A man is worth as much as he can give up.

I worked in a garage cooperative and talked to one of the garage owners.
Her name is Victor, aged between thirty and forty. Social and positive.
Viti complained to me about the uncomfortable location of the accounting device in his apartment.
Five-storey house with shields inside. In two apartments out of four on the site, out of the layout, the shields are at the exit at the door, in the corridor to the toilet-kitchen.
The shields are a iron plate with a counter and traffic jams attached to it.
Be healthy and often these shields break when bringing dimensional things like the piano, with drunk cottage and even when entering the apartment, when immediately after the threshold a person turns to the kitchen. His shoulder clings.
Treatment is to move the shield to the opposite side of the output so that it becomes in the corner in front of the toilet door. And you can't see it, and the work is not difficult, and the hallway will become freer.
We agreed, indicated the price, the material, the time.
I go to the apartment, a call from Victor, say I am late, delayed, but you start without me, at home, wife and child will open.
Well, okay, the less people around me crowd up at work, the better.
I knock on the door, I am opened by a woman of pre-retirement age, in appearance and manners reminiscent of a baseball. Half curly liquid hair, swollen face, vague figure, the first phrase of which was:
A electricist? You just don’t go into the apartment. Will you inherit, will you clean up?
I replied that I was choking and started unpacking.
It was his mother, I decided.
In addition to the woman in the corridor appeared a boy of seven or eight years, with a faner sword, in a helmet like the ancient knights and with a shield. All the causes were skillfully cut on a laser machine and looked awful.
I had a bag with passenger holes and a healthy plastic box for electrical tools.
The boy stumbled his sword on the boxing cover and I was worried. The cover was made of transparent plastic and closed the compartments for every small thing. I would not like to see her broken.
I moved the box to the side:
Do not do that, you will break.
The boy took a step and confidently bowed his head:
Do you know what I will do when I grow up?
I nodded my head negatively.
The boy took another step and pulled out his sword:
I will kill people like you!
Okay, I think the work begins.
I tell the guy out loud not to bother and turn to the bag for passages.
I turn back and almost pull my eye out of the blade of the sword (the sharp tip). The child holds him on extended arms in the direction of my face.
Stop, I say, do not interfere. Why are you doing this at all?
The boy smiles:
Do you dry?
Well, I think, and I call a woman. So, say and say, take away the child - work is hindering, the more I drive with the tool - dressed unintentionally, be kind, lead the child.
The woman’s reaction is striking. He puts his hands on his side:
What did the child not please you? Look at who’s hindering it?
He’s in his hand, I can catch it.
I will catch you! I will catch you so!
I crack, I say that I cannot work in such conditions, that I will come when the child is not at home, I begin to collect the tool.
The woman pulls her hand.
Okay sit here. I was joking. All such gentle straight steel - do not say a word. The princes, the fuck.
He grabs the boy’s hand and goes into a small room. Close the door.
I breathe out and start working.
I roll through the outpost, attach a new box, remove the old shield from the fittings, then knock on the door.
The TV is playing in the room, no more sounds.
I need to warn you that I will turn off the electricity. So I knock louder. I wait.
I knock again with my fist at the door. It shrinks and shrinks. On the threshold this aunt with an unhappy face:
Knock on your head! Are you opponent?
I need to turn off the electricity for half an hour, I answer, I warn.
She measures me with a glance, then pulls a voice:
Nanna is fine.
The door closes, I collect the shield, put new machines, prepare everything so that there is as little work as possible after draining.
After five minutes, I cut off the machine on the site and remove the counter from the old base.
At the door of the room, a aunt stands, bowing her head and says in a tired voice:
- I fucking jumped, not a cartoon...What didn’t you wait for?
I don't understand anything, I ask what I should have been waiting for, what cartoon and what spicy food additives are here?
She explains:
A multicolor knocked for Vitalky to sit quietly. You cut it all. A young man.
I have warned.
Did I say “you can”?
I breathe, say “good” and go to collect the shield.
Vitalka comes out of the room with a sword and helmet, standing and quietly watching.
It stresses, but not very much.
At the moment when I’m forging in my bag looking for a cartridge there, I suddenly get hit by the blade of the sword in the side. The blow is very painful. I scream and jump on my feet.
Vitalka rushes when she has time to jump back to the door of the room.
“I will kill,” he tells me, and with his two hands he strikes with a sword.
- Again, I will throw this stick out of you, I tell him, frankly psychotic. My intentions are the most serious. To be honest, I barely restrained to not strike him.
He stands and slides.
I turn to the shield, I hear the noise, and I get hit with a sword in my hand. If I didn’t turn, I would get in my back.
