moscow-based restaurant will deal in rubles, a shrewd strategy that is expected to attract local customers, who have grown increasingly impatient at seeing quality products on sale for foreign currency only. But because rubles are not readily convertible to foreign currency, McDonald's will have to find ways to take home some of its Soviet profits. As a result, McDonald's will open another Moscow restaurant next year in which foreign customers can pay for their food in hard currency only.
With the Big Mak, kartofel-fries and a koktel priced at about 5.5 rubles, or twice the cost of a meal in a state-run cafeteria, McDonald's must pitch its fare to higher-income patrons. Even so, one thing about the new McDonald's may be familiar to the Soviets: long lines.