In one yard near the entrance hanged a list of residents. The name Akashkin was sharply highlighted in it. Before the first letter were visible traces of many years and painful struggle.

My sister and I took pictures of a room in Peter, near the metro of Jelizarovskaya. In the neighboring room lived a man who loved to drink, once a month he had a stable week of drinking, and then "dry law."

Someone he was calm, not bullish, so his drinks, we were not very stressed, we were stressed by frequent visits, his friends. Here she bleached every day, sober we never saw her, but here in varying degrees of intoxication, every day, from slightly stumbling, to rolling the corpse in the hallway.

Often, her mother came to her mother to take her drunken daughter.

Once upon a time, this lazy woman, sitting in the kitchen, sat on my ears while I was boiling the tea, told me about her difficult life, how she gave birth at 17, how her beautiful daughter died at 15 years of age on her arms, since then she has poured the pain with vodka, so she is easier to cope with the severity of the loss. She sits, says all this to me, and the tears flow, straight crocodile, honestly, I was very sorry for her, I could have tried to calm her, but I did not succeed, in the end I shamefully surrendered to my room, leaving a drunk woman crying in the kitchen.

A couple of days later, the mother of Alkasha, again came for her daughter, they engaged in a dispute, the mother orets:

You have eaten my whole soul, I am ashamed to look people in the eyes, what have you done?

She answers her:

“Mommy, go home, that you’re always following me? ! to I’m grown up, go fuck me!

Then there was a loud knock on the door to the neighboring room, and then they knocked on us. This mother knocked at us to ask if we had validol, or if she was sick. We invited the woman to ourselves, sat on a chair, the sister ran to the kitchen, dive into the pharmacy box. My wife and I talked, she said:

Why do I have such a daughter? And where it came from, her father was a worker, not a drunkard, I only drink a couple of garlics of wine for the celebration, and she, well, breaks with cabbage!

I am :

She says that the pain is flooding, and her daughter is dead in her arms.

Did she tell you why her daughter died?

and no.

At this point, the sister returned, the validola did not appear, but there was a carvalol, we dug a woman carvalol, and then she told us her story.

The daughter brought her in the basement, from whom the baby was squeezed by the mother, and herself drank and walked, not coming home for weeks. When the girl grew up, the alchemist, eating the waters, stumbled on the daughter with the reproach that she is an ungrateful creature, she loves the grandmother, and the mother cheers, the mother who endured and gave birth to her. Forced the girl to go for a walk with her, like a mother and daughter on a walk. It was winter, and the girl laid off. She had meningitis. Long treatment, a bunch of money spent, the grandmother went into debt, and the mother of the girl, both cuddled and cuddled on. The girl died in the hospital. When there was a funeral, the mother of the girl went to the store, and appeared only a few days later, at the time of the funeral she was not there, at the feast days too. She did not go to the hospital with her daughter. As it turned out, when she came to the store, there met her friends Alkasha, they invited her with her, and she went with them. Between her daughter’s funerals and a drunkard with her friends, she chose the second, not bothering everyone.

After telling us all this, the mother of Alksha added:

And after all this, she tells people how unhappy she is, and how she lost her daughter, the daughter she changed for vodka!

This is maternal love.

In the framework of social responsibility, Burger King has assigned a reward to girls who become pregnant from world football stars. Each will receive 3 million rubles and a lifetime stock of vops. The girls who will be able to get the best football genes will put the success of the Russian national team several generations ahead. to forward! We believe in you!



XXX: Deleted now

YYY: Has it already been removed? Where are my whores? Have you showered? What should I do now?

Dream differs from plan by the chaotic design.

