In pursuit of stories, about the hidden physical resources of the body, manifested by our fellow citizens in extreme situations. Matta will not be, but children and weak nerves are better not to read.
In one of the universities worked a pro-rector (seems to be on educational work).
He was a beast. Not so, but this is the beast. Innocent student punishments such as preference, beer and even smoking throughout the institute, including charges, were immediately deducted. He was principled to impossibility.
And here is the painting of the oil: the furthest forgotten by all and only half-populated wing of mercy. In winter, it is cold, going down from the tenth floor to the street to smoke and then climbing back when the elevator is not working is obviously lazy. In addition, the evening... the session... everyone has a lot of work... Yes and, see. above, the furthest wing of communion. In the corner near the toilet smoke two students-three-year-old (miracle not counted, although there is a lot for what) and a miniature student-excellent (ah, the heroine of history is she), the only sin of which was that she became addicted to smoking, and then only in the fourth grade. Next to the toilet was the exit to the balcony of the former fire ladder, which in time lost its functions and the door there was reliably locked, so that the students, tired of the process of gaining knowledge, accidentally did not confuse the door and did not go out on the shallow and narrow balcony with perils that do not reach the belt even the aforementioned extremely small student.
And then happens what should have happened. The law of deceit. In the corridor there are approaching steps and voices, one of which unmistakably recognizes the terrible pro-rector, who visited this floor for the last time, probably never. No where to run. The smell of smoke he could feel anyway, because his smell was excellent. Toilet - an impasse, how much can you sit in the siege in this sanitary fortress? Exactly until the commander comes with the key.
The only rescue is a locked door to the fire balcony. Two pretty strong students, once even defending the honor of the university at competitions in various sports, try to open the door, pulling it on themselves, the pen is long with a large wooden pad and allows both to get stuck (yes, this is such a violation of fire safety, the door was torn inside).
The student-excellent helplessly jumps around the sculptural group "Two Bugs and a Door" and only puzzles, imagining the futility of her four-year efforts on the ground of study and the further career of a seller in the retail market. It is in the best case. Other ways of earning for foreign girls bring her to complete horror.
Steps are getting closer. The student makes a compressed scream, similar to "Banzai!", pushes back her classmates from the door and with one light movement breaks off a pen from her. The sound of two falling jawbones, secondary confusion. Under the wooden tapestry there is a narrow cross-sectional gap in the door itself in the place of the handle, and, brought to a state of affection, the girl pushes her thin hands into that gap and after a second the door falls and opens like a shark falls, damaged by a couple of dozens of nails with which she was attached to the perimeter to the door.
Not dull, all three studios find themselves on a narrow balcony and cover the door behind them. By the way, winter, strong winds, the tenth floor and, I mentioned above, dirty fences.
However, the problem is not yet fully resolved. The open fire door cannot but cause questions to the pro-rector. But how can it be closed when there are a lot of nails on the edge, obviously not wanting to return to the holes on the roof that are intended for them? All efforts are futile.
The poor girl hears the voice of the pro-rector already very close, behind the door, and the state of sacred trance, when she could turn the mountains, is replaced in her hysteria of incredible force. Her classmates talk about grabbing her and all three barely balance on a narrow balcony. The poor girl is shaken and she no longer sees the fainting face of the pro-rector, who opened the door and astonished looking at the new elemental sculpture group.
The barbarians of Atilla capture the resistant vestal.
"What?..." - only a solid scientist man could squeeze, dragging all three back inside.
Adrenaline (or something else produced in the human blood in similar situations) works wonders. One of the two trio students, permanently floating at the exam and being not seven feet at all in the forehead, demonstrates the wonders of ingenuity:
“The Four,” he said.
“What... Again the pro-rector shoots out of himself, but with a terrible voice.
“She got the fourth,” the student immediately reacted, “she is going to the red diploma. Here are four. I decided to commit suicide. to jump.
They caught. One second and that’s all.”
The look of the hysterical girl perfectly matched the explanation. The cigarette smoke in the air clearly went to the tenth plan, if ever noticed.
Furthermore, nothing surprising: an ambulance and a reassuring for the girl, hovering at the open doors of the former fire balcony, an educational and praiseful conversation with both students-displaced (well, the pro-rector, a man of the old school, could not leave this all without an educational moment, while clear distrust in his eyes was read)
P.S No one checked the girl's account for the assessment.
P.S to P.S No one was removed.
by P.P.S. Subsequently, almost no one believed the story of breaking the door with the hands of a fragile girl, including the main heroine, who could not remember anything at all. Those moments were simply wiped out of her memory.
The P.P.P.S. The door became a local attraction, and everyone to whom the story was told must go and try to repeat the student's feat. However, after fruitless efforts, he waved his hand and said with Savel Kramerov’s voice: “Lying...”