In our group of part-time students there was one creative jobless (we sometimes wondered how he entered the university at all), who often came to the exam with an entirely empty head, but for the teacher he wrote some incredible tragic story, usually little plausible and stupid. Then he was shot by a car before the entrance to the university, then he protected the girl from hooliganism, and he was marked for this, I don't remember. And most teachers, strangely enough, believed him. He told these stories very complainingly, Stanislavsky himself would applaud him. Unfortunately, not all of them were so confident.
Once on an exam in political economy, the professor after several attempts to extract from him at least something distantly related to his subject, asks him what hindered him from learning if not a textbook, so at least the material he gave in his lectures. And it would be good if he had explained why he did not regret any of his lectures with his presence. Well, he pulled about the following labu:
“You know, I just arrived at the session, settled in a hotel, started studying, and suddenly my wife comes from home with our breastfed child. The child throws on me, and she goes to Gagra with her lover. And the baby needs to be fed, diapers washed (at the time there were no diapers), and he is crying in the room day and night, interfering with all the neighbors around the hotel. Eventually, they wrote a complaint to the director about me, but he did not understand and expelled us out of the street. The boy was booming with the baby for a few days, until they somehow settled on the station in the room of the mother and the child. And this is the train station, there some go, others come, a bunch of children, everyone is crying over. Can we learn anything in such circumstances?
What you now read is only a pale shadow of his true story, he himself then painted much more picturesque, just years have passed a lot, many details have been erased in the memory. If you read and think, "What a fool this author, how could you invent such nonsense at all," it will be easy for you to understand what was going on in the heads of all of us who had to hear this nonsense in the original.
In short, he tells all this, and the people in the audience are pressured by laughter, but tolerate, so as not to take care of him and not give him up with a little bit, comrade still.
The professor listened (he seemed to be filled with sympathy on his face) and said:
Well, my son, I understand, family problems are serious. But we still have an exam, at least something I have to ask you. If you answer the simplest question, give me a definition of what is the science of political economy in general. It is written on the first page of the textbook. Opened a textbook?
- Of course I opened up, now... Politeconomy is... it is... science, economics, only political, well, like looking at economics from a political point of view (not literally, of course, but he missed something of this kind).
Some of us are running like horses, but we hold on.
The young man! I see, I have tried, I have taught, comrades, take an example. My son, do you have a father?
There is, and what?
How do you wear your pants, on the straps or on the belt?
Without understanding, he answered stupidly:
On the belt, why not?
And then, when you come home, you pass on my request to your father, remember: "Daddy, our teacher of political economy Ivan Sergeevich asks you to take off the belt and pour it on me, the unemployed man, as it should be on his naked ass, so that the next time I do not hang the scarf on the ears of the old professor." Remembered it? And that, son, you’re still lucky that he’s wearing the belt.
The whole group is already in the open, and yet this monster has found nothing better than to ask:
Why was lucky?
"Because if he had been wearing heights, I would have asked him to just drown you, an attacker, on them.