So I had to find a second job. As an educational teacher, she submitted a resume to the school. Approved and accepted in half. The first three weeks of September were more like a stubborn fox – quotations from nine-grade students brought me into a state of prostration. Then in them the Russian Empire was “under the rule of a socially disoriented tsar,” then our country “passed from old rule to industry.” I cried, compiled a simplified version and suppressed my desire to be a mother when I was looked at by 20 pairs of eyes trying to understand the whole essence of the term “Marxism.”

After meeting an old acquaintance, breathing became easier.

Sunshine, rejoice, you are a happy man. I had a management for four classes. Fifteen Mahomed and eight Aslan. Their parents came up with scandals every week: why does my bloodshed have three and two? Give the elves, you have to do their upbringing! Three of them speak Russian poorly. To my convictions of deducting or translating young geniuses, the scientist replied: it is not necessary. Let us let go and we mourn. Pull them into three. How I went crazy, I don’t understand. But the future drivers of the gelendvagen left the walls of the school, drinking all my blood. So be glad. They speak at least one language.