For some reason, the confident and impartial “invisible hand of the market” promised to us has turned into a sweaty, greedy and stolen hand.

Problems

On Thursday, the boss held a meeting, the disbursement was arranged capital, the deadlines were delayed, the claim work was not established, the percentage of marriages increased, the quarterly premium is not to wait, if not eliminated. and etc.

We left the meeting, went out to the fresh air, we stood with a colleague, and he was somewhat dumb, silent, thoughtful.
I say:

- Max, don't worry you so, we will correct the situation now, the cause of the marriage has been identified, corrective measures are already being carried out, not for the first time, we will break. solve the problem.

He silenced and then said:
- You know, my wife and I go to the children's hospice on Saturdays, my wife is a volunteer, animator, and I do, help when there is time. Yesterday, my wife asked me to go with her after work. On Saturday we go on vacation.
They organized a children’s party, a theme party. At the end of the evening at the delivery of gifts, a boy, 7 years old, approaches Alena and asks:

Why did you come today, we thought you would come on Saturday?

On Saturday we can’t, we’re going on vacation.

Of course, for a long time?

for 2 weeks.

Long time, sorry

Why is?

I’m going to make a painting on Saturday, I’d like to give it to you.

You will give it after the holidays.

Two weeks long. I have an operation tomorrow, it’s fourth, I can’t wait for you. Oh I invented! I will give Svetlana Ivanovna, she will give you if anything.

The boy escaped. This boy has problems, and we have small difficulties at work in achieving the tasks.

The story was in December 2019, the boy was waiting, but now he is no longer. Maxim's painting at work, hanging on the wall, he says, not to forget what the real problems are.
The quarterly prize has never been awarded, and damn it.

If the president, after leaving the bunker, sees his shadow, the quarantine will last for another six weeks.

In the wave to say so. Grandma and granddaughter are waiting for guests from afar. There is also a grandmother, only with her granddaughter. The children have never met or communicated. On the eve of the arrival, the grandmother gives the grandson of ZU: "Maxim, behave well, share toys, and in general, when guests do not need to "pull the blanket on yourself." The child's eyes are rounded by horror: "I, what, should I sleep with her?“?”

When I was a little boy, aged five to six, my dad and I went into the elevator, and our neighbor came in with us. Growth below 2 meters. The elevator runs, the usual uncomfortable silence, and here I say to Dad:

- Well, do you remember the quote "Uncle Stepa is a giant, golden eyebrows, in summer wearing a shirt and in winter trousers"?

Dad just stunned at his neighbor and became very thick red.

Then they told me what I was going to do at home. But the expression of the father’s face, when he seemed ready to give everything in the world just to fail through the earth, I still remember.

The manifestation of childish directness caught me in a semi-empty tram that took us home on a hot summer day.

At one of the stops in the transport appeared a couple of girls-representatives of the near abroad, each accompanied by two or three children.

When the seven sat down on the shops, the daughter carefully examined them and asked me a sacramental question:

Why are they black?

I asked again because I didn’t hear it, or if I was squeezed by surprise. The four-year-old boy repeated with a ringing voice:

Why are we white and they are black?? to

I started the ultra-tolerant talk that all people are different and the color of the skin, like the color of the eyes, can also be different. There are people who are black and even more white than us. What this affects is the country where people were born or their families and bla bla bla.

One of my moms started touching me. The shopper was uncomfortable. If I knew the cherry cake would come later.

My daughter asked me where black people came from and whites came from, and she seemed to be calm.

Already standing in the door, before leaving the tram, the daughter once again looked carefully at this companion and said:

How good that we are white, yes, Mom?

When I was small, 5 years of age, my weakness was to find my mom’s cosmetics, use it as intended (not always) and run to my mom with screams: “Mom, am I beautiful? “The beautiful?” She smiled and replied, “Beautiful, beautiful... Just like a monkey!”

At the same time we visited my mother's brother and wife. One evening they were gathering for an event and, of course, the uncle’s wife marathoned before leaving. I sat next to and admired how my beloved aunt became so beautiful and dressed that at the end I could not stand and with all childish enthusiasm and tenderness cried, "Aunt Gula, you are so beautiful! As a monkey!”

It was only then that I learned that the monkey is a Tatar monkey.

My father had a walk by the grandmothers. As long as I remember, I have always flirted with women.

