Xxx: I was going to remove the tooth.

And this surgeon (age 35-40 is strong, sympathetic) is also specialized in the insertion of implants. He injected me an anesthetic and went out to the presbyterium. It is advised by a client. My aunt-in-law is around me. I sit and wait for it to work and wrap up the information about the implants.

I came back and literally in one movement my tooth - a knot! and all! It didn’t hurt – I didn’t even feel that he touched something in my mouth.

Well, of course, all such a gratitude decided to compliment him and said:

“Well, doctor, if you put in as well as you take out, then I’m your client!”

After a second of confusion, all the people present stood up.

The doctor said he hadn’t had such remarkable compliments before.



Yyy: I had a similar story: the injection, the waiting, the surgeon’s return, the dent and the tooth left my mouth.

I was surprised and asked, “Is it all?”

“Do you want to tear one more?” Ask the surgeon.

Xxx: Shut off at the moment with the weapons babies. Pizdec is like a rage: you watch any disaster or incident - everywhere babies scream. Everyone is scared, but only the grandmothers whirl to the pain in the ears. I can, too, but in such situations I didn’t whip like the entire male sex. I understand the screams of pain, the screaming of fear and the same pain, and so on, but the fool whispers it is a shit at all. Especially the wounded. You lie, you can't breathe from the pain, the beetle hurts and turns because of a huge amount of painful impulses from the body, turns and blows, as if this was lacking, and some creature says that the drum membranes are bursting.

Yyy: The wreckage is nature. It was loudly penetrating, so that everyone was scared, and everyone heard that her leopard was cracking. and escaped.

When I came to the nursery, my battles were weak and quite tolerable. After filling out documents and a couple of humiliating procedures, I was sent to a prenatal room with these light battles.

There already suffered a girl with the "rare" name Katya.

Katya was quick (as far as the stomach allowed) and nervous walking around the chamber: from door to wall, from wall to window. The door wall, the door wall, the window wall.

At some point she stopped sharply, attached a towel to the wall, grabbed it with her face and screamed with a strange low voice. After screaming, she started walking again. The door-wall window-wall... Then it stopped and screamed. Then she walked again.

I lay on the bed and watched her throwing. I thought that Katya was somewhat strange, that Katya was a bad actress and clearly overplayed. Apparently, the word “little” was thought.

“Well, fighting and fighting, why make such a tragedy out of this?” I did not understand.

And then (within an hour and a half) Kaakak understood

Sometimes a man is like a whole planet: he rotates, he rotates, and there is no life.

When I was 16, I joined the Evening Moscow newspaper. Newspapers at the subway.
Payment is calculated depending on the number of sold books.

The point was new, so at the device I was told I would have to scream to find buyers.

I couldn’t scream, so on the first day I sold only two or three newspapers.
In addition, there were interesting, but expensive magazines in my office bag, which I was ashamed to offer.

Realizing that I would not earn money in this way, in the evening after work - I started training.
Remember “Little Hole”, where Jimmy screamed at night, dreaming of becoming a “Layer”?
Here I remembered.

All night I screamed in front of the mirror: “The Evening Moscow newspaper, the magazine “Expert”, the newspaper “Work and Wage”... Overall, I trained and developed confidence.
The parents turned their fingers at the whisker, but they did not interfere.

The next day, inspired by the imaginary success, I took the job.
Imagining myself, neither much nor little, the poor Jimmy from Little Oakland, I overcame the fear and began to scream, as I thought, in all my voice.

Five minutes later, police came to me.
I checked the documents and they were okay.
I bought the most expensive magazine.

It took me here.

I spoke in such a way that the passers stumbled at the exit of the crossing, and the grandmothers grabbed their hearts.
Oral to chrysot and accelerated heartbeat.
Oral, as if my life depends on it.
“The evening of Moscow, Expeyeyeyeerert, slave-oot and salary-aat!” spread throughout the district.

Strangely enough, it has brought fruit.
By the evening I sold almost all the newspapers, about half the magazines and a little souvenir products.

Satisfied with myself, I drove home and expected to earn even more the next day.

And then more.
and more.
I will become a millionaire.
I will buy the newspaper.
I will be a successful entrepreneur and my parents will be proud of me.

The next day I shook.
My attempts to shout out something sounded like this: “Ashshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshsherrrrrahaya sssyvvaaa” – such a whispering whisper that I could barely hear.

To my surprise, I sold half the newspapers and a few magazines.
It turns out, people who live nearby are convenient to buy newspapers and magazines on the way home.
They greeted, communicated, interested in sales and bought.