How I violated the thief's honor
Again, I would like to tell a story from the practice in which I touched the AUE culture common among teenagers. You may have heard this abbreviation, it means most often arrest-urkagan unity. Adolescents are attracted to culture by some, as they think, code of honour, brotherhood. These kids are missing today. The holy place is not empty. We didn’t have a pioneer, and here came this devil in its place.
In general, it was in 2011. There was a natural wave of juvenile crime. It is like a little thing - here something is stolen from the bag, there the guy will stop and the pockets will be cleaned. Finding the criminals was difficult. Teenagers, and that is all. After all, how the majority of crimes are revealed: ordinary citizens do not commit them, you look primarily in the criminal environment, drag one, another, until you finally find the real scammer. How to search? They went to schools in the Leningrad district, looked at schools and technical schools, talked to the boys, but nowhere and nothing. And suddenly they caught - a large theft was committed from the warehouse of paint products of one of our local network of shops of the type "all for repair". They dropped several boxes of paint in bottles, three or four electrodes, some other devices - for a total of one hundred and seventy thousand rubles. I picked up the video and there were three guys on it. Someone identified the shirt by the son of the deputy chief of the warehouse. He was a 14-year-old boy, a student. We called the police with the parents, we questioned, and he is silent like a guerrilla in the Gestapo. Nevertheless, they finally established his friends-sharing and one of the three broke - said, we are all - for the culture of AUE. It turned out that the boys organized like a gang - a fellow they had there, in which they carried pocket money, swore to each other that they were brothers forever, and so on. There were a total of 25 students from their high school classes. The case was entrusted to me, because I once headed the children's room of the police for some time and it was thought that I had more or less found a common language with the teenagers. I took the job. I took personal affairs, good magazines. I read and am surprised. What a fuck! All these terrible criminals who robbed on the street, from good families. One mother is a geography teacher, the other father is an engineer, a serious man, and the mother is a factory accountant. Everyone learns well, not duplicates. Somehow this story broke my pattern. I burned up, I sat down every night, thinking how it happened that decent guys from normal families suddenly went on this slippery path. After all, the teenager himself does not know in what vulnerable position he is. Especially dangerous theft world for the boys from well-off families, who have not had time to bread trouble. He thinks that just as his parents love him and forgive him, everyone will forgive him. Well, okay, that time I ran for the victim, convinced to take a claim. And another time there will not be such conspicuous people, and the boy will fly first to the young, and from there a white swan to the adult zone. And the fate went under way. Instead of the university - basement seats, give God not with a needle, instead of a normal, honest life - a thief's raspberries, instead of a family - an undercover drunkard and syphilis at the age of 18... And here I sit somehow, I take things over, and one of the names, Glotkovo, as I now remember, seemed familiar to me. From where, I think, I remember... I call the city and friend, Tolik Litvinenko, reports that there is such a thief-recidivist, who has been sitting for a total of 12 years, now on freedom under the UDO. I call the Criminal Office where he should be registered. We picked up infu and bingo! He has a brother who is studying at school. It was here that I understood where all the ugly infection on children came from. I came to the cause of this comrade - hatred-hatred - attempts to rape, theft, threats, robbery, episodes of one sitting on the other and the third chasing. I decided to check the version, went to schoolchildren in this way - allegedly, to collect the supplementary evidence. I took a girl from the finishing area, Masha, a cute one, I think, maybe my childhood scares the kids, and with the girl they will relax somehow. To the first came a schoolgirl, Vanya was called. Lovely such a boy, the whole room, I remember, the shipwrecks are fitted with various homemade, instead of a lustre, even a sea shuttle. Probably a sea guy. His father, by the way, was a sailor. How he pulled him into the penalty - I will not mind. He approached the matter carefully - he started with Jules Verne and Sabbatini, and was interesting to talk to him, but as Glotkovsky said, he was like water in his mouth. Again, this partisan tactic turns its eyes away. Clearly I got to the point, and I can’t talk at all. I went to the other, the third, and the same.
Then I walked a horse. I went to school and agreed to a deal. The children of three senior classes were removed from the classes and gathered in the spacious office of OBŽ. I chose it intentionally – they had a projector there. I went to the classroom with a laptop and watched the kids. The class is spacious, and the schoolchildren - an eighty-year-old was probably, and are tight - three people are sitting on the bench, the walls are supported, someone in the passages even stands. And only on the second party from me is free - two boys are sitting, and around them, like around the flu in a trolleybus at the peak hour - emptiness. One learned immediately - Sanya Glotkovo, apparently, their brigadier and the main authority. She sits, smiles curved - not to give or take - Lenka Panteleev, only the cigarettes in her teeth and the cap is missing.
I greeted, told in general about the AUE culture, how bad it is, what happens if a person follows theft principles in ordinary life, and so on. They look, of course, arrogantly - the mint is bad and't have caught them. Here I connect the note to their projector and get the case of this Glotkov from the portfolio. I started reading the episodes, and I see how everyone got stressed. What was there? He beat a woman, took a bag, and beat an 82-year-old man. Walked by apartments, exchanged old women money for tickets of the "comfortable bank" (seek on the Internet, the affair was known in those years). The girl struck, in the entrance, threatening with a knife, insulted. At first, the people despised to turn away. It feels like the criminal freezing to them so well crossed the road. Particularly the newly appeared Lenka Panteleev sneaks, and launches jokes. Moreover, as he releases - he sits on the first party, not turning, speaks half-voiced, but you can see that every word is caught. And suddenly the first flew: he told me about how Glotkov's mobile phones were pulled out of the pockets of citizens, and one girl said quite loudly: and my phone was also stolen. I went to her: tell me how it was. She told me uncertainly - so and so, went to swim with a friend, left the phone on the beach, and there were guys sitting next to me, Moldavians, and raped me.
My mother may have cheated, I ask.
It was crazy, said the girl. I immediately looked at the younger boy. The first ever bad look. He tried to get rid of the giraffe.
He didn’t lose, he said, but about LA!
He laughed, but no one was so sure anymore. I followed the rest of the episodes - small and large thefts, beating, attempted rape. Every time I ask you, has this happened to you? At first more uncertain, then more often, more often, began to remember. In whom from the dressing room at the stadium the jacket was pulled off, in whom the father's clock was removed in the basement, in whom the car was stolen... Of course, the rape of the girl was not told, but here I noticed that the one or the other stumbled, apparently, remembering something. Glatkovy is trying to get rid of everything, but the atmosphere around him is clearly thickening. At some point, when he was telling exactly how the old lady of his beloved brother-in-law robbed the tickets of the bank to the naive retirees, he exclaimed arrogantly, "Lohhi, Cho." And suddenly from the back party, a young, but rather confident Basque: "Yes, you don't dare." And then the noise, the screams, the screams. The newly-appointed Lenka Panteleev has already swallowed his head in his shoulders, I see, the guy next to him, apparently his counselor, is quite uncomfortable - rushes on his chair, there is nowhere to go.
Are you uncomfortable? I address him. Move if you are uncomfortable.
As the cancer turned red, he swallowed his hand, but nevertheless he did not leave.
Well, then there was the culmination for which I brought the laptop. At the time, the camera was beaten by an 82-year-old man, near the universe "Crossover". The episode in the case remained, I included the children. The scene is awful, of course - a huge dild pushes the miserable into his chest, and he holds his hillful bracelets for his ass. The child rolls the pensioner on the ground and - with his feet, feet, on his face, in his stomach. He took it away, looked into the avoska, saw that there was nothing valuable and drowned it with his feet.
I then read the list of stolen and destroyed: a wallet with 2500 rubles, two bags of kefir, a dozen eggs, pasta. I comment: kefir is this, the testicles are the cheapest, the old man wanted to delight himself with the sale. And the old man was unusual - he was never a son of the regiment. He remained orphan at the beginning of the war, went to the army and came to Berlin with the regiment. It turned out, by the way, there were many such kids at the time, we even had a whole city association of regiment sons.
Katie, have you read it? That was grandfather.
Well, this is a storm, and I say at the peak: do you think this shit, the other heroes? 90% of fraudsters choose the weak victims. Well, I scratched that the typical story is when just a thunder of a weak girl takes a bag, etc., I don't remember the details.
I will not boast and say that I directed everyone to the true path then - for this one conversation is not enough, and the times we have now are such that there are no moral authorities, no one to equal. Here you will expose a thief to a teenager, and you need to offer another idol, otherwise how? Who is this new cousin? Only heroes of the past, and now there are no such wonderful people in the ear at least. But the Aue-Tusovka in that school really broke up and then did not have time to gather. Since then, there has been no child robbery.
Here, the younger only Glotovo disappeared, unfortunately, went, as an adult, on his brother's path, and fell down - he stood somewhere on the road while the shareholders of the merchant were killing, and went with everyone, the tenth, it seems, got...

