Summer 2010, I sit on the driver’s seat in my Mazada 626 Cronos, the door is open.

Large parking, 200 meters, along the park, in one row.

I can see someone fast approaching me.

A 45-year-old man runs and catches the door sharply, opens it to the end and looks at me. The look is aggressive and at the same time expresses confusion. And is silent.

I say :

What to do!

He is silent. Second 10 looks at me and the front panel.

Then this:

- Fuck, not my car, I thought you got into my car. I look like my car, and the magnet is different! I have exactly the same simple. I remember parked around this place.

Here he turns his head and finds his machine not far from mine, she was 10-15 meters nearby and leaves joyful. He ran on the left side, and she was on the right side of my car.



I think it was fine even though I didn’t get out of the car right away and didn’t hit.)))

It was one of my first jobs, where I went as a graduate student. I was taken to a small budgetary institution, which contained a small tabernacle as part of its extra-budgetary activities. I was responsible for him. The job was, as it is called, not a bay of the lying - money was received from the accounting office, the goods were purchased cheaper, prepared an advance report, a report on the bank of the seller received, and delivered revenue to the bank. Revenue was usually 50-100 tires. in the day. For a student from the age of thirty rubles, the sum is not a huge one, but a cosmic one. Sometimes, of course, I put myself up and gave money in a few days, accumulating up to half a million timber. But no one tolerated me for this and did not explain the concept of "cash discipline". I calculated the cash very carefully by hand, glued it with a strip of paper on which I wrote the number of notes, the amount, the date, put a signature, and locked it in the safe. In general, I liked the job.

But here, I’ll go into the office one day, where I find a cheerleading director. The eyes immediately fall to the safe. The heart is spotted, and the anus is reflexively compressed so strongly that even a molecule of helium does not slip into it... because the door is open. The Director is such:

Oh, and here are you! Why is the safe locked? We have Chapo! The revenue increased!

There were 230,000 in the safe. I won’t earn that much in a year. I remember closing the safe. Through growing panic, I try to ask questions:

I definitely locked it! What to do now? Calling the police? Who else has the keys?

The keys? Dirk pretended to think. Here is you, here is me. No more of anyone. The police will hardly help. Anyone who could find it will not find it.

He begins to fall out of the office. And I see that his leather jacket’s inner pocket is suspiciously sprinkled. And when he makes a step, the floor of his jacket slightly bends, and I see that he has packs of money there. Taking hold of it as if it were a puddle, still not fully aware of the situation, I throw myself over it:

Wait to! What money do you have in your jacket?

I have me? Those are the others, miss it. He tries to pull my shoulder away. For some reason, there is a confidence that if he leaves now, then I will crash 230 tons without registration and SMS. On the adrenaline, I catch it for the jacket, I take the money out of my pocket and see that it is the same lavender from the safe, I put together in packs and signed.

The Others? Why is my signature on them?

The director of the second shrugged five eyes and said:

Good that we found it! And a bottle of bottle runs around me and falls. And I stand, hold that money in my hands, and try to understand. What the fuck is this? This was the first and last time I worked in a position related to material responsibility.

I went on a trip to Istanbul. After all the affairs were done, he tasted the local shaurma in a fairly decent place and went for a walk around the old town. I walk through the narrow streets, contemplate the local color and then my intestine decided to express its feast to the local cuisine. The search for the toilet was unsuccessful. I had to improvise. I run into a hollow street. I catch the cardboard rolling there and sit behind the garbage tank if necessary. I exhale. What a relief! And here above I hear a native Russian speech: - Man, I told you not to go here! Wild people on the streets!

Soviet caricatures of the “capitalist west” have become relevant again.
Now they are about us...

The Soviet people

A friend told me a little about his family’s history. They are from the Kazan Tatars. In the 1930s they were dismantled. The eldest of eight children has already been married, escaped deportation – he left for Uzbekistan and lived there. The rest spent the entire period of deportation in the Krasnoyarsk region. After the expulsion period, the whole family returned to Kazan. And his grandfather Nazib remained in Yenesaysk. He lived there with his family, from there he went to war, there he returned in 43 when he was commissioned after a serious injury. After the war, his family persuaded him to return to Kazan with his family. Sold the house, property, cattle and bird, and returned home. A year has passed – it’s not all about him. not like it. My older brother was in Uzbekistan. He came there and lived there for another year – he didn’t like it either. Lust for Siberia. I wrote about this to a friend in Yenyaysk. He replied, “Come, of course, we will help!” and this was just the spring – the beginning of garden work. And this friend, being confident that Nazib will soon come with his family, grazes a garden not only for himself, but also for Naziba, plants potatoes, sows everything for two families... little more - decomposes his house with a fence in half, and cuts a separate entrance. Nazib came - here is your house, here is your garden... Nazib raised eight children in Yenesaysk, waited there and grandchildren.
One of those grandchildren, who is already a grandfather, told me this. He says: "We were not surprised at the time of such friendship between people, help... This is just an example of relationships that were considered normal... Called this friend of my grandfather - Semen Ermolaev."

Norway banned deforestation three years ago. How do these idiots live?
They buy the forest from the fools who sell their own.