When I stopped crying, I started crying with less force, but the same intensity.
Buyers are getting more every day.
I was given a second bag, with wheels, so that I could take more press for replacement.

My business ended unexpectedly.

In the middle of the second month, when I had about a hundred regular clients, I was called by a coordinator.

“Vipman84, you’re doing a good job. Such valuable employees should not disappear, so we put you on a new point, and yours will be given to Ivanova. They don’t want to do it, but they want to earn it all. Don’t worry, you’ll find customers quickly, the boy is capable.”

"And so that your experience does not go in vain, this is Alexander, he will stand with you on the spot. You have to teach him everything to sell like you do. And while you are together, divide your pay by two.”

The next morning, the coordinator was long wondering why I decided so abruptly to quit.
But the decision was made, and a day later I already found a new one - a courier for the delivery of printed products.
Books are sold on the street.

But this is a completely different story.

Vasya was so tolerant that he called the bosses, the government, and the homosexuals the same word.

The matter was in my childhood, and we were then ten to eleven years old (year of action 1990-1991). A new guy appeared in our courtyard, well, and we are all friendly - such a good company (truly, we were a good company), well, and according to all the laws of the court, we must accept, get acquainted with the newcomer, well, and make him a "board" of their own.

Everything was done and fulfilled. Did he great to pursue, while his parents were engaged in unloading and transferring furniture, told us what and where we have interesting things, and where you can go, and where you should not go - all from a pure soul, and from a pure heart. They even brought us to Kolka for guests (one of our company), where they played with the whole crowd, and Mother Kolie fed us all for lunch. No need to say that the bad ones - they have eaten, so it was done. And they went to visit me, and I also fed them, and otherwise - it was normal.

So, we split closer to the evening, and agreed that tomorrow we will be chasing football. The next day, we crossed, as agreed. They chased the soccer, well, and this crendel (Yurick – if you read this, you will remember) says:

Come to visit me.

What is not. Go to. We did not eat lunch there because his parents were not at home. Well, the toys played in Jurikovsky, the photos looked in the album, and again on the street. The day ended normally.

The next day, Yuri came to our black cloud companion. Destroyed and evil.

Why was money stolen?! to

What money?

- In the bank of coffee, with an Indian, was. This is not my treasury, older sisters, there were twelve rubles! (I don’t remember exactly how much – but the sum, for the Soviet boy, is really enormous).

We did not take!

In the morning, after you left, they disappeared. Give it back, or I’ll get into it.

Well, in short, this is how badly it went out... Well, of course, they got caught up with each other, they all rejected, and NEVER there was such a thing that even a penny of a stranger, even one of us took – NEVER!

Okay, I have to return. Of course, and the relationship in the company we have little for those few days that the money was collected, the parents asked, the bottles were collected on all the sweaters, and under the column they were washed to surrender - spoiled. Well, how can they not ruin if one of us is a thief!

We gathered that damn money, well, to him, to Yurk. I knock on the door and my mother opens it.

Call to Yuri.

He is at Grandma.

My grandmother is with my grandmother and we go. At the entrance we sit, we think...Maybe he was sent to his grandmother in punishment? Maybe we already know it, and we are deceiving it? What to do? The boy must be saved! Shortly decided and went.

I call and my mom opens again.

“Look, take,” we stretch the money, “these are the ones that are missing.

Boys, what are you talking about? What money?

- From the bank you, who with the Indian, disappeared. Here is. We have gathered. We don’t know who took it.

From which bank? Come in and tell us everything normally.

Well, we went, we showed the bank, we told you what and how it was in detail, we all look over, our noses hanged, because... well, it turns out that this WOR is standing among us, blowing up, and also breeding the guilty builds, but the fool is not admitted!

This bank, guys, has just been released. So there was no money there. And Jura...He has already done so. I lied to him, forgive him.

Somehow the story ended. With Juric then, “for some reason” we were not friends.

Being on the guard, in correspondence with my wife and in parallel chat with my colleagues - subordinates, I wrote to my wife "I am waiting for a photo of my ass)". At the parking lot, the message was sent to the general working chat of the workshop.

After 10 minutes I had photos of a broken crane, welding work on the pump, no passage to the warehouse.

No one ass.

I had to wait for one person. I walked around the house where several walnuts grew and watched this picture as the crown waited for the car to pass and threw walnuts under the wheels. But not all cars were hit by the wheel. And I, having compassion for the frog, came to the unbroken nuts, crushed it with my foot and went away. The crown went down, ate the nuts, staring at me. I left and returned in 5 minutes, throwing the nuts under my feet. So I walked about an hour and crushed her nuts...

