My friend told me that he had a man at work who was in a helicopter crash, which I don’t know, I won’t tell. Well, all the catastrophe he slept dumb, but was busty, but was just tired. They woke him up when everything was over and the helicopter slid down the slope of the mountain. This man all the time worried and mourned that he did not feel the feeling that they experience when falling and crashing. I said all survived and I did not, all slept, could have awakened me before.

We needed a new assembly in the state. We found a person, say, Sasha, with some little experience, sent to a more experienced colleague, discussed Z / PL and so on. He started to work (well, to study, in fact, because he had a little less skills developed). Two weeks later, after receiving the first salary, he says that he needs to go on a weekend to a neighboring area, to his homeland, to a friend for a wedding. Monday is like a sting. It’s Monday, there is no one. I worry, I call – suddenly what happened. In the phone: "I will be here a little late, until September, things are urgent." In the courtyard - about August 15, 2015. It is clear that no one was waiting for him for two weeks, found another employee. But the joke is not that.

On September 2, 2016, my phone rings, and someone says with a confident voice, “Hello, this is Sasha, ready to start working, can I go out tomorrow?” A year and two weeks! A man walked at a wedding - so he walked. But back in September.

Late in the evening, taxi

- And, here, you understand... whatever I do - everything is not right for her, - turning in such a trip, tells me the story of his life another passenger.

Carlisle is hanging! The nail that was struck is not in that place. Even if we are in the car, not in that lane! And so in everything! Always dissatisfied! Always criticized it.

Trouble... Trouble

- And then he started to lay the laminate, so she stood up over me, controlled me, and at some point began to scream that I was doing everything wrong again, picked up the laminate and started laying it!

Yes, it’s a problem, I’m breathing.

This is not the problem! The problem is that she really puts the laminate well!

Ostap Bender knew 400 relatively honest ways to take money away from the population. Now he could become a successful manager of the management company.

In the late 1990s there was in Israel a famous thief and passenger - Motti Ashkenazi. Moti has been industrialized on the beaches of Tel Aviv, has been on a short leg with heroin, but all of Israel simply adores him and knows him as a hero. All because of one story.
The case occurred on June 20, 1997.
Recidivist Ashkenazi was once again arrested, but violated the conditions of house arrest and went for a walk to the beach "Jerusalem". It was a special day – the last day of schooling, and a huge number of schoolchildren had fun and bathed throughout the classes.
Naturally, the entire beach was just an “unspoiled field” for Ashkenazi – everything was filled with schoolchildren’s wallets and their parents’ bags. Moti did not waste time for nothing and quickly chose a more expensive bag. He professionally approached the bag, sat on the sand nearby, opened without looking, touched a towel, sunglasses, but the wallet did not fit. Ashkenazi pushed his hand deeper and trembled - the bag was filled with nails.The beach thief looked around - tourists were sunbathing nearby, children and adults were roaring in the water. Moti again opened the bag wide and looked inside the box with the hose and the clock mechanism. Ashkenazi immediately realized that in front of him - he grabbed the bag and that he had the strength rushed to the street of Geula, where there was just an abandoned building. If the thief had been stopped by the police, he would not have been able to explain his transformation into a terrorist. But Moti didn’t think about that at the time.
Moti left a bag-bomb in the old abandoned house and rushed to the phone. The thief told the police: “I found a bomb! We need sapphires! urgently! They broke the name on the base and advised to bind with the drug, and for violating the conditions of house arrest promised real arrest. Ashkenazi returned home with a bomb and began to pull out the garbage containers on the road, trying to block traffic on Geula Street, accompanying all this with a wild cry. The police had to react to this - the deboshir was caught, but in any case they went to the abandoned house to check...
The police flew out of the house immediately and immediately called the sappers. It turned out that the bag was filled with five kilograms of explosives. Later it was established that she was brought to the beach by the same terrorist, who three months before it made an explosion at the café "Apropo" in Tel Aviv. After that, police closed all cases of Modi Ashkenazi and removed all charges against him. The man was sent to free rehabilitation, where he underwent a course of treatment for drug addiction.
Now Ashkenazi is 50 years old, he has five children and a great job. The former thief lives in Tel Aviv and works as a beach inspector - now no beach thief will escape the vigilant eye of the "expert", and Mothi is very attentive to homeless things on the beach.
Alexander Sarto

Do you want a change of power?
At least we are guilty.