The Russians! Pensioners, teachers and doctors!
The boy Igor Sechin from Moscow needs your help.
Igor has a serious illness - he has a crack of harry. An urgent operation is needed to sew harry.
Doctors in Israel take it for it, but they need money. Let’s get rid of them, let’s help Igor!

I once thought about health.

Why do we have so many vegetables in the refrigerator?

I thought we should eat healthier food. And vitamins and for the figure are more useful. I’ll make a vegetable tomorrow.

and yes? Why are there two sausages?

This is for sandwiches.

Oh yeah...

How are you going to eat vegetables?

People are called people who live at their expense.

Read in the journal of the Israeli Society of Disabled Soldiers.
--------
War of the Judgment Day. Israeli hospitals are overrun by wounded. Those who are accepted by the flow, do everything they can to save lives and forget, as there is a flow of heavy wounded.
In one hospital in neighboring chambers, two soldiers find themselves on neighboring beds across the wall. Squeezed from feet to head. Both are heavily injured. They only have hands.
Both shout of pain and wake each other through the wall. The wall is thin and no insulation.
At the same time, the phases of sleep in them do not coincide, and when one screams, the other knocks on the wall so that it stops... Slowly the pain goes away, but they are already accustomed to knocking on the wall and continue to knock, inventing the code in the course of the matter. Type “How is it?” And “Is it okay?“”
Then they decide to meet. Crying through the wall. The rest of the wounded in the chambers are in such a state that they do not notice.
It turns out to be a soldier and a soldier. The soldier was seriously wounded on the battlefield, and the soldier was in a serious accident.
It quickly turns out that without a friend they cannot, and interfere with the sick with their conversations.
And here in the hospital comes Raphael - the same member of whose party... seeing these patients, he orders to put them a phone...
They quickly explain to the doctors that they want to see each other. It is “not done!”
At night, the nurses take their beds to the corridor, where the soldier, according to the logic of the story, begins the meeting with the words "Are you willing to marry me?And of course, “Yes!”
In six months, both are released from the hospital. After removing the plaster, it turned out that the soldier's legs were in such a state that he could never walk.
A difficult family life begins.
They are having a child. Both work to maintain a family, on a gas station, where you do not have to go far.
And then the father decides to learn to walk with his son. He falls out of the wheelchair and slips with the child, then becomes on four. Copying his movements. And falling a little more often than the child... When the child went, he went with the child. The shock was everybody.
And when the child ran, he ran too...Al slowly...
When the child sat on a bicycle, he bought a bicycle.
A couple of years later, they were called to change the wheelchair for a new model, and were surprised that the wheelchair was no longer needed.
Doctors have written an article about the until now unknown method of rehabilitation.
They are now retired. Four children, ten grandchildren. He still walks alone. In fact, at a small distance...

Men want sex every day.
Until you meet a woman who wants sex every day.

Men want sex every day.

Until you meet a woman who wants sex every day.

I spoke with one of the leaders yesterday. The manager was a little drunk and amused.

Do you have my phone number? He asked me.

and no. I answered.

