Idiots will not be translated because they are divorced.

Cases from my life. Where, how and what was sold in the USSR. The theme has become popular, people are nostalgic. I’m pissing and I’m with everyone.

The case 1. People who sold the photographs.

In 1983, resting on the "Stavropol-Dombay-Adler" trade route, I found myself in Sochi, and went to the "Photo" store (well, or as he was called there; photovoltaics, film "Svema" and hyposulfit). And there lies on the shelf a miracle of domestic optics, the Mir-10 wide-angle, with a scissor M42, that is. This is straight for my Zenit TTL. Money was. I approached and asked to weigh me one thing. The seller dumbed and, returning from the box, told me that this lens was for veterans. I was 22 years old, and I didn’t pull a veteran. Then I went from a distance, regrettably saying that I am from places where this does not happen at all; then stealthy asked how much this lens has been on the shelf (it turned out to be quite long), and finally asked how much, in the opinion of the seller, it still lies, given the likelihood that the veteran of VOV will come to this particular store, and he will want to buy for his particular camera this particular lens.
The girl again went to the director, joked, and, returning, agreed to weigh me 1st. The Mir-10 objective.

by PS. It had to be sold in Italy on the market, when everyone was sold. They bought it quickly, unlike Zenit TTL himself, in which some buyer, throwing his finger, repeated the word "Museum!“”

The case 2. About what was made in cheese factories and not sold in the city where they were located.

There was a cheese factory in my town. They made different cheese, cheese, and even cheese "Coolbasny", which was served as a snack to beer in the local bath "Red Ear".
But in the shops... in the store we have never seen any products of the factory.
And then returns from Moscow, from a one-day trip, an employee of our research institute, and says: she went to a dairy store, and there an old lady approaches the shelf, and asks her aunt in a white hood: "Sweet, and N-sky cheese hasn't been around for a long time?“”

The case 3. A good saleswoman loves in Coop.

I go to our KOOP shop, in the village next to NII. Anything to buy for breakfast. Under the glass - a baton of black cooked sausage (I was assured that this is a sign of quality; said - no nitrates), the location of which has not changed for a year, and the Hungarian spike, dried with red pepper (the same rate of redemption; an alternative to the salon it was very mediocre). The shelves are empty, on one of the canned "Mintay in tomato oil filling". At least something for breakfast. There was bread. I am already accustomed to the burn. There is no one in the store except me.
I take a couple of pots, I approach Luba; Luba looks at me, at the banks, then regretfully speaks, calling me by name, say, please, I will bring you a nice (so she said - "good") and, running into the warehouse, takes out two banks of true "a few in tomatoes". I have to say that my gratitude did not know boundaries.

The case 4. The last. The medications.

Fifth degree of university. The Spring. I headed to the main universe. We wrote diplomas, and therefore we stopped being together in pairs; therefore we did not see our fellow students for several months. And here to me, with a sad expression on the hairless face of a horse, which made it even more horse-like, my classmate Momma (he in the army accidentally washed his face with water from the cane, which turned out to be acid... but not sulfur. Since then, the skin, like a baby, and even the puff on it does not grow. There are no burns. That fucking, eternal youth. The fact that he came out of the pharmacy with such a face intrigued me. Momma was much older than most, he was already over 30, while I was 21. He said, “Hello Momma! How is it?“I heard that his one-year-old son is lying and coming from pneumonia in the central hospital, and there are no antibiotics anywhere. He went through all the pharmacies and found nothing. In general...
So it turned out that in this particular pharmacy provider was Mom's best friend T. The mother doctor. I asked Momma to wait, asked the girl at the stand to call T., and, heartily greeted and hugged, asked to help as much as I could, explaining the situation. T. told me that all she has is 6 ampoules of penicillin, a personal medicine. No more not. She gave it all to me. Momma, of course, was happy (although our relationship with him was not very good at first)... Yes, the child has recovered.

Here is. It is about the USSR, and how, to whom, where and what was sold. Or not sold.
Memory is such a thing, trying to remember the good.

What will our education be called after the abandonment of the Bologna system?
Education and point.

I go somewhere in the subway, at the “Academic” station in the car enters a Gypsies with a child. The boy immediately runs into the wagon with an outstretched arm. The case, unfortunately, is usual, and the people do not rush. Suddenly, a man sitting next to him, apparently a visitor, who could quite well go down for the boy’s father, stops him and stretches out a note. The child takes the money and wants to go on, but the man holds him back:

How old are you?

“Five,” the boy replied.

“Five years... and begging...” said the man sadly.

I was stealing in your years.