He and I used to go for a walk while his mother was cooking and cleaning up at home, and he couldn’t think of anything smarter than walking by his grandmothers, dragging me after him. Take a cup of tea and talk to a friend.

Probably he thought I was small, I didn’t think about anything and I didn’t understand anything. Partly it was. Well what? I was visited. Candy with sweets in front of me put, cartoons included - I am pleased.

And what they do there in the kitchen or in the neighboring room - I was not interested.

During the summer holidays, he also travelled with me several times. On the sea, in the sanatorium.

I remembered one episode very well.

I am 4-5 years old in the area. In the evening my father brought me to visit a woman. Not one to leave me is small.

They talked, they drank something. Very late already. I begin to fall asleep.

They decided to put me to sleep. Something in her room.

Sleep like that. I slept.

I woke up at night because of something, well, like any little child, in an unfamiliar environment, began to sneeze.

This woman came to me. and naked.

Even in the dark, but I knew it.

I was kissed somehow. I told something. Maybe a story. I no longer remember.

In the morning, I did not think about what happened. It disappeared before leaving the memory. The childhood though. So much interesting around.

He returned home from the sanatorium.

My father went to the store.

My mother asks. Where were they, where were they?

I tell: to the beach, to the zoo, to the cafe, to the park, to the movie, to my aunt.

Mother is surprised:

Which aunt?

I, absolutely, without a back-thinking thought, simply proclaim what remembers:

and naked.

It was an epic moment. My mother began to ask me about everything.

I tell you all honestly. What I remember, of course.

The scandal at home was serious. My mother drove my father out of the house. He explained for a long time, relying on the fact that I invented everything myself. I never confessed. Like convincing my mother.

She had a persistent belief that her father simply could not change her.

Of course, he did not take me anywhere else.

My friend worked as an engineer in one of the structures of Yukos, chased for the watches on the oil plant in Siberia, the money was enough, but when Yukos collapsed they all cut. Sitting without work for 2-3 months, can not find a job, no money, family, a small child.



From great despair, he decided to go to the carrier, called one organization, he was told to take documents and resumes.



When the employee of the human resources department arrived, took the documents, was ready to register for work, but looked at the resume and said:

Sorry, but you don’t fit me.

The friend began to wonder – why, moll?

She - you have experience in the specialty, higher education, find yourself a normal job, here is a contingent of alkashi and zeki in the loads. A friend began to convince that the family, no money, has agreed to any work. The staff said - no and do not persuade, I will not take you, do not ruin your life, look for a normal job.



The friend was upset, but the woman was right, he eventually after some time found a job in the specialty and made a good career.

As a student, he worked as a sanitary in the forensic morge. I remembered one case.



I was replaced by a man aged 55-60 years. The medical expert, returning from the call, gloss, say, wait, now "with a mattress" will be brought. He has been working for 15 years, and has never seen anything like that. In general, they brought a man inflated by water (pulled out of the bath), on his hands traces of cuts, a rope on his neck and traces of suffocation. A lot of scare from this spectacle, of course.



In the morning, although his change has already ended, the medical expert specifically stayed on the screening to find out all the details of the death of this man. However, these mysteries do not occur every day. Other medical experts were also interested in this case and began to make bets.



The results of the examination came to such conclusions. The man so desperately tried to reduce his account with life that:

I took a hot bath and cut off the veins, but something went wrong (the cuts were not very deep), the quick death did not come.

The deep desire to leave this world quickly gave rise to another idea – to hang yourself. As a result, the man tried to hang himself on a towel dryer that was placed just above the bathroom.



But life is a very harsh thing. The man could not hang - the rope attached to the towel dryer was broken. But the part that was wrapped on the neck fits very well into the skin. At the last moment, any hanger (if not under drugs) tries to reflexively remove the rope, as evidenced by deep scratches on the neck and the epithelium under the nails. Our hero was no exception.



The final conclusion of the medical expert - drowned. The man, completely weakened from blood loss, partially removed the rope from his neck, but could not get out of the bathroom.



The oldest medical expert wins. He immediately gave up, looking at the body, - a dive.

