I read the post about the police in Kazakhstan and remembered the case. Two years ago I worked with my mother in the apartment. At 8 p.m. the doorkeeper came to us. Here it began. A neighbor's grandmother came and arranged a scandal that we don't let her sleep and in general, she will call the police now. No explanations worked, and when the grandmother began to shake openly, the doors were closed before her.

About an hour and a half later, a lieutenant called us. Of course, nobody was no longer noisy. Everyone quietly discussed, wrote all the necessary papers and sent him with God. In 20 minutes I come to the kitchen and see the machine. I call my mother. First the stupor. Then we start roasting.

Here the question arises. What to do that? If you call the department, the lieutenant will be fired in the best case. He left no data. Where to look for is unknown. He does not return to the machine.

In short, we called the department and said we liked the lieutenant very much and we’t see him again.) I was grateful, almost crying. I asked what we said on the phone when we called the department. In exchange of kindness, we accompanied him and the machine. A week later he came and handed me a bottle of champagne and candy.

The morality? There is no morality. My grandmother could have been shot.