I work as an electrical welder at the enterprise for the manufacture of metallurgical equipment (cavels, gas pipes, etc.).) is

The implementation of the PSC is in full progress. The whole plant is divided and painted by territories (green - safe, and red - say so dangerous.)

Of course, my work takes place in the red zone. I am as set forth.

I am approached by a girl, an employee of the TV, and asks for a permit to make an act of violation of work without protective glasses. I have a chameleon mask.

I looked at her and asked:

Why is she in production in ballets and civil clothes?

What I get the answer:

I can! I am a TV employee, and I will write out an act for the deprivation of % of the CTU and the premium.

I didn't think long, with the words "well, once you lose, then catch," I threw a hammer next to her leg.

I was not deprived of the prizes, the head of the department stood up, but all TV employees began to observe the TV.

I have relatives on my father’s line. They live in a private house. They, like everyone else in our countryside, first built a "time" and walked there and gradually completed a large house. But all the salt is that they still live in time. Although, there is a cool and damp winter, which is not surprising considering that initially it is not intended for long-term residence, and for a moment the years as 5-7 exactly passed. And the big house stands like a museum, all the furniture and carpets are new, you can see that uninhabited. Only guests are accepted. And you say crystal from a servo.

I worked, I mean, in one of the just beginning call centers of our small town. And there they decided to do a little Moskovsky: hollow tea, soluble coffee, sugar, biscuits. Small but pleasant.

But one day with evil eyes in our open space flies the leader, who himself is a moscovite, but by will of fate raised the province from its knees, and simply very loudly and cunningly asks everyone to pause and gather at his table.

The situation is this: our unit, in which 30 people worked a day, drank 12 full cups of coffee in a week, something about a thousand bags of sugar and... 20 kg of sugar! And the hallway is over, from this moment we drink all the command, and then we wear each for ourselves. Everyone went to the injustice of the world, but separated from work.

Comrade who sat in the neighborhood: “No one ever took! I myself constantly look, just the bosses - the tricks are still those, and they came up with a situation so that they don't buy anything more. “Everyone is bad, and we are D’Artagnan.

We broke a couple of phrases, said, offended, and finished.

I come the next day, and here straight from nine in the morning again some fees. It turned out that my neighbor in his backpack carried everything he could, he was caught with a pack of paper for the printer, a couple of cups of coffee, and even a pound of sugar. As a result, dismissal one day, indeed, not by article, but, I hope, the lesson will be learned.

And I remembered for a long time that no one ever took, but how do you know for everyone?

Good is wasted
Bad – is accumulated

Ave Mary

- Meeting, it is Sasha - he has a network of hotels in Turkey. It’s Gene – is dealing with the sale of electronics. This is Valera - a network of children's shops. This is Alice, a musician, a violinist.
Is he also a millionaire? I was joking.
“Well, how to say,” laughed my friend, “ ask him himself...
So we met. Alic, charming, cheerful, low in height, a little like Mr. Bean, instantly made friends with me, and after a couple of drinks told his story, as they usually tell people who are likely never to see again.

“My dad was the director of a music school in our town, and therefore, you know, I didn’t have a special choice: either piano or violin. My first violin was childhood. I grew up and the question arose about buying a full, adult violin. Then came the case. Immediately after the New Year, a musician came to the school and asked to pass him to the director. It turned out that he drank all the money he earned in the morning and, in order to trust home, decided to sell his violin. Even though he was a musician, he did not understand violin. He called the scraping teacher to assess the quality. The teacher was delighted and said, “Buy it! If you want to sell it, I will buy it for any money. Do you know what’s important about the violin? It sounds or not! And this sounds.
In general, a new violin cost him a hundred rubles. Well, you remember the salaries and prices at the time... At the official rate to the dollar – 60 green! How it came to Russia, I don’t know. I think after the war someone brought it from Germany as a trophy.

