We went to relax with a girl on the Sea of Azov. And since the sea has not seen for a long time, decided to jump on the waves, well, accidentally swallowed water. I did not pay attention, as a result, for a couple of days I thought everything was bad with the gastrointestinal tract because of the heat, and I can hardly tolerate it. On the pre-last day when the food of the gods, the Pelmenis and the Ketchunese, did not want to settle in a new house with an acidic environment and rushed away from there, I decided that I should buy something for the stomach. I remembered that I swallowed water, realized that the simplest in my stomach and did not give rest, and decided to buy Enterofuril with Activated Carbon.

I leave the house, open an article on the genomic analysis of the Azov Sea biota, and read the text slowly go to the Pharmacy. Since the brightness did not decrease on the phone, I did not especially see that in front of me and occasionally looked. And here my right leg suddenly begins to fall into the abyss, simultaneously pulling my body. I fell into some incomprehensible 1mx2m outflow with a pipe in the middle. He sharply came out of there and began to wipe his elbows and knees from mud with leaves from trees, simultaneously heading further to the pharmacy. When the lights began to appear, I realized that I had blood in my abdomen because the shirt was white. Looking around, I saw that I broke my stomach with something, because I fell first on the tube. I hold a shirt away from the wound and watch the blood drop on the asphalt.

I go to the pharmacy. 23:30 at the pharmacy. The girl in the line sees the blood and misses me. I approach the window, the pharmacist looks at my wound, eyes like 5 rubles. Well I say, “Hello, please Enterofuril...”

When I was four years old, my dad worked in a factory. And, as it used to be, he was given milk “for harmfulness.”

I was sure that daddy was given milk because it was harmful. Whenever I heard this phrase, I imagined how a father abhorred at his factory and did not obey the director, and he was given milk to refine him and re-educate him =)

One day I was speechless.

It was late autumn. I met a friend I once worked with. Talk about affairs. I told you how we had an aural day at the end of last month. There was noise and chaos in the office this morning. Everyone had to do 10 things at the same time. In the middle of the day, I realized that the only thing that would help me survive was a quiet lunch with my favorite playlist in my headphones and an interesting book in front of my eyes. As I dressed up and was about to leave the office, the loudest and most talkative of my colleagues cried out to me, “Oh! Are you going to lunch too? »



"And here I stand in my coat, at the hour of day, and painfully consider how natural the answer will sound 'no' and how uncomfortable I will be if in 15 minutes we meet in the dining room. I finished my story.

I’ll tell you about lifehack. My friend answered. See also. First, you need to find out at what time most people leave eating. And then just go for lunch an hour before them or immediately after they return. So you get not one, but two hours of silence.



is not bad. When I thought, I sneaked. By the way, communicability is not our horse. It’s amazing that we communicate with each other.

So we’t communicate. When we met, there were no free tables in the dining room. You were the only one sitting there. I had to sit with you.

and exactly. Then I thought, “You didn’t find it easy.” And then, I see, no, like a normal guy. It is silent. He does not ask stupid questions. Well, I decided that it would be easier to call you for lunch with you – no one else would definitely sit down.



It’s nice to have something in common with someone.

The expression "old snorkel" means that there are some young snorkelers.

Spurgeons are different: "harmony", virtuous carving on pencil pins, even "temporary tattoo" on different parts of the body. However, they all have one thing in common: they are hidden, and very carefully. And I will tell you about the case when the sparkle, which helped me to surrender, was performed directly, and otherwise it would not have worked out. And then catarsis! In the direct and translational sense.

It was the class in the 11th probably, we then along with school subjects in advance listened to and took university courses - it was then that we got the notorious culture. The subject is funny and interesting, but the load with the matan is not comparable, and therefore I taught it on the average, on the residual principle. Well, I flew - I got the second question in the ticket mimesis with catarsis, and I'm like cut off, I don't remember what a fig. Classmates were sincerely sick for me - found out what was in the ticket, tried a couple of times to throw the spurs. Prepod stopped it, but did not expel anyone. Still, the maths, not her faculty - and even not students, but schoolchildren. He didn’t want to be disciplined, but he had to be disciplined. Here she took everything from me, let me reflect and watched with curiosity. I was upset, accustomed that if I forgot something - I will immediately take out the leaflet and prove it. But culture is not mathematics, what is there to draw out and prove? Either you know or not. I did not know.

And at that moment, from the corridor, I heard the powerful voices of two of my friends:
And then Andrea! Did you know what cataracts are?! to
In the end, Anton! Catarsis is purification through suffering, an important concept in Hellenic culture! Do you know what Mimesis is?! to

Prepod rusted when she went out to the hallway to mourn for the noise, which the comrades made innocent eyes and said that they were just preparing for the exam, repeating questions and checking each other. Is it heard inside? We will try to be quieter.

I gave up.

The mayor of the city not only promised to build a new church, but also, taking off the shirt, immediately showed how it would look.

About the year 2007-2008, Bulgaria. We, among other things, were then engaged in the rental of apartments on the sea for rest. New complex, normal apartments, Bulgarian ridiculous prices.



A mother and her daughter aged 8-9 arrived at the settlement. And, it is believed, began to negotiate and lower the price. I stand on the terrace and she says:



Why on the floor and not laminate?

Why is the TV so diagonal?

Why a shower and not a bathroom?



And ends with a pathetic "- You know, I'm used to a bit different, it's not my level..." - and then it is interrupted by the daughter, who runs to us on the terrace and cries loudly:



Mommy Mommy! What a good apartment! We have never lived like that...

