On January 27, precisely on the Birthday of Pavel Petrovich Bažov, a holiday was organized at our mining department.
First, they paid a prize of 14,300 in honor of the writer’s anniversary – 143 years he knocked (by).
Second, they arranged a buffet with shrimp, shrimp cookies and other supermarket gifts for employees.
And now, when everyone had begun to take off the dishes, the wet silhouette of the guard, the old man Propoich, as we called him, was painted in the door.
His years were not too many, but the nickname was attached intentionally. Probably because of lifestyle.
Sitting next to me, he whispered: “In the midst of a loud ball,” followed by a drunken maternal rhythm, from which it followed that he drowned the service gun an hour ago. “Accurate, listen, in a non-freezing pond on the outskirts of the mine management,” he explained, imitating P. P. Bažova. I wondered how it happened. He pictured his hand and said, “Yes, goose-lobby.” It turned out that he decided to hunt the ducks, which this year remained to winter, began to sing Rosenbaum's song "Duck", tears began to stifle him and shake his eyes, the hand was frightened and at the time of wiping tears the pistol slipped out and "blowed into the muddy waters, going straight to the bottom with a stone," he told me.
I was surprised and immediately told a couple of employees about the incident. Those - the rest, and soon all our trouble fell on the bridges - to look at the loss "in the muddy waters". The water was indeed muddy, and some were heavily inclined to look at the bottom, and the head of the fleeting shop leaned so much that he even “feed” the fish. Here I felt such a familiar tick under the ribs, as gently, but strongly. Next to her was a bright Lisa.
"Well, don't brake, Tventin, her smile drew me no worse than a magnet, I pulled to her, but after returning the kiss, she continued. You have a separate...
I broke her and rushed for the magnet. The rope was found at the workshop. And I, attaching one end to the hook of the magnet, and the other to the perils, asked the old man Propoich, where exactly he folded the weapon. He shrugged his hand, pointing to the right of the bridges. I dropped the magnet and pulled it. “A net came with one tin,” the old man Propoich quoted behind his back. Although there was no tin on the magnet pulled out, but a pair of coins: modern 2 rubles and 50 rubles 1993 gv. “Oh,” Propoich said, “give me now.”
But I gave the magnet to Lisa, she threw it slightly to the left and pulled out the steel ceiling from the glasses, 2 coins of 10 rubles and an incredible size nail. “H,” said the head of the float, ran and returned with his magnet on a rope. Here and other employees were interested in what was happening, building up in a row - to throw a magnet to try their luck. A bunch of pulled iron objects grew, everyone was enthusiastic about the process, and the upset and forgotten old man Propoich, dragging into his body, fell asleep sadly on the couch near the entrance, dropping his moustaches and tired eyelids.
Having picked up a handle from an old coal coal, I suddenly said, "What if the gun doesn't magnetize?"And immediately some used to google, and some began to vociferously prove that guns are magnetic.
At this time, the HMG "flown" on the bridges, so we call the director's wife behind the eyes, because she often sunbaths on stones in the summer.
- What are you throwing out the weapons? - she asked without prejudice and pulled out of the bag of PM Propoich. He was sitting on the table completely unattended.
Magnetic fishing continued, despite the discovery of the missing, - the hazard that encompassed the employees, joined the team much stronger than the official fisherman.
And we gathered the little stuff before leaving the mountain, pouring it on the table of Propoich - for beer in the morning.

HMG - Master of the Copper Mountain