And I went with her through life: I went to the orchestra, began concerts, foreign trips. The violin documents had to be made in order to be allowed abroad. Habituated to her. You know, I used to say food. That was her for me. You know how I made money, right? He travelled abroad, carried canned foods, pasta, so as not to spend a penny and for a trip to bring something from there and sell. The counters in the hotels turned like angry, the traffic jams flew out when the symphony orchestra was cooking pasta.

Germany opened up. The question of going or not, did not stand. to go. What to do with the violin? There was an option for a thousand bucks. It was crazyly expensive for me! People left and sold apartments for just a few thousand. Then the prices have risen.
Long thought, decided to transmit with guides. The guys gave me theirs, checked. He paid 200 bucks and in mid-December handed them a box with a violin.
The next day he boarded a plane and flew to Berlin. A few hours before the train arrived at the station, I didn’t go by myself. I'm worried, I don't think God let anything happen to her!
The train is approaching, my heart is beating, and the look will jump out of my chest! Like on a first date with a girl. I can’t wait for the moment to press her and hug her. Even the kiss was ready.
The conductor comes out, looks down, I immediately realized - problems! I run hardly alive: - Where, I say, is the violin? And he turns his eyes away: - The Germans confiscated at the border with Germany.

In general, word for word, it turned out that these fools decided to celebrate a profitable business, bought vodka, snacks, drove, crossed the border with Poland - drove again, and then, so that no one would bother, just locked themselves in the coupe, drank the remains and fell asleep. The German border was reached, customs officers entered the wagon - there are no conductors. They knock on the box, they don’t open. They broke the door, and they don’t tie the bars there. They were accepted according to the full program. And in the box box, in it the violin is old, old, you can say. They confiscated, gave a paper, said that the disassembly should come to the owner personally, not to Berlin, but to Frankfurt on the Main. Well, you know, then I realized that my entire future is slowly covered with a copper basin. After all, without their good instrument, no decent orchestra will take me, and the money saved in foreign trips on pasta will not be enough even to buy a slide. I know nothing more. Business is zero. Both hands are left, I can’t even hit the nail! German, indeed, was taught in school, and what a matter, in Germany everyone speaks German.

In general, I moved in a couple of days in Frankfurt on the Main. I come to the customs office with a receipt and a violin passport, looking for the Chief Customs Officer. I found. It turned out a woman. I explain the situation, and they also taught Russian in schools, answering: - Do you want to sell a violin in Germany? I say, “No, I’m a violinist, it’s my instrument, I’ll play it. And she again: - You carry a violin without papers, so you want to sell!
This conversation with various variations and trips through the offices lasted almost until the closure of the customs. And then a brilliant idea came to her head: "If," she says, "you are a musician, play! And he looks at me with such triumphant eyes as Mueller looked at the Strider, the kind of catch.

I look at the envelope and think this is my last chance to touch my favorite violin, set up, play it may be the last time. I was so excited when I touched her. As if you had to meet a loved one after a talk, and how you will behave depends on whether he will stay with you forever or your paths will never cross. I closed my eyes so that the tears didn’t flow and I thought what to play with them? Play so that it will surely work out. And then suddenly I remembered that Catholic Christmas was on the nose. I think I’ll play them Ave Maria, Schubert. And when I play, I close my eyes, I see nothing, I stretch in a string, I get up on my feet, in general, I completely give myself to music. Ave Maria is a long work. I play, I forgot everything. I finished, I opened my eyes, a couple of shares of a second of silence, and then such ovations began! I have never been applauded for solo performance, I have always played in the orchestra! All the customs gathered. In the eyes of tears. They whisper their noses and knock their hands! The Main Customswoman washes her eyes with a towel. “Play,” he said, “we can do something else if we can. We will not be able to work anyway, and the customs will close in half an hour.
I arranged a concert for them. There were not so many Christmas songs in my repertoire, so I moved to the classics, then to the Jewish, burning. And they do not separate, the doors are locked so that no one from the outside enters and ask for more and more. And I play and I’m afraid to stop.
Two hours later, the Customswoman said, “Thank you very much! I have never seen Christmas in my life. I apologize for spending so much time, our service is like this.