It is great! If there are any problems call me. I will decide! He said goodbye to me.

The white salary? To pay other people’s pensions all your life and die before you get your own?

You are a stranger on the whole head.

Dr. Masulis is a surgeon. Old and experienced. Very strict and pedantic. He never smiles. The teacher is good, speaks clearly, explains without excessive difficulties, does not get stuck in the details, to observe his lectures is a pleasure.

But we, the twenty-five-year-old inyaza, have long been tired of Dr. Masulis, of his lectures on surgery, and in general of four years of military department. According to the idea, foreign students are a direct path to military translators. And who invented it to cook out of us “the nurse GO?” And who can prepare when so many subjects, so little time and not even textbooks? We were already tortured with anatomy, we were drowned with pharmacology, we were drawn out with structural preparation, we were knocked out with civil defense... so, and now the main subject is "hospital surgery". It is understandable – what should such a nonsense nurse be able to do? Make a bandage. Assist a surgeon in very primitive operations. At least Dr. Masulis thinks so. He chases us in the tail and in the tail.

I go to Dr. Masulis in favourites. For some reason, I do not faint either in the operating room, where it is appropriate to stand several operations (silently, quietly, in the corner, but to stand), or in the bandage. I am not afraid of blood. My classmates envy me - many are badly done from one look at surgical instruments. I probably have a iron stomach. They have a better imagination. For some reason, the tallest and largest fall into fainting, and within me it is only about one-and-a-half meters, and the smallest classmate I can hardly get to the shoulder. Lithuanians are grown people.

(I still have one phobia – I can’t learn to inject. Well, I cannot smash a living man with a needle! I can not. But we are many, we manage to hide behind the backs of the more brave, and the account I safely pass on a mannequin with a rubber plate.)

I still remember the terms and names well. Dr. Masulis takes this for an interest in the subject, and I just love the words – philologist! And the words here are beautiful: cornhang, troakar, spatel... And I also like that in the names of the instruments are preserved the names of the inventors - such a historical succession, belonging to the old order: Liu-er, Ko-her, Bill-rot, Hall-Sted, Lan-gen-back... "Langenbeck" me confuses - "long clove".

Well, and of course, it affects the domestic Jewish education: they teach you - learn, the hell would take you! Learn to! There is no excess knowledge!

It, of course, is not superfluous, but we have two months to study, we have the protection of the diploma and the state exams on our nose, we have no time to rest. And I have another trouble: the account of Marxism-Leninism is too short. It needs to be “disassembled”. That is, just a written common notebook - no one will read it. Without this, they will not be allowed to take the exam. I find a way out – I take the “Christomatia of the Classics of Marxism-Leninism” from the library and rewrite everything in a row until the required volume is obtained.

The idea is good, but this should not be done at the lectures of Dr. Masulis. Because surgeons are very observing people, and to be distracted from his subject, Dr. Masulis will not tolerate this. I feel like a first-class girl with a book on her knees. The doctor is just angry. Do you know what Lithuanian rage looks like? It does not look. But somehow everything is understandable.
I have not yet estimated the extent of the disaster. Dr. Masulis stops over me and says very slowly, almost as he says, "The last practice in the hospital doesn't count on you. You will work again.”

This is already a catastrophe. Twenty-five hours later, I would have found them. Unwritten graduate work. The state exams! A diploma can only be obtained together with a military ticket. So I will have to work at night.
The classmates laugh - it is necessary to succeed in suffering for Marxism-Leninism! I bite slightly. They are right. Really a special luck.

In the evening after the longest day of school, I drag to the hospital and report. I am not sent to surgery (where, indeed, no sugar at night - the wounds hurt at night), but to the pulmonary department. There is a sick nurse, and any pair of hands will be pleased. Even with hands like mine.

is normal. 60 people sick. Two or three nurses. What should I do? Of course the injections. In enormous quantity. But I do not know! “You will learn.”

A very long evening begins. In fact, I am not doing so badly. Everything as taught. And I open the sterilizer correctly - a lid to myself so that the steam does not burn, and I collect the syringes, observing sterility... and, in short, pull the time as I can. But that moment still comes. Sister Wanda gathers everything I need for me in an enamelled bench, unfolds me behind my shoulders and sends me to the chamber with instructions to whom. My hands are trembling, everything is trembling in the table. I encourage myself by the fact that the sick are even worse - then I get ashamed...

And there is amazing luck. The first patient I need to inject is a retired former nurse. She assesses the situation instantly - and begins to encourage me in half a voice: "Look, okay, you do everything right, so, the air released, hold the syringe at such an angle, now smoothly... smart, you see, and I don't even hurt at all." (It doesn’t hurt her. There is no living place in it, and there is such a curvy failure...) The whole chamber is watching us with curiosity, and suddenly the other women are also turned on: "...collet, sister, do not be afraid, you have a light hand..." "...not the gods are burning the pots..." "...you are smart, daughter, you are a student, heaven..." Everyone, like one, convinces me that they are not hurt at all. I understand that they just reassure me, I want to cry, but after the fifth injection, things are going more fun. Crying in public is completely excluded. (I will cry later when the change is over, from the fear experienced, from the tension - and from the relief.)