When a person does the same thing hundreds of times, with time the movements are optimized to the most optimal and are done already on the machine. When I carry the tea from the kitchen to the comp, I have the perfectly established shortest route, my little one stops in millimeters from the plintus at the corners, the shoulder is pushed up during the turn around the chest, and after entering the room, the hand pushes the door precisely with such force that all inertia ends in a millimetre from the touch of the door and the chest and silently closes. So it’s not just athletes who have perfect movements.

An idiot does not need to build anything from himself, he is already in his kind of perfection.

When I was a kid, I had a grandfather. “Well what?” You ask me. Grandparents are everybody. The usual case.
It is so, not entirely. The children of my generation had little grandparents. My grandmothers were, yes. The military widows.

My grandmother was also a military widow. Where did Grandpa come from? Her grandfather was her second husband, her mother’s father. He was also a widow, his family (children and wife, pregnant with twins at the beginning of the war) died in the Minsk ghetto. He himself remained alive by chance – rushed to take his eldest daughter from the summer camp under the tombile. I could not go back to Minsk. not had time.

Then there were many such families - people, broken by the war and lost loved ones, came together and tried to rebuild some peaceful life, raise surviving children.

My grandfather was a clockmaker. A good watchmaker - other watchmakers respected him very much and admired his skill. “Well,” smiled the grandfather, “I was given ten years of teaching to such a master!”
The master became his second father. The disciple adored him, wrote letters to him and consulted him in difficult times - all his life, as long as the Master was alive.

The childhood memory. I am 5 years old. The evening. It is dark in the room. At one end of the long table burns a bright table lamp, and the grandfather, putting a lump in the eye, concentrated over the next clock. I know that it is impossible to distract or distract him, his work is small and diligent. I am just interested in watching him. But if suddenly a small piece falls on the floor, I immediately jump up and run for the magnet - "there are children's eyes... found? This is smart!”

Grandfather's watches were different - mostly handheld, of course, but also desktops and walls... We also had old German watches hanging at home, bought after the war at the bazar and hand-repaired by them. They beat every hour – a bim-bom! Every half hour a bomb!
(All my life afterwards I will be drawn to old watches, desks, floors and especially walls with battle - unfashionable and unnecessary in our time, they will remind me of my childhood and grandfather.)

One day, the client brought to repair the stalled clock and begged his grandfather to "do something". The clock was wrapped in a blanket like a child. Very old clock. In a terrible condition.

“No,” my grandfather shrugged his head, “I can’t fix such a mess. They have a place in the garbage. I have no such details.

But the client did not leave. He continued to call “the best master”. It was very important for him to make that clock go back. No, he didn’t need others. It is these. After long interrogations, he finally admitted that his reason was, of course, a fool... but daddy... the old daddy... “has gotten in his head”... when the clock stops, he will die. How do you like that? Have you ever heard something like this? And now he slept out of sorrow and says that his time has come...

Grandpa scratched his head and promised to try.

Oh, and he was tormented with those hours, oh, and wept! He consulted with other watchmakers, cleansed something carefully, tossed and wrapped, looked for some missing springs... One day we and he even went somewhere far away to the other end of the city, where in a small wooden booth a very ancient old man sat and digged in old mechanisms. Once he was even a better master than my grandfather, but now for the difficult work no longer took - the eyes are not the same, the hands are not the same... But no matter how there was, the right wheel he still found.

The grandmother cried, recalled the old Jewish word "ain-rE-de-nish" - "self-suspension", "self-deal", "imaginary disease", argued that a person can go through a war, lose loved ones, overcome unbearable pain, survive the most terrible times - and die from such nonsense...

After a long time, the clock was repaired. The client was out of joy.

Grandpa died three years later. The owner of the watch recovered and lived safely for several more years. The old clock survived them both. And they went for a long time, counting the time that passes... and goes... and is forgotten.

And only somewhere deep in the bottom of my memory is still warm an old saying in an already almost dead language: "An anredenish from Erger Fun a Krenk" - "Imaginary disease is worse than real."

Memory is such a thing... if it is allowed, it takes us back, back, to those times that have long passed and will never return - where everyone we loved is still alive.
But when I take the clock in my hands to turn the arrow again, I always hear my grandfather’s voice: “Never turn the clock back! It is very harmful! Just forward!”

Only forward.

Download a calorie counting program! I quickly switched to double accounting.

Xxx: A bit about the defense of the diploma.

Protection of diplomas. We sit. Answers Zarina, whose diploma I wrote and painted for a material reward.

- Hey, sweetheart, - begins one of the commission, - but say, you have a plan of the shop under point one, what is indicated?

I am nervous... I forgot.