In 2005-2007 this story ended. He worked at an enterprise where the dress code was observed - a suit, eternal necklace and other joys of life. is uncomfortable. But it looks like a cultural one. I didn’t have my own transport, so I always took a bus from work to home. I come to the local small bus station, I wait for the bus, and I get this careful bomžik (forever there). Things shrink, thinning – shrink in one word, but! Sweat is clean! He approaches me and, a little frightened, asks:

Do you have a lot of rubles for bread? Shop in two steps. I think, "I will give the little things - not a pity, and I will look at the same time - bread, but... If not bread, then I will send in the future." He gave him small things, he goes to the store, goes out with a bucket. In fact, he was honest.

He approached me once again to bite, all the same, to shoot on the bread. And then again it is appropriate, I already by habit give him the prepared little stuff, and so complainingly asks:

Could I be bigger?

I did not understand.

I take a picture for work.

What work?

I’m here... I’ll get it back later.

He gave, not hoping for a return, but... For some reason he believed in the good. It’s been a week and a half since I didn’t see this boy at the car station and I watched him again. In the new specialty, cleanly shaved, the man patled his haircut, he did not even recognize him, if not by his voice, he would not know exactly. He gave me the money that I gave him for photography. It turns out that he went to work for a local plant, whether a diversity worker, or a courtyard worker, or someone else, got a room in the shelter - lived. He told me how he got into the bomb. The mother drank everything, and the apartment, including, and ended, he, the teenager, was thrown out on the street - and bombarded.

So believe in people. If a man wants, he will rise from the bottom.

Worked at Subway, from the top came the instruction with background music to put jazz, polls were conducted among the population and jazz turned out to be the most stressful music among the majority.

Where there is a majority, there are those who disagree with it. My aunt came and set out on the threshold for a scandal with me:

What kind of music do you play?! to

and Jazz

Fu, what a ugliness! Couldn’t you put it normal?! to

Explain the company’s policy

This is black music! She is terrible!!! to

Understanding that the aunt is starting to boil and she likes it, she was just waiting for it, suddenly including the victim:

Oh yes, you are right! I suffer myself! It’s just terrible, I’m forced to listen to it all day long!

What a nightmare! Your boss should tell you everything! The Heroes!

That’s how my aunt lost the scandal and went to sunset, sending rays of anger into space, and I continued to enjoy a rushy jazz and wipe the stand in the best traditions of nuar films.

P.S I don’t know why she came in, don’t ask.

One day, walking along the shore, I saw the Gypsies digging the ground... yes, the real Gypsies, with real scratches. It turned out that they had some sort of a Gypsy feeling overwhelmed the rails there, that they did hz there, they did not definitely strengthen the shore, and for the support of the pillar it was too close, but not the essence. One rail (or one rail) was already excavated, a few more were torn out of the ground, and the Gypsies were crawling further, there was still a couple of pieces. The next evening he went specifically looking, dug out a dozen 3-4 meters of sections, and forged further. It is worth noting that the place is not quite wild, but sparsely populated, and the rails needed to be raised along a fairly steep shore, from 5 to 20 meters to the top, it was interesting how these thin guys would pull them out. But I was not destined to see this, exactly at 4 in the morning, without a declaration of war, I and a neighbor, with the help of a thread, wires and some mother, pulled out all this hernia and twice in a trailer was taken to a familiar grandfather nearby (before we had to go further). I forgive you Gypsies.

I remembered a funny incident that happened in the early morning of my youth. There was a sweet couple in our group: we met at the preparatory classes, took out the apartment and started living in it.

By the end of the school year, I decided to leave. Who has changed, I don’t know. But the veneration of the guy I still remember: "I was on the pair, she took it all out. Even the plates! I left only the old furniture. All the boys sympathized with him and shook.

In fact, it turned out to be this: Mishana was from a neighboring region. He came with his jackets. And when they started to rent the apartment for two, Lenka stopped everything from her house: plates, pots, even bedding. Fortunately, her parents lived nearby – in a village that is 15 kilometers away from the city. In short, the business girl, in the "divorce" took all her back.

But how theatrically, dramatically and even tragically it was presented... “Even the spoonful... the fox, the spoonful took!”

Whatever you say, the most honest honey is lip.
Regardless of the result of the tasting, the inscription "Honey lip" always corresponds to reality.

No other diseases.

