I am a hearing disabled. At the time of the incident, I was not officially there, but I could already hear something wrong.



Third class, lesson of Russian language.

Hitman 94, to the board!

I go out, take the mel, I am preparing to write under dictatorship.

Read “Flying Mouse”

To write right?

Write it right!

Well, I wrote... Well, as I wrote, I wrote as I heard. And here on the board is the inscription: “Educating mouse.” Of course, the whole class laughed, the teacher immediately cried out, what was the case - there were no consequences. Were my classmates reminding me of this incident for a long time... Well, fuck, there is something to remember)

In the year 2007-2008, studying at the latest courses of the institute (physmatics, applied mathematics and informatics), decided to work in a advertising agency as a designer. A provincial town. I agreed with one IP-sniper that I will come after the institute and work for 4 hours in his advertising agency. No registration (first job, young and inexperienced). The money was agreed at 1000 rubles per week with payment on Friday. Well, for each successfully rented advertising banner 3x6 meters +500 rubles a prize.

The first week - worked, received 1000 rubles.

The second week is normal.

At the end of the third week, the question is, “What exactly did you do on Monday? And on Tuesday? How do you remember? What, have you been here? You don’t remember what you did, you don’t work, you have 500 rubles, come on Monday.”

Well, okay, I prepared, bought a notebook and pencil, started to record... A week later, the same question is asked, and I provide a report for every day, what I did specifically, I get my 1000...

The next week the boss prepared, and the questions went out of the category "And what did you do all 4 hours this small order? there is a maximum for an hour of work..." and so on the list of things and, as a result: "... here you have 500 rubles, and that is a lot, you did not work almost."

My move: I started recording the length of the time in the notebook and an explanation why this length). I got my 1000.

At the end of the next week instead of 1000 I get 500 and the argument "you colored and when printing on the canvas - spots"... At that job I had an old lamp monitor with a yellow colored screen... that is, the colors I chose on it not in the eye. Dark blue and black combined. Showed on the monitor the project of the advertising banner, explained the problem, which is not visible) And I bought a color jet printer (500 rubles not returned)! It relied on printing and watching if the colors did not change.

In general, to the notebook with the list of works and time began to apply a color print on the A4 of the project. A thousand rubles!

Apparently, it just went well and there was nothing to do with it, as the boss stated that he needed a designer for 8 hours a day, not for 4. I hired another student. And that was the last week I got 1000 rubles.

The next Friday, the boss stated that thanks to the fact that he hired a second designer, the work for each designer became 2 times less and from now on I will receive 500 rubles a week. It was a horse walk. He got two designers for 8 hours a day in the office and with the same cost (the new one was initially agreed to 500 a week).

I did not come up with a response (and I was tired) and told me that I would not go to work anymore, and I did not go out.

The boss was very angry and said that I would not find such a job anywhere else! I looked into the water. I did not find such work anymore.

You can sit down in girls, but you can't depend on them.