The practice takes place at four nights. I learned to inject. Phobia is defeated. I bring to Dr. Masulis a signed paper from the hospital. Now there is an exam. The doctor doesn’t look at the paper. He quietly takes my check-in and - the machine! Give me a fifth on my subject. and unexpectedly. And honestly, unheard of it! But very Lithuanian: punished - forgiven - everything is forgotten.

I have two memories of this story. A sick woman is a whole house. - who want to encourage a timid unskilled girl. And how beautiful and slowly the sun rises when you go home from the night shift, and all the fears are behind.

Children play in the sandbox. One says:
Let’s play the president.
And how?
I’ll take your toys and you’ll thank me.

In all the news today they write about one Chinese fan who confused Volgograd with Vologda.

And about thousands of Russians each year confusing electric cars to Fryazevo and Fryazin, leaving the Yaroslavl station, no one has ever written so massively.

It is offensive!

Davecha was a guy, bringing a laptop for repair.

The problem - decided to disassemble independently, completely clean the dust, change the thermopast, glue the thermoplasts, in general, seriously serve the laptop. I could not collect back. Specifically, physically assembled, but now it does not work.

The problem is frequent. We accept. As a result of the disassembly, we eliminate all the shortcomings of this culibin. It starts. We call, come pleased, pay, take away.

He comes back the same evening. It doesn’t start again, he says. I asked him what he did with the laptop. In response to this, there is a genius phrase:

“I dismantled it to check that all the details were in place and you didn’t steal anything. Now it doesn’t start again.

There is no scene, one of the colleagues jumps and goes outside the door to crack. I hold this information more persistently and think about how to solve this problem and complete the exit from the cycle. After all, if he starts checking again, the situation will repeat.

It was decided to do everything in his eyes, with a small supplement for the dedicated time. He left not very pleased, but he has not returned yet.

How did the French change? A nation is degenerating. Especially footballers, just like black people.

A couple of years ago I had to work with a client who was near my alma mater. One day I left a little early and decided to walk through memorable places. He went to the dining room, dormitory, lecture halls, laboratories, and the student center. In the center of my attention was attracted by the solid advertisement of the show "Three Sisters." The poster stated that this action was organized by the "Russian Club", and events such as Rahmaninov's concert, Bardov's evening, films of the 60s, the Silver Age, thematic parties, etc.

“Good guys, organizers, they’ll go a long way,” I thought, and then I thought, “Would they know how and why it all started?” And remembered...

Lieutenant Schmidt's Children's Club

“I can account for every million I earn except for the first one.” – John Rockefeller

My family came to the United States in the early 1990s practically poor. Seven out of the four people had an astronomical sum of $220 and a few bowls with a barrel most of which were useless. I still don’t understand why we dragged into the U.S. a meat-cutter, an electrocutter, and a Polish shirt. The first few years in the new country was a bit difficult, although very fun.

My parents started working, my sister and I worked, but in the line "Total" finances sang romance. A year and a half later, my sister finished school, and what next? The parents did not even ask the question, she will go to the university, no matter how much it costs. And it cost a little, even despite grants and scholarships, especially given our then financial condition. They gave the last penny, because education is sacred.

Four years later, my sister graduated from college and it was time for me to go. With money it became a little easier, poor not to be called, but even to the middle class was very, very far away. Again, no alternatives were considered. “Let us turn.” We and our parents encouraged each other. “There will be a day, there will be food.”

As a result, I went to a decent private university, which is not even a free pleasure. In general, in the United States, university or college education is a solid bunch of money. I was really happy, I studied quite well in school, and the universe was generous and gave me a discount of almost half the amount. A quarter of the amount was borrowed by my parents, the rest was borrowed by me. In principle, everything is clear and fair, you want to save, not learn. If you want to study, pay. The road will be made by the one who goes, who needs education, he will get it, regardless of any barriers.

The difficulty was not only in the cost of education, but also in the fact that all the associated costs were also more than tangible. In private universities, the approach is simple, "where are you going from the submarine?"Therefore, the price for dormitory, food, etc. was placed just a horse. The starving studios (like me) tried to find at least some work, otherwise it would be quite acidic. The problem is that the student workforce was in excess, and therefore the pay was minimal, especially since the basis was employed by the university itself. The way out is simple, it takes a few work.

Where I have not worked. One time I was engaged in sending letters in which the university swore money. The work is not dusty, the letters in the envelopes are stuck and the marks are glued, but boring to the end. Then in the gym, the inventory was distributed, too, not dusty, but unfortunately distracted from sleep. At the same time, the library man was crumbling, also a penny in his pocket.

After finding two unique submissions, assess. The first is the official ball carrier for the women’s lacrosse team. Not work, but a story. You sit on a chair, look at the girls, a couple of times for a game from the basket you throw them a ball, and during the break around the field you will collect the balls. The second is even cooler, the movie operator for the women's basketball team. You go to different universities and shoot a game on camera. The girls are kind and responsive, feeding during trips, and paying for hours on the road too. In short, Sinekura, what else to say. One bad thing - games are not frequent enough and work is seasonal.