“And then you joined the orchestra and earned your first million by performing on tours,” I put in my five copies.
Yes, you do, but you won’t earn so much! I forgot to say that their expert found that the violin was made by French masters and valued it at half a million German marks.

Wagoned

Patriarch Kirill expressed in his Christmas message jealousy and a desire for comfort.
Then he sat down in the armored mercy, flew to the airport, where a business jet was waiting for him, ready to fly to Sardinia, where our modest patriarch had already been waiting for his yacht.

And you know that 18650 batteries "18" is the diameter, and "650" is the length?

And again, if you use the old Soviet stang circuit for measurements, then you can live see what a short circuit is.

How beautiful is the lithium burning.

And that the new kitchen table in IKEA costs just 3,499

As a result of many years of research, British scientists have found out: two twins distinguish perfectly from each other.

Today after the clinic met a St. Petersburger of the 85th level!
I went after the doctors on the way to the cafe, I sat down, relaxed with a coffee and a note. After some time, a guy passes by my table, putting a folded paper on my table, from a notebook, apparently. He hurried out of the cafe.
On paper, the inscription from the hand, but in printed letters, probably, so that it is not difficult to disassemble the handwriting.
“Maybe I’m not in my business, so if you don’t accept such an invasion of your life, don’t open this note and just throw it away.”
I opened the note!) With the same printed letters:
“You have bacillus on your legs that you probably didn’t remove after visiting a medical institution. If it is not a mistake, but a conscious part of the clothes, I apologize for the disturbance."

Lord, give me the strength to eat what is left, give me the courage to throw away what is ruined. Give me wisdom to distinguish one from the other.

In our family, the theme of sex was not to be banned, it simply did not exist. at all. But the time was like that. Not only my mother was silent. The adults were silent, the school was silent, television and the press were silent. It was like an information vacuum.



Even fresh were the echoes of the telemost of the 86th year “Leningrad-Boston”, when the phrase “In the USSR there is no sex” flew to the people.

Someone pronounced it with pride: “There is no sex in the USSR!”

Someone uncertain, as if doubting, seemed to be, but he did not see.

And somebody just said, “There is no sex in the USSR? Okay well”



Of course, we all know that the phrase itself was, as they say, pulled out of context. In the USSR there is no sex, there is love. There was only “sex” in the people.



For me, this phrase became the embodiment of the time of my adulthood, puberty. It was a time when I changed both in my head and body. Time for my unanswered questions.



The first interest is believed to have appeared in the kindergarten.

For me, a girl who grew up in a full matriarchate, with a rare Sunday daddy, it was twice as interesting as they, with boys, everything is arranged there. Our kindergarten games with daughters-mothers became more and more mature, and the games of doctors became more and more interesting. And in the quiet hour, moving the tabs, we and the girls quietly whispered that the boys, there, everything is confused - a lot of superfluity.



By graduating from kindergarten, we had a lot of time: we learned a song about the fun captain, learned to burn on boards, showed ourselves and saw others.



Like most of the children of that time, who grew up in small military towns, I spent all my free time outdoors. I went home to eat and watch another series of “Well, wait!” 

The street was not just a place for games, for communication, it was a powerful source of information. All the most interesting, scary, shameful, all the most forbidden I brought from the street. It was the street that told me what adults were silent about.



On the playground, in an old wooden house with paint, in a proven company, before me opened the door to the forbidden world of adult secrets.



Our company was led by my friend Olga. She struck me and admired me with the knowledge of such a huge number of nonsense: anecdotes, verses, songs.

Every day has benefits:

“Listen to another joke.



A boy climbed on a tree, a police officer approached him and said:

Go down. Not a tear.

What is your name? and Gan.

How is the name? and Don.

Where does your mother work? In the pharmacy.

A police officer comes to the pharmacy and says:

“Your Gan Don doesn’t tear!