She lost her leg in the war. It was a vivid refutation of the sign that the projectilely does not hit the same wreck twice. It was in the wreck, where they and the wounded soldier were waiting for an artillery, they were covered.
But history is not about that.
One day, many years after the war, a postman brought a strange letter to his grandmother. It was strange that there was no address on the envelope. Only the name of the district and the name of the grandmother. But the back of the envelope was written with a chemical pencil, a hard male handwriting.
It was an appeal to the postman. And it started like this: “Dear Postman! Do not throw this letter. I don’t know the address, but I really need to find someone.” And then there were some details, according to which the letter found its address without error. Such were times.
The grandmother read the letter and told her that one of the wounded she pulled out of the battlefield was writing to her, and that she could not remember, because there were so many. And they were all on one face, in blood, dirt, pain, and fear. Better not to remember it at all.
In short, the letter went somewhere over time, and the envelope with the stamp of some ITU was still long rolled in the box of the commodity.
Then the grandmother did not.
And a year later, or maybe a little more, a strong, cheerful man knocked on our chest and cried out.
The owner, and not the respectable resident.
He named Babi’s name.
The father went out, greeted him, and replied that he said yes, lived here, but had moved for a year. He shrugged his hand towards the village guest.
It was as if the man had released the air. He sits on the bench, drops his hands in blue tattoos between his knees, and confusedly asks:
And what should I do now?
It was the same man whose envelope was long rolled in the box. Unlike his grandmother, he remembered everything very well. How she dragged him, the wounded, how they lay in the wreath for several hours waiting for the arthnalet, and how she stopped him all the time so that he didn’t lose consciousness. She spoke, she spoke, she spoke. She told about her life, about the village, about the remaining houses of two daughters, and about the fact that there is a roof in the house, which was just in the summer, when the war began, they were going to repair, so they didn't have time.
And this soldier, whether in a joke or seriously, or in a nonsense or in a word, swore to her that if they escape alive from this cursed wreck, then after the war he must come to her in the village, and repair the roof. Because there is no better master in repair roofs in the world than him.
But life turned in its own way. After the war, the man sat down once, then another, and went and went. But how strange his promise, given once to the nurse, remembered. Finally, he chose the time and came to repair her roof.
Here the man and his father looked at the roof at the same time, which was in perfect order, and the man asked again.
And what should I do now?
His father took him to the cemetery, where they drank, then returned home, and drank again, sitting in the garden under the old apple tree. They sang songs, argued about something, talked, and the man was constantly returning to his question – how could he now be? He made a promise. This thought sat with a nail in his head and did not let go.
Then the father laid him, already quite drunk, on the senoval, and in the morning he woke up, and said:
Let us go!
Where to?! to
Repair the roof. Are you going to repair the roof? Here is go.
He took him to our neighbor, grandmother Nastasia, a lonely old lady, whose husband did not return from the war, and the children they did not have. My grandmother’s roof has been repaired for a long time. Her father sometimes helped her in the neighborhood, but on the roof he had neither time nor strength. The roof is not a fence, a pair of nails will not cost.
The father brought the man to his grandmother Nastasia in the yard, pointed to the roof, and said.
Here is the roof. If you want, do, if you don’t want, go with the goddess. If anything, the tool there, what else needs, you will take everything from me.
And went away. The man remained.
For a month he probably lived with his grandmother Nastasia. He cleaned the roof, cleaned the well, fixed the fence, and already some of the neighbors, looking at the results of his work, came about something to negotiate with him.
But their plans were not meant to come true. Because a month later, a Canary woman came to the house of grandmother Nastasia with a local and a couple of operas from the city, and the local amusedly asked:
Did your grandmother repair the roof?
He acted. The man answered.
And a good guy! Then we went.
They put on the man handcuffs, placed him in a wreath, and took him in a known unknown direction. Probably somewhere he still had unpaid debts, or unfulfilled promises.

I had a dream: as if in the court summer of 2021, the world is bursting a pandemic of a new intestinal virus, and we all walk in diapers and discuss that in 2020 in masks was much better.

Xxx: When I became a tester, I was advised by my senior colleagues not to say "I can't", but to agree to the task and get rid of it. I still do that, the method works like a clock.

Yyy: Okay, I’ve been reworking this skill for 5 years.

Zzzz: Great, both at work.

Yyy: “One bad programmer creates two jobs.”

On the wave of posts about rural disco.

During his studies at the institute, after passing the summer session, he went to his grandmother in the village to help with the farm. The next night I decided to go to the club. At the approach meet local and the interrogation begins:

Who is? from where?

My grandmother, my grandmother, lives there.

And I am getting closer to the ring, the thing begins to smell fried. And here one says:

Let us bring him our own. And he poured me a glass to the edges of the stinking sameon.

I smelled his sleeve, his sleeve. He gives me an apple, and I say:

We don’t eat after the first glass.

Just look at the local.

The guys were great, but I never went to the club.

Decided to go to the mountains to ride, when calling a taxi left a comment in the appendix: "With me snowboard in a 170 cm blanket." I drove, came back and I needed a taxi for my grandmother somewhere in a week. I called, the grandmother came, laughed and told me: I sat in a taxi, the driver looked at me strangely and said: - A snowboard where?, I ask him: - What snowboard?, he shows: - Here in the appendix commentary that you will be with the snowboard. And since when I left called a taxi with her, together they were still discussing what to leave a comment, she understood that it was left from my order, and since she loves to joke, she said to the driver: - A, enter the bag! They and the driver laughed, then she explained to him that the mistake came out, and I never understood how the comment from one order went to another.