But the financial problem remained. No matter how you turn, do not shuffle, and you will not earn normal money. You seem to work 25-30 hours a week, and you have $ 100, many 150. The cost was very high, but I tried to save where I could. The apartment with a fellow student, Semka, was taken off the campus for a couple cheaper, for all kinds of seminars and presentations was recorded because there were sometimes fed for free, and the light at the end of the tunnel is not visible.

Sevki's situation was a bit better, his brother with business in the Russian Federation. But in the 90s it was like, then thick and then the flute and the drums sound, then it is completely empty, and then you thank God for being alive. In short, he needed money almost as much as I did, not to swear the healthy guys a penny from their parents who barely have enough. In what shit we just didn’t fit in to be golden. They traded furniture for students, they recorded as accountants for the population, they tried to sell telephone tariffs, but everything was short or unreliable. Ambition was a lot, but in fact it turned out to be a shit.

The financial anus worsened every beginning of the semester. The reason is simple, books. There was virtually no online book sales at the time (the topic was just beginning), so the university store was essentially a monopoly. They smashed seven skins from the unhappy students without the slightest indulgence. I took an average of 5-6 classes per semester and often needed two or three textbooks for each. And books and $50, and $70, and $100 could cost, so the final amount for the poor student came out monstrous. A weekly salary went away for one or two books.

Particularly oppressed some foolish professors. They announced that it was for their class that a certain textbook or taskbook was required and... they created it themselves. Then this masterpiece of the epistolar genre was delivered to the university store and the poor students were forced to buy it in the third way. There is absolutely no place to go, you cry, but you take. One thing is happy, with your money you enrich your favorite teachers. As I remember now, an unconscious geology teacher demanded $80 for his small booklet in a soft cover. The computer science teacher had more requests, almost $120.

The only one who had the conscience and understanding was our Tax Teacher, Stephen Lydka. Moreover, he said, “Books are thick, and there is no meaning in them. Everything that is really for knowledge, not for a crack, I will read to you in the lectures. Keep good accounts, and that’s 3/4 of the thing. Here is a book that I made myself. There are key concepts. It costs just $9, which is about how much I should print it. The rest of the literature, if necessary, can be taken to the library. And indeed, from this well-written, thin book I learned much more than from a dozen others.

The subject itself? It seemed, taxation is unambiguous fi, can not be more boring. Here you are wrong. Stephen’s lectures started at 8 a.m., and he himself came at 7-7:15 a.m., in case someone had questions on the subject. So, the students gathered in the classroom at 7 in the morning as a stick, only to quench him. His lectures were something with something, a charge of energy, a fireworks of humor, and a kaleidoscope of excellent life examples. This Master created an amazing atmosphere and made his subject so understandable and fascinating that students from other faculties (biologists, physicists, engineers, etc.) enrolled in it, although they absolutely did not need this subject for a diploma. I have never met anything like that before or after.

Unfortunately, the rare fuckers (sorry, there is no other word) from the university administration wasted it without rattling. The only, in my opinion, worthy professor in the whole department. Tenure (permanent position) was not given to him for his chagrin, and he went away offended. I generally think these university passions are very violet, but then I thought it was my duty to call the department and write a letter to the president of the university that from now on, instead of charity, they would only receive sex from me. Then I learned that several hundred other former students spoke in about the same tone. But I probably turned away.

At the end of each semester, the question arose, but what to do with used textbooks? If it was very lucky, then there was a picture that planned to take a class in the next semester, then the book was sold to him/her. Usually, with tears in the eyes, they drag everything back to the university store where books were accepted for about 10-15% of the price. And often they didn’t accept, they just said, “A new edition is coming out. If you want to, take it back, or this box, put it there.” Well, when the next semester came... these same textbooks that students took for money, the university laid out on the shelves as b/u for 75-80% of the price of new, and they were bought out in the air. It happened that the books that the students just gave for free the university also sold (in cases if the next edition to the beginning of the semester did not have time or the teacher allowed to use both versions, especially because they rarely seriously differed).

And this is the end of another semester, I am sadly overtaking my library, and sadly pretending how much I will be overtaken this time. Seven falls and seeing my acid look asks:
“Is it not fun? What did you hang your head?”
“Why to have fun? There are no income, only expenses. As the saying goes, “the student gives books to the university store.” The student is the subject, and the shop is the proper.”
I am also an amateur philologist. Smells of seventh. “The store is a place.”
“Another summit of philosophical thought” I hugged.

And suddenly, as a swallow, the glass was running:
“The Eureka. He who was nothing becomes everything. We will show them the mother of Kuzma, we will start a pound of distress, where the cancers winter, and why marriage is impatient."
“To whom to show? And most importantly what? I am very concerned about exhibitionism. I agree to show only in a narrow circle of limited people."
“The Gusars are silent. I announce the first meeting of shareholders of JSC "Rog and Copy" open. Our goal is to bring to the masses the reasonable, good, and eternal. In exchange for a freely convertible currency, of course.”
“The goal is good. I support all the low fibers of my soul. And now, closer to the body, as Mopassan said.”