And in response to him:

I had to buy the size.”



All of this anecdote broke up. Everyone except me. I didn’t understand what was funny about the fact that a boy with a strange name, Gan Don, didn’t want to come down from a tree.



Olga asked surprised:

Do you know what Gandhi is?

No, I shrugged my head.

This is... a candy. Tasteful and delicious. Go to the store and ask.



But in her cunning eyes there was a smell, and I understood that if the Gandon was really a candy, it was very unpleasant.



Yes, by the way, children of the 70s and 80s, do you remember how condoms were called in the USSR?

Products of No. 2. There is an opinion that rubber product No. 1 is an anti-gas, product No. 2 is a condom, product No. 3 is a calash, and number four is a napalnik. But it is just an opinion.



Condoms were sold only in pharmacies and were masqueraded with undetectable gray squares, like packaging paper. No flavour and no flavour.



So, taking advantage of her sexual awareness and my sexual illiteracy, Olga often suggested to me:

“Jeanne, look, there are high school girls sitting out on the bench. Tell them they are prostitutes.

What is it?

That means they are beautiful. They will be delighted and give you chocolate.



I may have been stupid, but very careful.

I didn’t get close, I stopped nearby, made a friendly face and gently, kindly said:

You guys are such prostitutes.



In response, a rubbish and a piece of dirt flew into me. I understand, I have to beat, there will be no chocolate.



In the fifth grade, I went to the camp, and brought back the "precious treasure" - a promised notebook, where were recorded frankly nasty anecdotes, songs and verses, with explanations of incomprehensible words. For a week I obscured the popular Olga in our company, or even in our yard. So that’s the garden – I became the star of the city.



The friends came in:

Hi my aunt Julia. Will Jeanne go out? - And I was quietly, stealing, because of my mom's shoulder whispered, "Tetradku grab."



Mother styles from my testament notebook were scattered on other testament notes. I was mega popular. But not long. A week later, I burned this precious artefact in a titanium ball. The fear of being caught and hooked in something shameful obscured the thirst for fame.



And these pioneering camps, rural relatives and friends filled my sexual luggage with forbidden verses and scabies stories. Often the information received on the street was frightening and disturbing. She demanded explanation and explanation. To whom to go?



I decided and went to my mom. To my strict mother. I had only two questions. The first, somewhat late, but quite traditional and harmless childhood question - Where do children come from?

But here is the second, adult and dangerous question, I took everything out of the same cluttered house on the playground: “Mom, what is sex?”

In response, I got sharply and categorically: “Children are for love, and sex is dirty and shameful. They are just prostitutes.”



Mom’s intonation was frightening and did not have any further inquiries. Who are the prostitutes, I guessed, and so I realized the main thing: sex is bad, sex is dirty, sex is shameful.



And when the neighbor Natasha said that all the parents are doing THIS, I struck her with fists and tears:

is not true! My mother is not like that!



I studied in a rural school. Often there was a lack of teachers, lessons were combined. Sometimes housekeeping for girls and labour education for boys were transformed into one great common work. In this lesson, our constant worker Sergey Nikolaevich explained to us how to behave in the theater and who are homosexuals.



He did this as a worker, in a simple language:

“I go to school, I hear the boys in the class cuddle and say, ‘P@Doras! You are Dorothy! “They saw me, and their ears were squeezed, and they were squeezed. The word is literary and means...



And the laborer brought out a long, beautiful, incomprehensible word on the class board in large letters: HOMOSEXUALIST.



So, he says, fight for health, only literally.

Another worker taught how to behave correctly in cultural public places, in the theatre:



So yes, write it down. Not to roast, not to chew, not to mate. Nicholas, this is about you. And when you pass to your place, it is with apologies and face to face, because no one is pleased to smell your ass.



And immediately from the last part flew a quite logical question from the second-year-old Nikolayev:

It smells good at the front, right?



In the upper classes introduced a new subject "Ethics and psychology of family life". A dull, dull schoolgirl also dictated boring and colorlessly from the textbook under the inscription "family as a cell of society..." 

of boredom. We fell asleep.



