XX: I need your advice. The deputy director asks me to write reports instead of him, and I have enough work to do. There is no mention of additional payment. Should I go into conflict or reconcile? How would you do?



Yyy: I played billiards once in my life. A long time ago with my partner rested in the prophylactory, I went to the billiard room, and he is playing with someone. He suggested to me, I said that I could not, but he did not listen to my denials and rejections. I forced Kim. Well, I crushed the ball from all the doors. The bullet flew over the table for a meter and flew to the opposite wall. It is good that the guy who stood at the table in front of me had a great reaction - the ball passed exactly where his head was... Kiy was taken, removed from the table, and never offered to play again.



XX: That is, you are proposing to make a report so that you are not forced to do it anymore. A good advice!



YYY: Yeem, foolish, I wrote in the wrong window, I was called here for a billiard. But always please, glad to help with advice.

A Jewish grandmother argued with her grandson Sema that he would not eat 25 peelings. On what he will clean up in the apartment... And here Sam eats the 24-year-old, and the 25-year-old is not in the plate... This is all you need to know about drawing up contracts.

On the way to work one road must be crossed. Lighting with a button.

After pressing the button, the desired signal should wait for 2-3 minutes.

Yesterday I approached this lighthouse and at the same time a local Dog runs with me. I have known this dog for a long time.

Smart and not aggressive. She always waits for people and only crosses the road with them.

He came and sat not far away. Since I don’t know his name, I just call him Dog. Everyone calls him so.

I greeted him as usual:

It is great, dog!

Wait for the green. While waiting, I decided to knock on the phone. Two minutes later, the light becomes green.

Go here, green dog! I said and looked around.

There were no more dogs. There was a man. He looked at me very badly.

There was nothing to explain. Accelerated the step.

I hope he saw the dog. If you haven’t seen it, you’ll forgive me someday.

It was 10 years ago, when my younger brother and I were in school. Therefore, in the evening, the whole family gathered in our three-room apartment: Mom, Dad, my brother-in-law, a turtle with a German name and a poppy who was afraid of even his own voice.

A slight immersion in the atmosphere:

Our two-story building fell under some state program of modernization and in addition to being insulated, painted and all residents put plastic windows, it was decided to build a third floor in order to increase the number of apartments for doctors from our village.

Everything is cool, only the thing is happening in Russia, which means the repair is going late in the autumn. The roof of the second floor has been removed, the builders are preparing the site for the superstructure.



In fact the essence. The evening. I’m doing lessons, I’m preparing for EEG. I took a bath, filling a new for my little brother. Meanwhile, instead of the usual evening child rage, it is constantly applied to the pillow. Mom begins to be disturbed by his lethargy, and while she tries to figure out what is happening to him, he begins to be unreasonably sick to all sides of the world.

Dad calls the ambulance, and it should be noted that the village is a happiness for the sick in terms of the speed of reaction to the problem.

An ambulance doctor examines my brother and at the same moment my huge (like the invincible Bruce Willis) daddy falls faint. My mother and I, gently speaking, do not understand what the hell is going on. Mom is even a little angry, like "Dummy, it's not time to lie here, our son is sick." Doctors take the father under the white sleeves, catch his brother and go to the hospital to examine strange symptoms.



Mom tells me to gather some things, asks a lot of questions, and I’m just very tired and want to sleep. I stop thinking about the fact that the male half of the family is in the hospital, I am so warm and just want to lie down for a moment. I wave my feet into the room and see that my mom is already lying on the couch. I take her hand and say:

We’ll sleep a little and do it all, okay?

Heavy as lead. There is a heavy, but pleasant fatigue on the body.

Mother sneezes and asks to call her cousin and tell her that Daddy is in the hospital and he needs to be taken. And then I begin to realize that the number I call from my home phone several times a day, I do not remember at all. I look at the pipe and in some wonderful way (maybe the muscle memory interfered, realizing that I am in a crane) I type a number from five digits.



As in the fog. My mom and I slept so quietly.

My sister and Daddy’s brother came and opened all the windows. We were crushed from the couch, dragged into the car and taken to the hospital to another part of the family.



Sitting on the door of the hospital with green faces and blue fingers, we were told that it was carbon dioxide.

