The Flag
Instead of epilepsy. A taxi driver asks me, “You know the rules. In the direction of Vienna, a sign hangs in front of the bridge. The same is red, and there are two more arrows in it - red and black. What does he mean?”
I wiped the sweat from my forehead. He understood why there were eternal accidents and replied, “The advantage of opposite movement.” He looked into his incomprehensible eyes and added: “You must give in to the opposite. Closely there...”

There are such words-signs that once glued - and everything with a man is forever clear. This is my story today.
In the USSR there were few personal cars, and those who wanted to drive them - a lot. And if the adult uncles and aunts, like something unfortunate, dreamed of any "wheels", even the most rugged, to ride to the country, then what about teenage high school students. In general, the country did not rush to give us the rights and in the auto school we were taught very honestly for three years. By the way, I have all my life learned differently and from different teachers and can appreciate the quality of the organization of that process: a solid four with a plus on the five-point system. Why not five, I will explain.

After the trainers, I got in the distribution to the Colosseum, about which the acquainted students said: "World man! Colossus understood his driving happiness as a driver-instructor specifically: the state gave him a car, poured gasoline into it, and he rides on it for his business. He understood teaching in two ways. The main is that everyone who enrolled washes his wonderful car, and then one out of five students (Oh, lucky!) He receives the right to carry Koloska and the canister for a severely deficient beer, while the rest on the rear seat of the 241th Izha depict a cane.
The second kind was to appoint you a meeting in the winter outside the city on the highway on Saturday at 16 o’clock... and not to come.

Having been tormented for a month with Colossk's fortresses, I told him in the face everything I thought about his approach to training and went to correspond to another instructor. The seats remained only one and he was called Alexei Dmitrievich, and all goodwill discouraged me from this step with the formulation: "Yes, you are what! He is a former flag. You don’t know how the flags in the army interfere with living!”

The Flag was a man of business and strict. He clearly and immediately said that the money is paid to him for not killing us on the road, not for washing his car. With the help of a sheet of paper, a handset and a lighter (which depicted the car for us) easily explained any road situation. And really taught to think while driving, taught to observe the rules, because they are written in blood.

Those who first stayed at Colossk escaped after me. Fast and almost everything. Those who did not escape then gave up on the right once from the fifth.

So since somebody’s tried to stick a label to someone or something, I’ve got my hands itching. For the humiliating “flag” by no means corresponded to a man who was honest and devoted to his cause. To the true Soviet praporst, who for years taught boys in the army to drive heavy trucks, and after retirement, who made the most effort to teach us. By the way, none of our youth group fell into an accident, at least not by their own fault. Years passed, and to those who taught us in the auto school and theory, and practice, only words of gratitude remained. Everyone except the collar.