And one day, either she got sick, or she resigned, but we had a new, absolutely amazing teacher. It was during her lessons that I saw the condom alive and learned that oral sex did not come from the word “orate”.



At one of the lessons, as a textbook, the teacher led the whole class to the movie "Greek fig tree". In the small theater we sat as enemies – boys to the left, girls to the right.

The essence of the film is this: a young sexy beauty travels around the country, embarrassed, flirting and looking at couples during sex. And shoots all this on camera to find out why people do love without love.



The same question was asked by the teacher after the film was finished.

But the two hostile camps were silent and tried not to look at each other. The boys laughed quietly. And the girls sat punctured by shame and outrage, because in the film was shown a lot of naked female body, and the male quite a bit, literally a piece of ass. And there was such a feeling that the boys saw us naked, and we weren’t.



But despite this shock, shame, and embarrassment, I was looking forward to the next lesson on “The Ethics and Psychology of Family Life.” For the first time I got answers to my questions. Not in the form of shitty verses and songs, these were correct and delicate explanations from an adult understanding woman. She spoke to us equally, like a woman with a woman, like a mother with an adult daughter.

Unfortunately, these lessons did not last long. Someone of the parents saw the disgrace and wrote a report to the director. And the “Greek fig tree” was replaced by the “family as a cell of society.”



Now my daughter is growing up.

And, remembering my teenage throws, this heavy burning soup in my head with a taste of shame and prohibition, I’m always open to her questions.

I never get rid of Dianka, say, it’s too early for you to know. Once he asks, then the time has come.  I am not ashamed to explain to my older daughter what my mother was silent about.



Well, what I can’t explain, I’ll help Yandex.

And you never wanted that during the session of the Duma to the tribune came the sailor Zheleznyak and said: "Citizens, the convoy is tired, clean the room!“?

The law is the law!
Russian Federation, Republic of Komi, Ust-Kulomsky district, village of Myelodino. No, not from the words “We are helda!”
The village is stretched along the bank of the river. Length kilometers 7-8, width meters 100.
Central, it is the only street with the logical name Central. Killed all the ground, holes and dams, first-to-second transmission, speed 10 km / h. In front of the school 20 meters of perfectly flat asphalt, and on these 20 meters - 2 artificial bugs, "lieing police." It is logical not to lay on the ground of lying policemen. And signs, of course: Transition, Artificial Inequality, Speed Limit 20 km / h. There is nothing to chase here. The kids anyway!
And then again the same ground, the same 10 km / h.
How would you hint on the deputies who adopt smart and necessary laws (for example, about compulsory policemen lying near each school), that there is also life beyond the ICAD?

The ban on keeping the house of penguins, beemots, crocodiles and lions came into force. But the ban on the holding in the Kremlin of colonies of parasites has not entered into force.

Zarutsky F. D., Fyodor Taras "Training the intelligence officer: the GRU special forces system" (1998)



"If there is a need to quietly lower the gases, you should stretch your buttocks with your hands and then, in order not to give yourself a smell, quickly dissipate the air with your palms, without producing shock."



yyy: I tried to do in the guests, so weirdly looked at me, especially when I took off my pants to stretch my buttocks.

When I was 10 years old and I lived in the USSR, which was not distinguished by the variety of goods, a "danger" happened to me - I forgot the keys to the apartment. Mom from work had to come not soon, and to cross through the neighboring balcony (as then practiced) I did not dare then. After sinking a little, I decided to use my considerations for the external identity of my castle with the castle of the neighbors opposite, and knocked. The elderly Zoya was at home.

What to you?

Can you give me your key to open my door?

How is it?

The castles are the same.

I persuaded her to give the key, approached the door and opened it. My friend did not share my joy:

Have you tried before?! to

and no.

The castle was changed.

I remembered one curious from an old job at the SC on the repair of equipment.