- And out there, in the corner, with the booklets “P.I.” (fire box)?

Where is?

Right there, up there, up there.

A... I...

In the other corner, all the points are listed.

Oh yes thank you.

Then she successfully overlooks everything she can, and under the curtain she is asked:

- Okay, Zarinochka, about your preparedness for the defense of the diploma, we already have an idea. Answer a question for understanding the subject. Is it possible to make a tooth of six?

and yes! Confidently declares the surrender.

Thank you, we’ve finished with you.

After this “no” to the defense of the diploma, she demanded to return her money for the completed diploma, as she did not defend because of its “irregularity”.

I come to the bank, communicate with one very nice employee, fit a man in the years, apparently her boss, well I and, wishing to make a compliment to the girl, loudly stated:

What beautiful employees you have!

And the boss with a squirrel, to see a man with a good sense of humor, also answers loudly:

Just look at our employees!

Intelligent people are very afraid to cross the boundary of permissible, hams beyond this boundary - live.

My friend was a Lithuanian. Married in Lithuania. People are calm, even phlegmatic, I would say.

Then they went to West Virginia to rest. They took off the house, walked, entered the house and went to sleep. Her wife, Lyma, woke up first, and the first thing she saw when she woke up was a huge snake coming out of the bed. The other would envy, of course, but Lyme was Lithuanian, so she gently pushed Algirdas and said, "Algis, we have a snake under the bed." Algirdas, who was tired after a six-hour ride last day, did not want to wake up, so he cried out, "You can't see the snake if it's under the bed," and fell asleep again. Then Lyma pushed him stronger and said, "Algis, but I want a pi-pi, and if I get up, I will attack the snake!" "So the snake is no longer under the bed," Algirdas logically concluded and tried to stretch the blanket on his head. Lyma stopped his attempt and promised to make a pi-pi on his head if he did not penetrate.

Whether you want it or not, Algirdas had to wake up. First he put on his glasses, then hanged his head from the bed and looked at the snake. She was obviously not in a hurry, and she was obviously not bothered by the fact that Lyma wanted a pi-pi. Then Algirdas said something to the serpent in Lithuanian. I don’t know where the West Virginia snake could know Lithuanian, but Algirdas was clearly understood because she went into the kitchen under the refrigerator.

Lyma breathed relieved and went to the toilet, while Algirdas continued to blow.

For some reason, the snake under the refrigerator did not like it, and when Lyma tried to get out of the toilet, she found the same snake right under her door. Calls to Algirdas did not help her this time - he slept relentlessly in the neighboring room.

Lyma several times tried to cut the snake in English, it did not help, then, remembering the successes of Algirdas, she said something not very good in Lithuanian, and as in the water looked! The snake is gone, really again under the refrigerator...

I would have listened to this whole story for a long time, but I was most curious, “Well, what did you do with the snake then? Captured and thrown out?”

“Why?” Algirdas answered me. “We stayed in this house for only three nights, and the snake lives there all the time. We asked her not to get out of the refrigerator while we were here, and we agreed with her."

“Have the serpent agreed with you?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Algirdas replied, “we had to feed her. We bought her milk and put a plate in the kitchen. But under the bed she didn’t slip, Lyma didn’t wake me up anymore, so we left home, having rested well.”

All humans are bearers of intelligence. Some are asymptomatic.

Two hours ago I was back by car from the sea – I was driving, my mother, my wife and my one-year-old son who slept all the way. At the entrance to the city, haishniki stood checking the cars, as far as I understood on the occasion of the day of the Air Force. We were stopped, I start to dig into my pockets in search of documents suits the hoistner and starts in the form:

Good afternoon, the inspector.

I hear an unhappy whisper from behind:

Keep quiet, do not scream.

The haishnik stopped, I stopped crawling in my pockets from an unexpected turn. He looks at me with amazement, and I look at him. A minute of spectators. Then he whispered to me:

Are you okay?

And also a whisper.

The happy path.



Yyy: Women with a child develop a "mamkin voice". I go on the street. There is a scream from the window, “Well, go home quickly!” I went home immediately. Then “stop. This is not my street. Not my mother. I have a lot of years.” I went home for the case. It worked on the goose.

X: Can you say anything about classmates? An extinct dialect.

YYYY :

1st I can’t raise my hand when it’s so high!!!! to

This is my favorite sister Olečka came to rest in the summer.

Three My youngest grandson Sergeenko Valkin son on September 1st

4 is Larisocha Gennadyevna, you have not changed in so many years! I kiss everyone! The Beautiful!

5 is Soviet ice cream tomato juice for 10 copies! Take a class if you remember. Let’s see how many of us!