Comrades builders filled our mine with garbage and other remains of the roof of the second floor. The gas column that heated us water for those water procedures that day was slowly killing us.



We sat, hugged together, crying and thanking the forces that saved us that day.

The body of the brother, who was the only one who reacted to the gas by rejection.

Dad and his strange fainting that surprised him more than frightened him.

The sister who opened the windows and saved the bird and my favorite reptile.



We have not won any courts. I don’t even remember that we care so much. My mother said, “The most important thing is to be alive.”



There are three doctors in the parents’ apartment.

Even if we don’t need their help anymore.

It was summer 2004, when I was 14 years old. My mother and I, while resting in Evpatoria, bought a ticket for a one-day tour of the sights of the southern shore of Crimea.



At 6 a.m. we were picked up by a bus.



While I was enjoying the views from the window, my mom was talking to the girl who was sitting next door. I remember that she introduced herself to Svetya from the city of Minsk, she also rested in Eupatoria, she looked like she was 25 years old, I remembered her blonde curly hair and a pleasant smile.



In the continuation of the entire tour, my mom told the light already well-known story to me - "Oh, husband, an alcoholic, oh money netu, my daughter is raised in the university, ahh so difficult to live!!“Aha, Aha Aha”



When our companion was interested in how I live, my mother was responsible for me, said that I was just wonderful, continuing my heartbreaking story about my difficult fate.



Upon arrival at the first paid attraction, my mom loudly and proudly stated that we don't have money, Light immediately called to pay for us, my mom first refused, but after a short deal accepted the offer of a new acquaintance.



This story was repeated at the entrance to the museum, and at the tasting of Crimean wines, and in the cafe. My mother thanked the good girl for her help.



To repay the debt, Mom and her new acquaintance agreed to meet in Evpatoria on the beachfront near the entrance to the nightclub.For every case, Svetha wrote on a towel her contact information, her temporary address in Crimea and permanent in Minsk.



On the day of the meeting, my mother and I came to the beach, my mother began to look for a nightclub, but after a short search, she gave up with the words, "Oh, Oh, I will never pay back my debt! When I reminded my mother of the note left by the Light, my mother replied that the towel had been lost.



The summer has passed, I was preparing for the school year, rushed into the boxes in search of some shit to my amazement in the pile of bills and papers was lying the same towel.

A few years ago, my friends moved to Israel, to Tel Aviv.

Once they went to a local supermarket with the desire to buy something for a quick snack for lunch. They were in a hurry, but in front of them was a lovely grandfather at the only working box, to whom the cashier pierced each item separately, and paid for it.

When finally their turn came, they asked the cashier what the gentleman’s behavior was related to. It turns out that this is their regular customer, and he always does so that the amount is rounded in his favor for every purchase, not for everything at once.

In the middle of the zero, having completed the first course of the institute, prepared for a planned operation on the knee joint. Before all operations, tests for HIV, syphilis and hepatitis are always taken. I passed the analysis in a paid clinic (the deadlines burned), I come for the results.

- Yes, graforlov0904, your results are ready, test for HIV, hepatitis and syphilis - positive.

In the sense? Can’t, it is a mistake! - I understand myself that I did not do any injections, with the girls in the first class at the technical institute a little worse than at all, and it wasn't before them, the main task for most was simply not to leave the university.

“No,” says the nurse, no mistake, the result is positive. and pause. Well, in the sense – good, not sick.



Pulling out the brick from his pants, he boldly hinted to the nurse that it was not good to do so. Whether the information reached her interstitial nerve node is uncertain.

Yesterday I went to the studio, I needed to replace the lightning on the jacket. Since I don’t carry cash with me, I asked if I could send the prepaid to the card. The woman agreed and began to look for a map - broke the entire wallet, looked into her jacket, looked at the table, under the table, nowhere to find. I could not stand it and asked:

Do you have a card attached to your phone?

She cried out:

Oh of course! Totally forgotten!

I took the phone, bended the box and got a card from there.

xxx: This contrast is of course in communication with 22-year-old boys and 36-year-olds. The first would write to me at midnight, and the second would go to bed at 22:00.

Yyy: Just the phone shines in the eyes of my wife))

Time is good, and happiness is good!