My former boss was born in the harsh 1936. He is now retired, but during his work together he has told many interesting stories. Today I want to tell you about the one that struck me the most.

The former boss will be called Sanych.

Sanych being a thirteen-year-old boy who, like many Soviet boys, ran to the pond to swim, smoked, worked in the garden and carried out other boys' classes, had a good time to learn. Particularly good was his vocabulary. Sanych’s works the teacher set as an example to everyone and said that he should be equal.

The fame of the great composer reached the high school and one of them, an eight-year-old, offered Sanych a profitable contract - Sanych writes him a work, and in exchange receives an unprecedented award. Sanych wrote a good composition and the eighth-year-old kept his word. He brought a magical notebook. In the notebook there was a method with a description of how to behave with girls to divorce them for sex, what it is and how to practice it. The eighth-year-old explained that the notebook should be kept secret, not shown to anyone, secretly rewritten and returned.

Sanchez did what it was supposed to. The tetrad carefully snugged, rewritten until nobody saw it and returned it to the owner in time. But happiness, when there is no one to share it with, is happiness? He had a good friend, a year older than him. At the same time, the son went to the school, where they both studied. Well, Sanych and showed his companion his treasure. Of course, he asked to rewrite. He took the notebook home, hid it in the wardrobe under the underwear and began to rewrite it slowly and methodically. And first, he delayed the process, and secondly, he chose the unsuccessful place to store the compromise. Mamka-zavoch, digged in a commodity and accidentally found a manuscript. What it started here!

Zavoch held an extraordinary meeting of teachers with the director, where the issue of the local catastrophe, the fall of morals, etc. was discussed, and so on. In the end, the wise director said that the handwriting should be familiar to someone of the teachers. And yes, the teacher of literature only looked and immediately gave out: "That's what Sanych wrote!"

Then there was a heated debate between the public court and its ruling. The child is under strict control and total attention. And Sanycha, as an incitator to illegal activity - from the school and from the ranks of pioneers - down. The academic year is approaching the end, the magazine's assessments allow you to close the year and the last quarter. Thank you, you can’t go to school!

And here Sanych, in full prostration from the situation, lives a few days and at the end of the working week has a serious conversation with his parents. Mom and Dad sat down at the dinner table and said, “Son! While you were a pioneer and studied in school, we kept you investing in your future. Now that you have chosen your own path, you must ensure yourself. Fortunately, five kilometers from the house there is a wonderful brick factory that has a suitable vacancy.

And the next morning, Sanych went to the personnel department and went to work. Since then, every morning, at mid-seventh, he took a snack for lunch and walked on foot to the factory. There were huge furnaces where bricks were burned. At the bottom of the oven there were small passages, where a thirteen-year-old boy could stretch, bending in three folds, to digest the accumulated ashes. The oven was hot, the space was narrow, and the air was filled with the smallest particles of ash. Sanych, all dirty, sweaty and coughing from the flying dust, scratched the cane day after day. Day after day, walking to the factory and back. Friends who rest on summer holidays if they were called to swim in the pond, then only for the weekend.

Sanych worked for four months at the factory and began to think strongly about his difficult fate. His peers are already going to school, and he is still fine, cleaning the roofs along the oven day after day. And somehow it is even scary to think that it will always be so. When you’re thirteen, life ahead seems huge. This is terrible when all this multitude becomes unenlightened and dark.

And one day, Sanych, smelling a cigar at lunch sees history in the newspaper. A schoolboy fell behind, going on a slippery path to the small crime and was excluded from the school and from the ranks of pioneers. But he deeply repented and decided to write a letter to Klim Voroshilov with repentance. Sanich's eyes first opened wide, and then narrowed, greedy looking into the printed letters on the newspaper sheet. There was a weak hope for rehabilitation. Sanych wrote works well, but he never approached the writing of the text with such care as at the time when his further fate was decided. He wrote a letter of repentance to Klim Voroshilov himself.