Sometimes it turns out that customers are not in a hurry to take their equipment from the word at all)) Usually when the cost of the announced repair is too high, the state of the equipment is no and do not want to pay for the diagnosis. Once a month the manager called on such requests of customers and asked to pick up the equipment even without paying for diagnosis, but many are just lazy)) but the space in our service was enough and we depended on the devices did not strain.

One morning, a man comes and asks, “Do you still have my laptop?” and extends a receipt of the old sample, the date of delivery 3 years ago (the base has changed over this time, the data has gone away). The administrator rounded her eyes, like, “Now let’s see.” I found a note on the shelf of "growing" technology, wears - gives and is interested in:

“Why did you go to us so long?” 

The man is like this;

“Yes, I just sat in jail, I couldn’t get it, you know. “Thank you, all the good.”

It was at sunset.)

Comrades repairers try to keep the equipment as long as possible, they can always come for it))

I remembered the winter (not New Year's) story that happened many years ago. My son was still young and my mother was still alive. So here...

One beautiful winter day we (I, my mother and my little son) went for a walk. As it happens, when we wear noise and cries, we catch a boy to stretch his hat. And then my mom says, “Something like a knock, you hear?” I answer: No.

M: Listen to me!

Probably repair somewhere.

M: No, it is knocking out the window!

What a window, we are on the 8th floor!

However, the knock on the glass is spread throughout the apartment. We walked around the apartment in search of the source of the sound. And, indeed, on the balcony in the snow someone stands and knocks on the glass! There was no limit to the joy of the son: Mom, look, Carlson! My first wish was to call 02. We approached with caution, looked closer: the grandmother is standing in a coat on the frost, crying and asking to let her go. Oh, that’s the neighbor comes to the mother-in-law and grandson to sit! They let in, grafted a valocordine, and she was hysterical: she went out to the balcony to hang underwear, and the grandson (3 years old) closed it and can not open. And she decided (in the winter on the slippery pavements, 8th floor) to the luck to climb onto our balcony! A few more minutes and we would go, desperate old lady! Luckily, she always had the keys and the phone in her jacket pocket! The entrance door was safely opened from the outside with keys. I ask, why did you not call anywhere? Why risk their lives? She says: she was afraid that the son and daughter-in-law will know and will not let her grandson go any more. He asked not to tell the neighbors. We saw Carlson.

It’s funny when the president wishes the Russians the best, and the prime minister offers them to stick.

Dad and Zoh.

My father was always a supporter of a healthy lifestyle - never drank, did not smoke, must have done many kilometers before breakfast, - in general, I was always far ahead of him, I just admired his energy.
The only thing I was categorically disagreeing with was that as soon as the sun was a little warmer in April, my dad began to walk barefoot. And so until October.
Oh well! You’ve already melted your legs up to size 48! I’m looking for shoes for dogs in the store. I remember, you had the size 46 before, I warned him.
But Dad was relentless – walking barefoot on the ground was helpful. And the sandals, hardly found in the store, were rolling.
Until he broke his leg. There was a need for sandals - I insisted that he should at least temporarily start wearing them.
Two days later, it was a problem again.
“Girl, look, I think I’ve caught the curtain.

I had never seen the skins of a begemot in the vicinity, but, in my sensations... My dad’s foot was something of the middle between a slate of paper and asphalt. Taze with hot water, with the evaporation of the legs for half an hour - also helped little.
For a long time, armed with a needle, I looked in, trying to find a hole. I took off my glasses, put on my glasses... Then I called my husband. We both, like the Inquisitioners, ticked the needle to the misfortune - suddenly lucky? Where is the entry?
We never found it, and we gave up. Asking Daddy not to walk barefoot anymore - you see which side you got it!
The father breathed for two days, shuddered (well, he was hindered by the unfounded slope), but stoically walked in sandals.
On the third day I couldn’t stand it, removed the hated shoe – and, oh miracle! It hurts as never before.
And in the foot of the sandalwood, piercing it through, torched the self-cut...