In the 90s I was a student. And once I had to pull home from the store a bag on wheels, full of pearls.

Basically borrowed and meeting acquaintances in the next courtyard, I decided to stay to play, looking at the back of my eyes on the bag.

And at some point I noticed how a grandmother quickly appreciated the contents of the bag and so boldly pulled it.

I was already rushing to restore justice, as the thought came to mind that the pearl is very heavy, and the grandmother is dragging the bag to the right side for me. Therefore...

For 15 minutes I quietly followed her in the distance, until my grandmother’s route stopped coinciding with the route to my home.

And here already a polite pioneer in my face caught my grandmother and with the words, "grandmother, this is my bag" - returned to himself valuables in the form of crops and bags.

We talked about the bad habit of a common acquaintance to bite her nails when she’s anxious. They started to remember how they all bite their nails as a child. And whom they taught. One of his nails was rubbed with pepper, one even with mustard) who at a younger age remembered some kind of special lacquer. I also remembered how my father taught me to bite my nails.

I was 10 years old. My father saw that I bite my nails again. He looked at me with a smile and spoke. Imagine you catch a girl for her chest, and you have the nails chewed, cuddled. This will be a shame... all fucking! From 10 years, I don't bite my nails (this conversation is in my head)

Even at the time when we did not have such a fight with our nearest neighbor, I frequently visited relatives in Ukraine.

A cousin’s husband was a haishnikov in a provincial, but rather large city. Fortunately, he is now retired. At one of my arrivals, he went on night service. I came back in the morning in a very elevated mood and told the following story. From the first person.

We stand on the track. I was lucky, I caught a drunk man and drawn him. The detainee sits in the rear seat, I write a protocol on the front passenger. The partner lazyly looks into the flow of cars. Shake a stick, but instead of stopping, Niva adds gas and hides away. The man is jumping for the ride.

We went to catch!

Nivea was fast. But to the ringing of the siren and the demand to stop, she did not respond. turned into the city. They started crawling in the streets. We don’t have America and we can’t block the traffic by replacing our car. They will get rid of them and be forced to repair at their own expense. Contacted the boss, he promised to call reinforcements and allowed us to shoot on the wheels if we left the city. At the next turn, Niva slightly failed to calculate the trajectory and crashed into the rebrick by unloading one wheel. Further pursuit continues with sparks carved by a disk on asphalt. But the full drive allows her to move on.

Apparently realizing that in the city from us not to separate, Niva goes outside the city.

- The driver of Niva, bla bla bla bla, leave immediately or we open fire! I am in the mattress.

Niva immediately bends on some forest path and gets stuck, bustling in place. I run out of the car with a gun in my hand. I run to the driver’s door. I pull the pen, it’s closed. Then I handled the pistol over the glass. It is in the movie glass beats from a light blow of the main character. Everything is a little more complicated in life. The glass did not break from either the first or the fifth blow. At that moment, Niva got stuck on the road and went back. But the last blow also resulted. The glass was broken in pieces. While the car was moving, I managed to get the gas bubble and let the stream in the window. But it was already far away.

In the forest, the pursuit continued at a speed of 30 kilometers per hour. And then Niva turns just into the forest, apparently the driver had hoped for its off-road qualities. Overall, the calculation was correct. We immediately lay down on the defense in the sidewalk and the wheels rolled in the air. But he did not calculate the width of the car and crashed between two trees 20 meters ahead. As we got out of the car, the driver of Niva walked out of a broken window (the door was clogged by a tree) and tried to hit the forest.

to stand! Or I will shoot! - I shouted him in the back and shot in the air (at this moment the relative turned his eyes straight from pleasure, apparently he had long dreamed of doing so, but the opportunity was not provided).

The driver stopped and raised his hands. I ran, slapped him off his legs, laid his face down and put on handcuffs.

Why did you run away, fool? They could have shot!

I drank a little. I met the girls. We went to ride. I was scared that you would take the right. Maybe his wife will find out.

As later turned out, in Niva, two girls with reduced social responsibility were sitting on the back seat.

Go sit with us in the back seat. We can call for help or get stuck.

No, I will not sit!

You sit where I tell you! I answered a bit of the beast.

“Look quietly, Commander, I was very scared when you fired and fought.

When I turned his back, I saw the wet hovering pants behind him.

When he and his partner broke up, they called the PPS.

While the chief and the PPS decided to draft a protocol. I approach our car, and from the rear seat comes the manic, which I was designing when the pursuit began and which we immediately forgot. He just shone!

Men, it’s just to shake! This is just Hollywood! Damn, I am not sorry for my rights. I am glad you stopped me! I will tell my grandchildren how I participated in the pursuit of the shooting! Thanks to you!

In the end, the PPS-Niki was taken. Girls with reduced social responsibility wanted to be taken to the city. In the end, they conspired with the PPS and they took them to their UAZik. The chief sent us to write an explanation on the shooting topic. Local news reports said a few words about the incident.

I was detained on the passage of my employee in a drunk state before the start of the work shift. The penalty for this dose is one - dismissal.

Immediately on the operative pool brigade came into hysteria:

- You can, come in, talk to the management, he will no longer be.