I catch the sword, pull it out of the kid’s hand and throw it on the kitchen floor.
This devil begins to whisper, as if I had poured it with holy water. He strikes his face toward the sky and shakes his fists in the air.
It was like a pig being cut. Dumb saw, soaked in salic acid.
The aunt jumps out, holds the child on her arms, screams:
What are you creating? Why is he orphan?
The child catches the air in his mouth:
He, he, my sword, the sword, the sword, the sword!
He cries and cries at the same time.
The woman pushes me into the chest with her free hand, the second presses the boy to herself:
“Well, I’ll deal with you right now, you’re all fucking, fucker?
I throw her hand to the side, I get the phone, I say I call Victor, the aunt whispers:
Call me, call me, call Gorbachev.
It is absurd, you know.
I call.
Unfortunately, I cannot finish the work.
What is?
I am not allowed to work your child and your mother.
Here Victor gives a phrase from which I fall into a light stupor:
The mother? What a mother? A! Mother of Vitaly? My wife? What is it?
In short, it is his wife. The Mothers! The Wife! Victor himself is clearly younger and much more sporty. Not strong in male beauty, but in terms of body structure, Victor is well folded. I think the twenty-five-year-old girl looks at him. Especially because there is something in his face from Banderas.
But in front of me is his wife, whom I have adopted as his mother, looking like a market seed trader, recently out of the third term.
The cognitive dissonance.
How there? The opposites agree? The perfect visualization.
Okay, she may be in bed a goddess and cooking brilliantly.
- The child interferes with me, falls under his hand, ticks a sword, his wife doesn't look at him, Victor, forgive me, but if something happens to Vitalik or he will shine in my eye?
He is silent, then says it will be fine, and hangs the phone. Almost immediately the phone in the room rings and his wife and Vitalka stumble there.
The baby hangs on his mother’s shoulder and his face is like this... I know how Hitler looked at his age.
The woman responds to the telephone with a shy voice:
– I’m not... He, you understand, took and... No, no, of course, Vitenka, I’m a little bit of a simple...
She ends up and goes into the kitchen, mirroring me. Vitaly will shake.
Fire, mountains clear, I think...
I am tired, I continue to work.
I finish, turn on the light, ask the woman to check, I call the owner myself, find out when he will be.
Victor responds that he is now entering the entrance.
Okay I wait.
Aunt walks around the rooms and checks all the sockets, ticks the flat and blows the switches. Vitalka drinks the morse in the kitchen, occasionally rising from behind the door with a sword in his hand. Almost an idyll.
Victor enters, examines the work, listens to my explanations, sneezes, then calls into the big room and points to the luster:
Two of the six lamps do not burn. It has changed, apparently in the ammunition. You are how? Can you fix?
He gives me money:
Hold on, count again, I hit there for harmfulness...
He dropped five hundred, which is not very much, but still.
Thank you, I don’t do anything about the lights. Easier to buy new.
Okay, I will buy it. to hang?
I have no time to answer. From the corridor are distributed fast and loud plastic cotton. I clearly understand that this is beating with a faner sword on my boxing.
The same is true - Vitalka crumbles on the plastic lid, seeing us with his father, jumping back and crumbling with all the dough on the already installed plastic shield with machines and a counter.
The third time! Fast and fast.
The sword is thick, the edges seem to be sharpened (apparently the owners themselves have already made it), a massive pen, a sharp tip. In short, this is enough to break the Chinese plastic and destroy the interior of the shield. The face panel flew away, the side wall split.
Scars fly from the box, cotton is distributed and lights are extinguished in the hallway and in the kitchen, after - Vitalik's wild whisper.
Victor roars at his son, he masks his sword into our side and runs into the room, where he is caught by a mommy, who is scared to hide inside.
Victor opened the door with a blow of his hand, I heard whispers, bullshit, a child’s scream, then a crack and a broken sword flew out into the corridor, followed by a melted helmet.
I enjoy. A chair, a puddle and a cigar. I would watch this picture for 24 hours.
The whistle is turned off after Victor’s scream: “Silence!“Then some incomprehensible noise and the master appears on the threshold.
“That’s the same,” he said, breathing hard, “what will it cost to do all that?
We go with him to the store, buy the shield again, return, change, collect everything inside, get money.
I suddenly feel sorry for Victor. He is standing like lost by the window, his face is like he is crying now.
The box covers broke, but I was silent. I’ll go home, I think.
Then comes the realization of how happy I am and with that thought I leave the apartment.
Author: Sergelektrik

After the world trip, Fedor Konyukhov was going to rest.
But Motherland said, “It’s not time to relax, Fedor! This is a robot costume.