In one of the Moscow paid clinics a month ago came the proud son of the mountains, a Caucasian. He was proud, but his eyes were shaken and somewhat frightened. The girl in the registration, scratching a duty smile, asked him:
To which doctor do you want to go to the reception?
- Listen, I would go to an anesthesiologist, - for some reason the Caucasian answered with a whisper.
Why a whisper? The girl also lowered her voice.
Mean has a parable. I’ll tell the doctor, Noah.
The anesthesiologist does not accept patients.
The girl. Maybe the therapist first. Do you have severe pain?
Nate, as long as Boley Nate. They will soon be strong.

Five minutes later, the Caucasian entered the therapist. Full of compassionate attention and caring involvement, which happens only in paid clinics, the doctor asked:
What are you complaining about?
I am ashamed, Doctor! Owen is ashamed. I am my worthless son.
The people and their matrix. Tell me that you never tell anyone.
I had you.
The therapist sneezed and put his hands in the lock:
I took the oath of Hippocrates. I will not tell.
Harash, the Doctor I need local anesthesia of the arms, legs, abdomen and back.
Urgently, until it has dried up!

The Caucasian began to dress feverishly, and a therapist who saw a lot in his age saw such that he even removed his glasses and began to wipe them quickly.
Almost the entire machined body of the Caucasian was covered with white wax strips designed for hair removal. Only on the chest was seen a pink hairless square.
“Doctor, I was able to touch only one strip! Here is here! The Caucasian
pointed to the chest. So much pain, so much pain, so much pain! I thought that
I will go and cut!
God, why did you pray this wax? Can not simply
to shave?
and Nate! A date for two hours! In order to shake me, I
It takes 4 hours! So delete anesthesia, doctor. I need more.
Succeed with the flowers!

The therapist quietly sat for a minute, dumbly stood on the patient, then shaken, recalled and went for anesthetic.