I was then in the management on a good account, my opinion was taken into account. And he was a good expert, one of the last. It is hard to find such a replacement. I thought and agreed:

I’ll call you now and make an arrangement. I need two names, who of you will be the guardian? If it happens again, I’ll expel all three.

In the end, there was not even one guarantor, they looked at each other and said, "Yes, he must be drunk, and why should I lose my job for him?"



And approximately at the same time - my employee was detained on the passageway with a regular electric light bulb.

Everything went according to the same scenario. Here I announce to everyone:

“The cost of this light bulb is 0.017 percent of his salary. Who is responsible for a colleague?”

And the same people who screamed to me a minute ago - "Anyone can give up, he understood everything, we guarantee him," instantly silenced and gave out:

It is foolish to steal a light bulb with such a salary. What idiot should I say?

Very good logic.

In order to increase the well-being of a pensioner, it is necessary to force him to work.

I was a translator, but for many years, before life turned completely differently, I was also a teacher. Well, if not so seriously, just an English teacher. Over the years I have accumulated a lot of teaching stories. Especially because I started teaching someone something very early. At the age of 17, she graduated from school and became a student.

My mother and I lived very poorly. My mom taught private English lessons as long as I can remember. She came home from school and started her second (and even third) shift. And then I grew up - still an English special school behind my shoulders, a student, why not try it? And my mother helps, and I earn money, and practice - with this specialty, I will ever have to teach.

To my surprise, the students arrived quite quickly. Almost all of them were third-class students. After understanding the situation, I realized that they were, as a rule, the children of officers who were recently transferred to serve in our city. The parents wanted to give them to an English special school, and English had to be taught. After the fourth-fifth grade, this was usually not decided (there would be too much to catch up), and third-class students - right.
All my third-class students were very cute people, I taught them with pleasure and remember with a smile.

I remembered this boy especially.

The new student. A lovely intelligent mother. The son is a wheat blonde with not quite the usual name Miroslav. My name is Mirek. The Polish roots? A Russian boy with a very Russian surname.
“Well, Mirak, we’ll get to know you. What are you fascinated? What do you like to do? to read? What are you reading?
“I like books on military history,” Mirek replies to me, “I am now, for example, reading the history of the Napoleonic Wars of Tarle.

History of the Napoleonic Wars. by Tarle. The third class. Not even a third class. It’s summer, and he’s just moved to the third class.

And you know, I paid attention to one interesting moment. Other authors...

So, Mirek obviously intended to read me a lecture. A good lecture, by the way, with knowledge of the matter, with an understanding of the subject, with a comparative analysis... His language is like a professor. Solidity and prudence are far from childish. The overall development is surprising. Readiness is shrinking. Oh my God, what should I do with this wanderkinde?! to

What to do, what to do, and what to do! Why was he brought to me? Working in English? Here we will practice. You just need to realize that this is not a child. He may look like a child, and his height is small, and his voice is childish, but this boy will probably be older than me. Everything is done, as with an adult.

Our classes are strange. My new student has some totally bottomless memory and incredible learning. Mirek moves forward, swallowing the material into huge pieces, and all my attempts to “repeat” and “fix” are cut to the root.
Why waste time? I already know.
– Mirek, – I try to hold him, – in the language it cannot be so. It’s not mathematics where “I’ve already understood, you can go further.” It’s like music, like dance – exercises are needed, skills need to be fixed, worked out, brought to automation. Do you understand?
“Yes,” Mirek replied, “but I already know it. Check it.

A couple of times I really check, then, shaking my hand, I give up. He knows. He really knows. If Mirek says he knows...

The first class program will be completed in a week. In another two or three weeks (with all my desperate attempts to slow down the process, give extra material, etc.) Finished second class. After that, I call his mother and say that as I regret losing such a student, he no longer needs my lessons. Miriam can go to the third class. (Oh, I am afraid that he can go in the tenth, but it is unknown what he has there with the exact sciences...) Mama Mireka doesn’t believe me. We do a few more weeks, we run quite far (whether in the fourth or fifth class) and we break up, quite satisfied with each other.

For a while I still hear something about Mireka from my former teachers: “... he makes such reports on history! What a speech! What an erudition!” And then – study, work, new students, new events, and I finally lose sight of it.

Then passes the whole life. The world is changing unrecognizably, and there is such a miracle as the Internet. And at some point, looking for long lost acquaintances, friends, classmates, neighbors, I decide to try to find out - and what about Mirek? I find it easy - so, a Russian military historian and writer, a candidate of historical sciences, UGU, colonel, author of many books on military-historical topics. He chose his profession early. A happy man! Well, in the "thematics" of him, of course, I do not understand anything, but on one of the forums I find the argument of the participant: "... this is stated by Miroslav Eduardovich himself, and he, without a doubt, knows." “Sam Miroslav Eduardovich.”

And I have that little professor in front of me: "I already know this!"
It’s just scary to imagine how much Mirek knows now!

Once Dmitry Medvedev decided to be closer to the people and live on 15 thousand rubles.
But he didn’t like that breakfast.