Closed on the keyboard

American missiles in Europe are devoted

The Introduction. In the late 1990s, the Ministry of Defense massively reduced the army. Since many of the captains and majors dismissed in the reserve were aged only 37-42 years and were very active (despite 100% grey), they were sent to small business opening courses (there is such a specialist in marketing and small business in Tula - Tsitko Yu.A., it is a pity that he now went to the deputies - was able to teach and results: one of the men so created the whole market in the end!) And something failed me at the same time: I set up to teach them how to compile their business plans on a computer and print them. By the way, former operators of nuclear ballistic missile controls and air defense forces did not treat the study as civilian: if the instructor said, "Tomorrow come at 9am and do the next thing," they will come and until they do - they will not leave.

Part is funny. Then another morning. The gray-like "uncle" fucks with the computer, looks for something on the keyboard (and the machines we had were brand-name, very non-standard and in general and in particular). I thought, "Seek - find" and lightheartedly walked around the business center for his business. I come after two hours: the weary "uncle" is no longer looking, he just sits, looks at the keyboard and it is obvious that it is ready to break it into spare parts, together with the entire US government. I run, lay on my hand, calm with all my strength. I ask, “What happened?” he replies: “These... fools... likely opponents... a claw... on the keyboard... stumbled... somewhere...” (mother words and expressions I miss). It turns out that the keyboard was incorrectly marked with the Russian spat, and instead of slicking all the keys in order without a shift, and then with a shift and finding which keyboard is the Russian spat, he looked for it with his eyes. She did not come from there! He did not want to switch to English in principle – the language of the enemy!

Part is sad. At their graduation, I remembered this case – to say, fun! And someone else explained to me, “I sat in the catacombs at a depth of 100 meters for fifteen years. And every day he fired all the missile launches and low-flying targets. At the same time, I knew that if necessary, I would press that damned button without thinking. And after that, the enemy’s retaliatory fire will block my way up forever. How can I switch to their tongue for a spell? And how can I lick the buttons that have fallen?"This is the sad story with the grey on the whiskers.