Here Sömka and announced his congenital plan.
“Look here. You will now drag your books to Golgotha. You will get a spoonful of oil. Is the thesis fair?”
“Experience is a great thing. And he suggests that yes. I am ready to consider options.”
“What if the books... don’t give up?”
“Sema, and you are a masochist-maximalist. You offer to fly like a faner over Paris and not get a penny at all. Relax people and have fun.”
“This is exactly what I offer. Moreover, the shareholders of JSC “Rog and Copyt” immediately collect all the cash, borrow as much as they can and... direct their footsteps to the university store and begin to buy textbooks from the suffering populus at a price greater than those university crumbs.”
“Someone, did you eat a dead fish? Was the milk unclean? What kind of shit do you offer? Not only do not get money, but also give the last and collect all the shit. Note, I’m ready to bite the granite of science, but here I predict that I’ll eat paper instead of pizza, and that’s a perversion. The soul does not accept these conditions. What will we do with these books?”
“I told you that you’re a fool and your ears are cold. We will trade them.”
“Oh, we’ll open a store, or a bench, in front of the store, and we’ll call the buyers, ‘Devushek, Devushek, book buy. Look at the B. The book of Percy. What do you think of my baritone?”
“You are right and you are wrong, my friend Socrates. We really occupy the square. Actually in front of the store. We will only buy books. This is the idea of selling.” And Sömka announced the remainder of the idea "I had to sit in the touch there once..."

Diamond smoke went through our modest apartment. The idea was so simple, so genius. It is just a miracle that the gold of Klondike lying on the surface for so many years has not been picked up. With a trembling but confident hand, I took the checkbook and looked at the balance sheet.
“I feel painful things. This is all done by hard work. I am willing to do charity for the hungry. What will the merchant say?”
“I have about that. I think our capital will be enough to produce a furor in science and technology.”
“The fuck. With a naked hero on the overwhelming, they attacked the devil. But is it fair? Desperate times require desperate action.”

The next morning, having put together our modest capital, borrowed a foldable table and a couple of chairs from the neighbors, we settled at the outside entrance to the store. From the hand swept the advertisement, said we buy textbooks at a high price. What price to offer for which book we had no idea, we had to periodically run inside and find out what textbooks the store accepts. Then we dressed up for $5-7 dollars. For books that the university did not give money at all, we gave $ 3-5, depending on the condition and thickness of the book.

At first it was quiet, but very soon when we learned that we were paying more, we were besieged by a crowd of students. The unfortunate table was bended by the weight of the books. Then they started putting them under the table in boxes. Then they put the books on the asphalt. Soon the indignant shop workers jumped out to us with complaints, saying what fucking thing? What is self-activity? What is the monopoly attempt?

In response, we reasonably stated that there was no harm from us. We just want to buy books from our fellow intellectuals. Where is it stated that this is prohibited?
“Huligans are deprived of sight.” Oral of Seven.
“Well, put Lypkin-Typkin here.” I seconded sharply.
“I will complain to the prosecutor,” Sam cried out.
“Can we send them simply to her, with all the proletarian directness?” I have proposed.

The next day we repeated the concert, and on the third we finished the money. As a result, we found several hundred textbooks on all subjects, from ancient philosophy to higher mathematics, from chemistry to quantum mechanics. It was 50 meters from our desk to the parking lot, not more, but we pulled our hands off quite a bit. The poor submarine of Semki even wandered from the loaded foilings. And when I remember dragging this good from the car to us into the apartment on the 3rd floor I get bad, although almost 20 years have passed since then. But now we were ready for the battle of the Titans.

As respected readers probably guessed we were not going to sell these books in retail sitting on the bench or banally disclosing ads. The buyer had planned only one...SAM university store. How to check such a hashtag? Here I will explain.

The fact is that when the semester began, the first couple of weeks of general status at the university could be described as "Romashka's bad." Students enroll in classes and very often then change them (for various reasons). Thus, the books already purchased must be handed over to them and purchased new ones. All you need for this is a simple form that is issued in the registration center. It was filled out by hand, indicating which class was cancelled, which one was taken in return, and the employee of the center (often the same brother-student working for the hour and who was absolutely offended) put either a stamp or a signature.

After crushing and building the eyes of the student girls, we became the owners of a whole pack of empty forms. We filled out the forms, indicated that we were changing the schedule and went to the store with textbooks.
“I want to surrender. I take another class.” I stated firmly. “Give money into working hands.”
“Let me see,” the employee whispered. “Did you take the credit card? Or the university account?
“For Nail, of course.” I assured me.
“Do you have a check?” The shoppers resisted.
What kind of check? I did not save, I lost. But these are the books, the same you have on the shelf. No more to take them from anywhere. And according to the rules, we can take them out for the first 2 weeks without any problems."
This resistance usually stopped and for the books that we bought (or even received for free) for pennies received a retail price from the store. And here there has already appeared a whole pad with a bright blue catch.

In the university store we appeared almost three times a day, because we needed time to sell as many books as possible. After a few days, our faces were so blurred that the sellers greeted us like relatives. Naturally, they understood everything and resisted by inertia, but they “had no methods against the Bone of Saprikin” because we did not violate any rules. And so every trip to the store brought us hundreds of dollars. Of course, we did not have time to deliver all the books, some of which the store refused to accept because these textbooks were no longer used, but 80 percent of the inventory we loaded.