Funny story from the early 1970s. My husband was sent to one of the small countries of West Africa for 3 years. Then for such a long period of time Soviet citizens were sent with families, along with my husband, I flew with a small child. The flight was quite difficult. From Moscow they flew on IL-18 to Lagos (then the capital of Nigeria) with an intermediate landing in Tripoli, and in Lagos they were transferred to a local airline aircraft.
The capital of the country in which we lived was built from the time of existence of the French colony with one- and two-storey villas, in some of them there were still ground floors. The more modern were the quarters of the houses in European style, the further they were located from the center of the city.
Soviet citizens dispatched by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs lived mostly in the embassy house on the street adjacent to the embassy. Employees of the trade office, the TASS, the consul, the counselor of the embassy, the correspondent of the newspaper "Pravda" lived in the city at different distances from the embassy. The entire Soviet colony did not exceed 50 people.
The climate in the country is equatorial, the temperature depending on the season (dry or humid) ranges from 25 to 32 degrees Celsius. You want to dress in something natural and easy. Before leaving, I bought a satin costume at Tsume: trousers (not shorts, God put it) and a shirt under the throat, shoulders covered, in front of the shirt reached the hips, but the back ended a centimeter below the shutdown of the shirt, i.e. Part of my back, horror, was naked. At the time, I was 27 years old, no folds on my back and protruding abdomen, my skin smooth. I could not offend the eyes of others because local ladies, not working with Europeans, walked topless, simply wrapping their thighs with a piece of fabric, rather brightly painted. A second piece of cloth was rolled into a burn, a ring of this cloth was placed on the head, and a enameled pelvis was wrapped on it, replacing the local sailors and a women’s bag, and plastic bags, which in those years were not widespread. But the attitude of the African women was royal.
One day, a senior official from the Old Square came to this African country with an inspection. He checked how Soviet citizens live and work so far from the borders of the Motherland. The event is not ordinary, so when visiting the places of residence, the visitor's employees were accompanied personally by the Ambassador of the Soviet Union and high-ranking diplomats. Because it was working time, only we and the baby were in the house. All the explanations to the high person was given by the Ambassador, everything in the house was okay, there were no comments. My participation in the conversation was reduced to “Hello, please pass!” and “Goodbye.”
Approximately half an hour later (the time of the commission to get to the embassy and settle in an air-conditioned room with refrigerated drinks) a roofed husband calls: "Start gathering, we are sent to Moscow at 48 o'clock, the head - an excuse." Soon the husband and head of the unit come and explain that, in the opinion of the inspector, I am unnecessarily dressed, disgrace the high rank of a Soviet man, submitted to the corrupt influence of the West, etc., etc. The expulsion meant the complete collapse of my husband's career and an indelible spot on reputation.
To the sewing products is usually attached a cardboard with indication of the details. Such a card from the shocking inspector costume I, fortunately, did not have time to throw away. And on the cardboard in addition to the article it was printed that this product was sewn by the Soviet factory in accordance with GOST, therefore recommended to Soviet women. A piece of fabric with a button was always sewn to such a cardboard, so that her belonging to the scandalous suit did not cause any doubt.
The testimony of the origin of the costume was immediately presented to the light of the eyes, to which was complacently spoken: “Go, work.”

The authorities unnoticed the introduction of an air tax: to breathe through a mask - 20 rubles, without a mask - 5000 rubles.

That was in 2001 or 2002. I served, but my poor D.D. did not allow me to exist normally. Just to exist. But it is not about that.

I arranged to work for security at CenterTelecom (there was such an organization, then it was absorbed by all of us loved Rostelecom). We “guarded” the ATS, the work is not dusty. Check passes, and after the working day expel the "earned".

Since everything related to IT has always been interesting to me, I joined up with local people. It is not necessary to tell in detail, but in order to continue the story it had to be stated.

At about 15 kilometers there was one of our branches, where there was no 24-hour guard. At night, all employees left the ATS building. But the Aitishnikovs had one hemorrhoid, which was an old server who loved to hang at night. What he was responsible for, I already forgot (or did not know), but the duty of the Aitishnikov was to explode at any time of the day and night, and come to this ATS to press "Reset". But first they had to come to us to take the keys and remove this building from the guard. After that, everything started to work, and they could continue to rest.

In my turn, they often asked me to take a taxi and go back and forth. Naturally, taxis were compensated, and there was usually a present in the form of a pair of beer or chocolate.

