In the mid-1990s, American exchange students came to our city. As usual, mutual breakdown of patterns, wild Russians/Americans, etc.
We walk along the main street of Rostov, four Russians and the glorious guy Jack. Before that, we had taken up 2 bits of 0.33 of some kind of light beer, but our 15-year-old bodies were already enough. We’re all athletes (except Jack), I’m an athlete, I’m a karatist and I’m two tourists, and I’m full of beer and I’m jumping up and knocking my hand on a shop’s banner. "Boom" is distributed, the sign swings on the chains, the Mentian six stops next to me and I am taken to the nearest OM for hooliganism. Chipolines had to make a plan. The whole company is serving me. After communicating with the guard, I go out on the street and see my friends with almost no "freedom unknown" inscriptions. When they saw me, they were delighted, and Jack began to photograph us in front of the dark facade with the inscription “Militia.” There was a guard with a machine at the door. Very intelligent look, which prompted us to take a photo with him. We photographed and talked. A nice light-haired guy, he was about 25, was surprised to realize that among us was an imperialist-exiled man. Word for word, “and you can take a photo with your machine,” I translated Jack’s message to him. The castle. The guy thought, disconnected the store and handed Jack ACSU. I clicked on him, everyone is happy, everyone is smiling. We went further.
Later I learned that a good guy with the machine was fired because of this episode. It is clear that he broke everything he could, what he thought and all the affairs, but we somehow came on the wave of "peace, friendship, gum", that is, we flipped over instructions and duties... In short, we flipped on our own naivety. Not to say that I was worried, and that I dreamed of this guy, but every time, remembering the arrival of this group, I always remembered this incident with subsequent dismissal. I remembered, and I felt my ears red.
It was a summer in my hometown, we went to catch cancers with friends on one of the lakes. Returning, from the height of our Padjero glanced over the new BMW Five, hanging one wheel on a deep track. “Where did you go?” we started talking about a strange driver. They decided that the girl was probably driving and could help. I approach, already with a wire in my hand, invite my hair, the glass falls down – everything is right, clearly according to the laws of the genre, the same guy driving, a blonde with a machine, only without a machine. He did not recognize me. We pulled him out, we talked, he is selling grain, everything is fine. She was also a nice girl, a wife. I did not resist, reminded the case. He was not just fired, the chief began to rage and wanted to start a criminal case and transfer it to the prosecutor’s office. The man got the money to close the matter. The money borrowed from the future aunt - a famous agricultor. He worked his horse. Well, later, the aunt also considered him a good guy, and eventually gave him a business and a daughter. Here our conversation was interrupted, as my friends, having done the business, demanded the continuation of the cancer history (wash, cook, buy beer) and we went. I still can’t understand whether in this story I was the tool of a good guy’s fate, or if I was still a scapegoat, whose activity was later corrected by the higher forces.