History of Picaboo. The clowns are not funny. is terrible. And I advise people to read - it's about us)

I am a district therapist. Yes, the primary link, which now, like everyone else, was thrown into the struggle against an incomprehensible infection.
Yes...
Apparently, people stopped magically dying from the rest.
Thanks for the coronavirus.
"Thank you" for coming home to a severe patient with cirrhosis of the liver, who at this inappropriate moment gave decompensation, and reassuring relatives that everything will be fine, knowing that it will not be well, and also knowing that even in my direction the hospital will not take her, because quarantine, "treat at the local", and I can no longer help when the swelling of the whole body grows, when a person periodically falls into psychomotor excitement from intoxication... "Thank you, coronavirus and the Ministry of Health, that she was taken to resuscitation, only when bleeding opened. Not saved...
"Thank you" when a patient with uncoverable pressure of 200/110 for a week can not be taken to the hospital.
"Thank you" for my patients, who after operations on the heart can not get to the cardiologist, because all the narrow specialists sent on vacation, and we DISTANCE (by phone) try with them (patients) to pick up a dose of warfarin (blood thinning), (because in the clinic they are also not allowed, and the blood for density can not be donated, and at home only in extreme necessity, which I every week for them and seek)...
“Thank you...”
I no longer have the strength to listen to the provisions of quarantine, I no longer have the strength to listen to the desperate requests of patients, which I can only fulfill by breaking into thirty-three pieces.
Thank you to everyone involved in this circus.
"Thank you" that I can't go as usual to call my patients over the age of 70 (most of whom), because I ride on the fork constantly and because it's inappropriate to drag this infection to the elderly, if not the case of life and death.
“Thank you”
I am tired...

The feeling is that between the first wave of the coronavirus and the second, there will be only 1 day - the day of voting on amendments to the Constitution.

Better around than under.

The vapor is such a huge iron box with a crew inside. The life of people in the box is monotonous, boring. There are no weekends, and the day runs around: four hours of watch - eight hours for rest and sleep and again four hours of watch.
Arriving at the port is a turmoil and nervousness: first unloading, then loading, bureaucracy with documents and boring communication with local agents and docks. The port landscape is usually excessively industrial and unusual. Slowly everyone begins to forget what green grass looks like.
And here we enter a small port, just two harbours, and a green-green forest around. The idea of making a shale on the shore seemed to come to everyone’s mind immediately. Already in the evening of the parish, the cocks marinous meat, and in the morning, almost the entire crew went for a picnic. Starpom, who was left on the unloading, swallowed saliva and begged him to bring him at least one piece.
The camp was broken down on a picturesque pavement overlooking the native vessel. Half an hour later, the tempting smell of shale gathered us and the Swedish police at the mangal. Local law enforcement officers told strange things: first, we are in Sweden, not in Russia, secondly, in the woods, you can't cut the socks, you can't raise the fire, you can't drink alcohol, you can't rubbish, and you can't even bring a large, sealed metal box with coals inside. And most importantly: the penalty for each offence and from each picnic participant is summed up.
The master whispered, swung a flat bottle of whiskey into his pocket and offered to move the negotiations to his cabin. The brothers did not object. Only three arrived in the captain’s cabin: the master, the sailor Shurik and the cock. (The whisker the captain hid from the police in his pocket was Shurika.) The rest were lost along the way, along with the mangal and the shaleys.
The reduction in the number of offenders did not bother the Swedes. The damaging police aunt said: “I have all the offenders counted.” The captain began to assure her that the offender was only one, and the others, so, passed by. A Swedish woman argued that one person could not eat a can of meat. Her partner, an uncle of fifty years old, bitterly breathed and silently drank dietary cola, surprised by the labels of exotic bottles from the captain’s collection.
The master told his aunt a sad story about a Russian sailor suffering for his faith:
- Understand, he was a "Orthodox Orthodontic" and from meat can only eat pork neck, which three days and three nights marinated in a special sacred vessel, and then burned on open fire under an evergreen tree - composed the captain, interfering with English, Russian and Swedish words - here "Orthodontic" and suffers, preparing meat for a month, or even two ahead.
Swedes are impressed:
Who is the Orthodontic? She asked.

Have you read Orwell’s 1984?
Well he him. I do not like these sweet tales, utopias without any plausibility. Antiquities shops work, hotels are open, Winston Smith and others unpunishedly hide where they can think without getting a pass in advance, the same Winston Smith repairs Mrs. Parsons' shell without a license, patent and IP, and breaking the social distance.