Profit on investment exceeded all the most optimistic forecasts and climbed well below 600%. We finally felt like people. There was worthy money in the pocket. I did not quit working, but I was no longer forced to save every penny. Moreover, I even partially paid off my school debt and allowed myself some surpluses. Well, of course, Sevka and I were looking forward to the start of the next semester to repeat our arias on bis.

Unfortunately, the concert did not succeed on the request of the viewers. More precisely, books then we bought, and in a much larger quantity than before. But the clever university merchants have circled us by the curve. According to the new rules, it was necessary to indicate the number of the student ticket and show the identification card when handing over the books. Moreover, an official schedule had to be presented before and after the replacement.

We stumbled like rattled deer, changing schedule several times a day, but running to the registration center and back took a lot of time. Plus, we were so confused that we were foolishly pushed out of the store and from the center, barely able to register for real classes. The issue had to be resolved and urgently, because there was quite decent money on the counter.

“And Eureka again,” announced Sam. “We are alone, that is our weakness. But abroad will help. There are ideas.”
“Please publish the entire list.”
"We must shout out, and organize ideological fighters for the dungeons. It is not worth counting on the help of the Aborigines. Their Protestant ethics and Buddhist order of things will not allow them to participate in our hashtag. I need another like that. And more simply, we need Lieutenant Schmidt’s children.”

Of course, Russian-language students at the university were before us, but very rarely. Per only in the year of our arrival slowly and the conquest of Siberia by Jermak began. If in our year enrolled a person 6 "Russian", then to the third course in the university was at least a person 25.

“Let’s call those we know. At the same time, ask them to bring those they know. Well, the announcement in the student center will be hanged, it is said that the "Russian Club" is formed. Do you want to break bread with us?”
“And then what? “Are you not afraid to announce Noah?”
“What are they afraid of? This is my last semester.” He completed the universe in 3 years. "You still have one semester after that, your wages will be enough for your age. And his brother emigrant will save himself and help us. This is our donation to the “Union of Sword and Oral.”

said and done. Someone who could have noticed the advertisement. We organized a council in Files, more precisely on the benches near the library. There may be 15-18 people. A speech pushed from which stones would slip.
Dear brothers and sisters, Kents and Mochals, Aids and Goyim, Chuvaks and Chuvichs. How long will the puppy of capital suck the last juices out of the hegemon, collecting an immeasurable tribute in the form of payment for textbooks? There is a chance to restore historical justice and make money for everyone. The scheme is as simple as two fingers, then you hit the goods. Our product, your time. income is guaranteed. At the breakdown, an honest boy half. Whoever agrees, write down your coordinates on this sheet. Who wants to think, no problem. Just don’t pull the cat for a long time, because the time we have is very little, it’s money that we can make together.”

The insightful speech found a response and almost everyone agreed. All that was required from the neophytes, a couple of times to change their schedule, show forms together with their identification cards, and hand over their share of books. It was calculated after each given game. The goods were rid of literally in a couple of days for general benefit. Of course our earnings were less than planned, but even with this arrangement we still earned very decent.

As a knowledgeable of human souls, Semka proposed to cover a modest lawn, the benefit of the profit from the enterprise was decent. A few pizzas, chicken wings, beer, and anecdotes are the best foundation for the unification of the proletariat. Everybody liked it, the more so. A couple of times in a semester we met with a fun company, and there the year ended.

Before graduating from university, Samka tells me;
“You see, we have already organized the people. People are like Pavlov's dogs, used to the hole. You can lead them to a bright future. I am late in the leader, I am going to the master's degree, and you with our group of comrades can break a good bowl."
“From now on in more detail.” I was interested.
“Yes very simple. On the next drink, I will nominate you for the President of the Russian Club. As usual, the people are silent. I am sure everyone will support. Moreover, we have suited them for the following semesters. You register all as the "Russian Club" at the university officially, because there are enough people. And then handy hands and no fraud, demand a budget. I learned that the university is generously giving student organizations money. You will be filled and drunk, and the boys will lose a penny.”

The idea of the official "Russian Club" was all accepted "on hurra." The shooting was calculated as by notes, of course, no one objected to my presidency.

Well, the next semester (my last in the university) we already met in full arms, with a bunch of textbooks that we organized. At the same time I made a presentation in the administration, the club was officially registered. Per it helped that we subdued the entire Russian language faculty to lobbyism for us. I even managed a budget of a couple of thousands of dollars, say we will visit museums, get rich culturally, and even organize some public event. One shit, the budget only for the next semester was given, my share was not enough.

I don’t regret it, I earned enough money from books. In the following semester, Lieutenant Schmidt’s Children’s Club lived a full life. With the first money organized a big walk in a Russian restaurant. Even the wise will report for it as "studying Russian cuisine." For a couple of years, as the first official President of the Russian Club, I was invited to all kinds of meetings, even to my home several times all the eagle came to visit. Then they slowly stopped, the more I myself to this matter with work and my travels cooled.

Well, now you can see the Russian Club rigorous guys run. Everything is white, puffy, clean and cultural. It is probably right. And yet, they would know how and why it all started...

When in the church you throw a little thing into a box for the needs of the temple, remember - for the princess of a female monastery in the Yaroslavl region are looking for a personal cook. A salary of 90 thousand rubles... and throw more.