I wrote, sent and waited. I waited for a few weeks, it was already cold and charged with cold November rains. And here Sanycha is called to the director of the school. He asked about the letter. About what Sanitch was doing apart from school and the collective. And he said that under vigilant supervision, he could be restored to his rights. He may return to school tomorrow.

The factory was finished. Communication with the son of Zavouch was terminated by mutual, silent agreement. The school program has been forced and life has flowed in its turn.

In the early 1990s, he was in the guard, boredom, the only pleasure of television. Actually, it will be about him. Do not do. Some improvements were made to the construction. For those interested I will describe: the frame coils included through the contacts of the relay on the reverse circuit, the coil on one of the network inputs and on the antenna (grounded). Depending on which of the four phases, the relay is either worked or not.

I made the change, came home, the phone is ringing.

-forestsanitar, here is a whirlwind with a calf, the image is reversed!

Dick, turn the fork in the rosette!

Stop chasing the shit!

Am I chasing? Turn the wheel!

......

They have probably never seen such miracles before.

The next and two other shifts were slowly going crazy, turning the fork, and putting forward the most unthinkable theories!

A acquaintance said:

The child injured his leg, took a X-ray, checked - all the norms on the photo.

But the next day the child could not rely on the leg at all, and complained that the leg hurt.

She took him on her arms again to the clinic, all on the nerves, took another photo.

After that, the child gets up from the table, says "thank you, it doesn't hurt now" and goes to dress up.

In general, the child thought that the X-rays healed, the bones grafted, the wounds healed)) and thus decided to walk a little kindergarten.

XX: I also helped once... 2007 year, walked in the evening around the city. Here a boy aged 14-15 comes to me and says that he was stolen a bicycle and asks to pick up the police from his mobile phone. I decided to help, picked up the number, waited for the answer, I gave him the phone... And suddenly he shouted in the phone, “You are all a puddle...you!” He gives me the phone and runs away.



I visited the department. There were witnesses, but the shame was considerable.

It is a pity that history repeats itself all the time, and our lives never.

I worked at football. Once upon a time, a 10-year-old boy came to me.
Do you have any work for me?
I was so glad that there were such children, remembered myself at his age! Advertising, selling newspapers and cooked corn and many other "workings".
Yes, there is! You can clean up the dishes from the red tables, and for every cleaned table I will give you a flyer for free ice cream, you can sell them or exchange them for something, and you will earn a little money.
Well, I ran to clean up!
The guests paid attention to him and began to leave a little money for him. He asked me a couple of times what to do with them, and I said you can keep them for yourself.
A day later he began to clean only the tables on which money was left, and a few days later he only collected money.

Putin has accepted the country without Twitter. It will also be delivered without it, so as not to break the reporting.

Survived the Brezhnev stagnation – survived and Putin’s retardation.

