It was one of my first jobs, where I went as a graduate student. I was taken to a small budgetary institution, which contained a small tabernacle as part of its extra-budgetary activities. I was responsible for him. The job was, as it is called, not a bay of the lying - money was received from the accounting office, the goods were purchased cheaper, prepared an advance report, a report on the bank of the seller received, and delivered revenue to the bank. Revenue was usually 50-100 tires. in the day. For a student from the age of thirty rubles, the sum is not a huge one, but a cosmic one. Sometimes, of course, I put myself up and gave money in a few days, accumulating up to half a million timber. But no one tolerated me for this and did not explain the concept of "cash discipline". I calculated the cash very carefully by hand, glued it with a strip of paper on which I wrote the number of notes, the amount, the date, put a signature, and locked it in the safe. In general, I liked the job.

But here, I’ll go into the office one day, where I find a cheerleading director. The eyes immediately fall to the safe. The heart is spotted, and the anus is reflexively compressed so strongly that even a molecule of helium does not slip into it... because the door is open. The Director is such:

Oh, and here are you! Why is the safe locked? We have Chapo! The revenue increased!

There were 230,000 in the safe. I won’t earn that much in a year. I remember closing the safe. Through growing panic, I try to ask questions:

I definitely locked it! What to do now? Calling the police? Who else has the keys?

The keys? Dirk pretended to think. Here is you, here is me. No more of anyone. The police will hardly help. Anyone who could find it will not find it.

He begins to fall out of the office. And I see that his leather jacket’s inner pocket is suspiciously sprinkled. And when he makes a step, the floor of his jacket slightly bends, and I see that he has packs of money there. Taking hold of it as if it were a puddle, still not fully aware of the situation, I throw myself over it:

Wait to! What money do you have in your jacket?

I have me? Those are the others, miss it. He tries to pull my shoulder away. For some reason, there is a confidence that if he leaves now, then I will crash 230 tons without registration and SMS. On the adrenaline, I catch it for the jacket, I take the money out of my pocket and see that it is the same lavender from the safe, I put together in packs and signed.

The Others? Why is my signature on them?

The director of the second shrugged five eyes and said:

Good that we found it! And a bottle of bottle runs around me and falls. And I stand, hold that money in my hands, and try to understand. What the fuck is this? This was the first and last time I worked in a position related to material responsibility.