Since we were two at the facility, we could afford to do so in violation of duties. Sometimes I had to ride a couple of times a night.

Then somehow it all stopped. And I decided to ask the Aitishnikovs what happened. I thought the money was allocated for a new servo.

It turned out easier. They worked in that building, and at the same time they worked with the energy workers there. Something was removed on its line. After work, they decided to sit on an adult with strong alcoholic drinks. And we broke up with them. In a drunk conversation, I complained to the server.

As a result, it all went so. If the server was hanging, then our айтишники called the power station. The duty energy officer cut off the light in the entire micro-area, respectively, in the building of the ATS, the light also disappeared. After five seconds, the light was given, the server loaded safely and worked until the next hanging.

Fifteen years ago, a commission was held in a district hospital. Everywhere there are people who just ask who is with the child, whom the health care provider with such an appearance as if the chief physician would pull out who without a turn plus the mafia grandma who just come to the hospital to talk, etc. Shortly before the end of the commission burned a cap like. Surgeon and therapist. I sit with the surgeon waiting for my turn and another smart man tries to jump to ask. I stood up at the door, sitting in general probably 2 hours, as the doctor apparently wasn’t there, and I didn’t let go. I tell him I’ll go, and then come in all the time, ask. He’s quiet, I’m standing at the door and 5 minutes later, some thin tall alchemy is trying to knock on the door to the surgeon. I am where you lie drunk, I am standing for two hours at my turn. He was a little confused and then betrayed. I work as a surgeon here.

If you are not chosen anywhere, don’t be upset, maybe you’re just a decent person.

- You will be driven out of the kindergarten with a wolf ticket, and everything will become porcelain! The grandmother said.
What is “farfolene,” I did not know. But that was not what interested me.
Where do wolves go for a ticket? I asked.
In the bathroom! My grandmother screamed in my heart. “No, this child was designed specifically to bring me to the Swordlovka!
“I don’t need a wolf ticket,” I told my grandmother. I go to the bathroom without a ticket. So I probably won’t get rid of her, I reassured her.
The fact is that I refused to read in the childhood morning general educational poems such as “Our Masha...” or “Tyros” and insisted on something from Yesenin.
At that time, Sergey Yesenin's poems were not very published, but his grandmother knew a large number of them. I loved to declare. And now we have reaped the fruits of it.
Teachers would also go to Yesenin, if I agreed, for example, on the barrel, but I would definitely want to perform "Mother's Letter". The preliminary listening made the babysitter and one of the educators faint. The second lasted to the best lines in my performance. And when I cried out, “I’m not such a miserable propyza...” I tried to slip along the wall.
Thank God, normal children don’t hear this. She cried when she recovered.
Well, here she squeezed a little. That case! Will I read my favorite poet without the audience? Wait to!
In short, I specifically opened the door to the playroom and spoke as loudly as possible.
What is a heavy fool? – asked, the teacher barely entered the playroom, girl Rita.
It is heavy! I corrected it.
– Marina Andreevna, why are you crying? I asked Rita this time.
The parents got back again.
After a serious conversation with his dad, during which he was proposed the version that to give a couple of times to some disgust in a soft place - the measure is still educational.
As a person very interested in the outcome of the discussion, I raised a number of objections, citing such authorities as Grandma, Korchak and Uncle Grish. (Uncle Grisha had four daughters, so he loved me so much.)
How will your older brother look at this? I asked my father, pedaling the word, the elder.
The case ended with something like a pact. That is to say, I promised not to publicly declare any poems!
It is no-ka-ki! I asked for papas.
I promised. And suspiciously willing.
Except for those who are teachers. Dad got caught.
I had to go to that too.
It cannot be said that for kindergarten teachers came some resemblance to the Renaissance. In addition to me, there were nineteen other “presents” in the group. I bothered them at least. And the forces accumulated... Oh, Dad... How I was tormented by the word given to him!
Then came a big celebration. And all parents should have come and be amazed at how we have grown and become smarter. I was asked to read poetry.
Which ones? I asked.
What you want! The teacher who lost his alertness.
Could the Marshall?
Of course! She smiled. For her, Marshak was the soft and thin books of Dethiza.
When my dad came to me in the evening, I brought him to the teacher and asked her to confirm that I should read Samuel Marshak’s poem in the morning. She confirmed and even struck me in the head.
What poetry? The vigilant dad clarified.
The Marshall? – she was surprised and taughtly added: – Marshak poems can be read to children any! It is time for you to know!
My confused dad took me home.
Then came the morning. Everyone read poetry. The parents were friendly. It was my turn.
“Samuel Marshak,” I announced. The Queen Eleanor.
Without expecting anything bad from Marshak, everyone smiled. Except for Dad and Mom. Mom even wanted to stop me, but dad looked at the teacher and did not.
“The Queen of Britain is seriously ill,” I began, “her days and nights are numbered... and the people immediately became interested. Inspired by the attention, I continued...
When it came to the picky situation with the confessors, the people did not have fun, but began to be very surprised. And I continued:
– I had two sons in marriage... – I spoke with the weak voice of the queen.
The eldest son and good and good.
Opinions are divided. Some asked me to stop. Others were interested...and they demanded a continuation. But I wanted to read something. I went to my mom and dad. to cry.
On the way home, I was very afraid that I was about to be announced some sort of repression. His father was suspiciously silent.
“Yes, by the way,” he said, “you haven’t read it until the end. Read now, or my mom and I forgot what happened!
And passers were surprised to listen to the poems, which, going by the pen with their parents, declared a five-year-old boy...