The story about Canadians in France and Russians at the conference (https://www.anekdot.ru/id/1194367/) reminded. A friend of mine from Russia accepted an invitation in the late 1990s to work as a researcher at a Canadian university. He liked his work and life in Canada, and six months after his arrival he filed for the PMJ, soon receiving it. His career at the university settled: a year or two later he received a professor's position, excellent funding, results above the world level, publications, invitations to conferences with reports, contracts with leading firms... At some point, the man began to stress the need for frequent visa filing against the background of the Yugoslav War and the other eleventh of September, and he decided to get a Canadian passport: it was easier to travel around the world and in general... The census of settlement (the owner of the PMJ there needs to live a bit on the territory of the country in order to be able to apply for citizenship) he almost lacked, some ammunition-three months, but he didn't want to wait, he used a point allowing to include prices in foreign business trips, and brought all his trips there at conferences, which were in total He formed the documents, sent back, in response - silence. Finally, after almost the same three months that the friend asked to be counted in the census, comes a paper: an immigration judge (there are some there) calls him for an interview and demands to bring proof of the facts of holding all the declared conferences at the given time in the given places (copies of the programs of the conferences), as well as proof of the applicant's active participation in them (copies of published works of these conferences with theses and articles under the authority of our hero). My friend cut off everything necessary, pulled a thick folder with him. The old judge looked at it all carefully, then asked him to explain what his friend was doing, and then said about the following: "I feel deeply guilty to you. The fact is that I myself in my youth was a professor at the university and I know how popular "conference trips" to resort locations are at the expense of the state. And when I saw that you had enough courage to call business trips “conference trips” to San Francisco, Honolulu, Cancun, Kyoto, Nice and the like, I decided to teach you a lesson: to draw the answer of those 3 months that you demanded to count, and finally to arrange a conclusion for trying to present entertaining trips as business. I didn’t believe you could actually work hard there. But now I see: you are a world-class talent, and also a worker, and I was deeply wrong in giving you a sentence in advance, and the only way to smooth my guilt is to give you citizenship right now. Repeat my oath.”

Suspiciously wealthy officials have proposed restrictions on payments to suspiciously poor families.

Xxx: In any profession, some actions are produced to complete automation. The brain doesn’t even turn on.

Once we went to a friend at the house. As usual: evening, chashchik, songs under the guitar... In the morning we go home. I went out and waited for the others to come out. Friend of Denis:

Vlad, what are you doing? Why do you have a pencil?

...

I come to myself and realize that I stand and note the defects of the welded seams on the garage gates.



Yyy: It is good that the author is not a proctologist. I don’t think his friends would like to wake up from his deformation.

Xxx: Bread in my life, played a special role, I remember when I was 6-7 years old I thought that bread, it is the best delight. When you are hungry for a few days and you are able to eat bread, that is the happiness of a hungry child.

When I got into the children’s home, I couldn’t afford, and many guys gave me their bread for lunch. In general, if someone wanted more bread, it was just to take it from the pot, where it was lying cut. But from the dining room it was forbidden to carry food, especially bread. They were afraid of the breeding of cockroaches, but the boys still dragged, hid in their sleeves, and dragged into the bedroom, under a pillow or into a cushion. I really wanted to eat at night. After the fight, we lie down, we chew bread and tell each other all sorts of stories, or we chew anecdotes, or someone from the girls sang songs to us, and we fell asleep.

The bed was constantly in the crumbs. You get up a few times, you get rid of it. It was especially funny when a strong wind or a wind on the street swings, and we lie or sit on our beds, chew bread, or fall asleep under any song that the girls sing in silence. And no alkashi, no drunken battles, and the mother in the attack of white fever, will not crush her chair on the floor shouting that she was attacked by the devils. Just finally at night, it is quiet, and not scary, and the stomach is full.

The son called and indignantly stated that going to the instructor so often - absolutely unbearable.

I have thought. On the one hand, the boy at the age of 15 must already understand that life is full of intolerance, on the other hand, he cooked me yesterday for dinner crumbs with potatoes, that is, practically gave the most notorious glass of water.

Not in old age, but a little earlier, but I gave freedom with a broad gesture. The main thing is to warn the mother, or she has a well-known advocate of education.

Being in the euphoria of one’s own nobility took five minutes. My clever child called back and told me with a thoughtful voice that something was wrong.

He, as an honest person, called the instructor and told him that he really wanted to come to the class, but he could not, due to family circumstances.

The instructor was a sociable and curious woman and wanted details.

He was not ready for such a turn of events, and said that the whole family had gone to the country.

The picantness of the situation is that I have another son, who at the same time was just at classes with this same tutor, who looked at him so interested and asked why his whole family went to the country, and he did not go?

He, in turn, looked at the instructor with surprise and that our family had no house and we generally lived very modestly.

Any excursion must always be carefully prepared in advance.

xxx: And when the workers went on a business trip to India for the first time, they walked the street and smelled the smell of meat with smoke. They searched for a shell and found a crematorium.