by Alexander Birstein

Are you stealing from the budget?
Yes, and what then?
What if they find out?
Here you found out. and what?

Women’s fun is like that.

To ask directly is to be responsible for your request.

to point out:

- I understood the hint correctly - it was not I asked, but you did it yourself.

I did not understand the clue correctly – I asked, and you did not.

In 2008, after the completion of the theoretical part of the railway engineering program, I passed a practice, after which I had to officially obtain the qualification of an assistant engineer of a heat truck. It must be said that our group studied in its own way: it was not a full three-year training, but courses exclusively with specialized subjects. People gathered together adults, even matriarchal, but very, very simple, and spent their free time not on snoring, but on strengthening the symptoms of alcoholism.

As a result, the graduation exams we all passed through money, because no person in the group was found who could do without it. The teachers asked for a very small amount, so everyone was comfortable. Unfortunately, because of this later on, on a serious railway field, to master everything again, and it was hard, but this is the price of laziness and emptiness.

So, the practice has begun. It was divided into two parts - repair and operation. At the repair we were given a lot of the most unpleasant and dirty work that the workers themselves did not want to do, in whose jurisdiction we entered. I returned home whole and full as a pipe cleaner.

This practice continued for a month, and then, in the second month, the so-called "exploitation" began - finally riding a train. I was handed over to an experienced and competent engineer with an unusual surname (if you read, hello you and thank you for everything). He immediately understood everything about me and treated me as if I should be treated as an unlearned man, that is, not very well. But the time went by, we learned poorly to coexist in the same cabin, and sometimes even talked about abstract topics.

Why did you decide to go to the railroad? He asked once.

I do not know. I have liked it since I was a child, I said.

Do you like it now?

In general yes. and now.

The machinery stumbled.

Why did you go to school instead of school?

I told how we "learned" and how we passed the exams through money.

It cannot be so, he said. There is no such thing in our technology. Who took the exams?

I thought and remembered:

My grandmother was like that. One of the main ones. Thick as a barrel. She was so dumb that she could barely get into the office. In what! I painted with my hands.

The engineer thought about it. I got the phone, knocked the buttons. He showed me a picture on the screen and asked:

This this?

I’m watching – surely!

She is, I say. Who is this?

It turns out to be my wife, he said.

told a colleague. I saw in June in the entrance an advertisement written with a beautiful flat handwriting. Say, dear neighbors, if you have unnecessary glass pots, please leave them on this window. And the signature is Zoya’s grandmother from such an apartment.

So why not leave? In the coming days, new banks were constantly appearing on the window. A friend also washed a few of theirs and put it.

Later the announcement disappeared and everyone safely forgot about this story.

The breakdown came somewhere at the beginning of September.

This same window suddenly turned out to be housed by banks with various salts, compotes and other types of country conservation. Bottle 40-50 per view. And above them a new announcement of the same author: Dear neighbors, please take your banks.