A friend calls me on Skype to complain about my fate. In general, on Skype, she only calls when she wants people to see her sad face, as actively as possible to begin to regret her. Less than six months ago, she got married and went with her husband to Tver, and on August 25, she had a birthday, and she called me to complain about her husband, who doesn’t love her at all and so he doesn’t care about her, on her birthday he didn’t give her anything at all, not even a bad card.



After communicating with a friend, I called her husband, by the way, I introduced them to see if everything is as she says or not?



As it turned out, her husband, as a gift, paid her a loan for the car she took before meeting him. To pay her was still a little less than 500 thousand rubles, she took a taiota camri. So, the husband spent money to repay the loan of his beloved wife, which he saved for himself on a new car, in the end he is now a greedy fool who gave nothing to his wife on the day, because as she thinks, the gift must be material to keep in memory, and that he repayed her loan, it is his direct duty as a husband.

Girls with an assy waist, as a rule, also have a pool in the set.

I started working as a technical translator. A design bureau at a large factory, a newly created department, a bunch of articles from foreign journals and mountains of technical documentation - all this had to be disassembled and translated. In short, they really needed a translator.

I went to work at a very bad time. Something there did not go well with them - whether the plan burned, whether the commission was waiting, whether the new technology was mastered, but it was clearly not before me. For a few days no one paid attention to me. The working day is long. Plus a lunch break. You can't go anywhere - a passage. Reading a book or hanging socks there is uncomfortable, I sit in sight of everyone. There is nothing to do desperately.

On the fourth day of such a life, I was completely overwhelmed and decided to take the matter into my own hands. I snorted into the office to the head of the department and asked to give me at least some work, so that I’t go crazy from the mess.

The tortured boss was hard to get rid of the chest of some papers and drawings, he looked at me completely missing and tried to figure out who I was and what I needed from him. When he failed to do that, he whispered, "Go..." and thought so long that I had time to finish the phrase mentally and even red, "... go... and work on yourself."

The best advice in my life.

I have three wonderful children, a wonderful husband, a cozy apartment, a beautiful city and elegantly selected antidepressants.

For a long time, they flew to the military unit in the city of Mozdok in pieces and lived in a barracks, allocating us a separate floor on the floor of 10-15 cubics (a cubic is like a two-room apartment with a separate toilet and shower, but without a kitchen). In one cube, 6-8 people lived, depending on the size of the rooms. In this trip I flew the last, my fellow servants lived there for about two months and complained about the conditions that a full shit and pork. Arriving in the city, he went to be placed in a cubicle, took a free bed, went to the toilet for reconnaissance, and there:

The walls in mold, on the floor some rotten boards, huge meadows due to the substrate of the tank, smoke, cloth and smell. As the saying goes, “It is not a shame to clean the dirt, it is a shame to live in the dirt.” Armed with gloves powder, chlorine cloth and whitening. He took out all the garbage, repaired the container, washed the walls from mold and cigarette smoke, repaired the spinning machine and pulled the door that didn’t close. The fellow servants only had time to hang out, before their arrival I immediately proclaimed the rules: We live here for a couple of months, we clean up after a day in the whole cube in turn for a person coming out once a week. Living in cleanliness is more pleasant than living in a pig farm.

And what do you think? Everybody is embarrassed?

No, from the sergeant to the major, those who lived in the cubicle cleaned andined cleanliness. No one had a western, the guests who came to us in the cube were surprised by the cleanliness and asked for powder and attributes in debt. With such a personal example, he once again proved to himself that "the destruction is not in the clowns, but in the heads."

In primary school, a music teacher took a book with children's songs from me and did not give it.

I went to her for several months almost every day, and she said that she had forgotten the book at home.

In the end, the teacher still gave it to me, and at the same time complained to my parents how obsessive I am.

After that, my mom said that if I took the debt from one of her acquaintances, I could keep the money for myself.

And I went to her all summer and as a result achieved my own.

I remembered after reading a couple of posts about inadequate neighbors, utilities and repairs.

During my studies at the institute I worked on the repair of premises in the role of bring/give/go nahuy do not interfere. This story was told to me by one of the workers. Further, for the simplicity of perception, from the first person.

We did repairs in the commercial area. According to the plan, one of the walls was capital, carrying a thickness of almost a meter (SPb, pre-revolutionary building). I attach to her a goose, drilling holes under the duvel. The brick is very good. The curtain comes in with great difficulty. And one of the bricks just shoots inside and a bright light is visible from the hole. Then from there, loud matts were heard, the smell of pepper, spicy with cheap tobacco, and the eyes appeared filled with blood.

What fucking did you do? Why did you break the wall? I will come!

And literally after 5 minutes appeared a resident of the neighboring utility apartment - a drunken man of an indefinite age in the trainers. Apparently he was the most communicative and, in this regard, appointed parliamentary from the neighbors. He threatened me and the brigadier to watch the destruction.

In the neighboring communal for 6 rooms in this place behind the wall was a kitchen. And in the wall, in a niche of about 70x70 was equipped with a shower (the only one for the entire apartment) closing with a dense curtain. As it turned out later, there was a wooden stove in this place before. The bathroom was lined with dirty white tiles originating from the time of the Soviet Union. Part of the tiles collapsed and a hole was found in the wall. But it was also apparent that part of the tiles had been absent for a long time. In general, even before our intervention, the room was a miserable spectacle.

– Listen here, you’re going to put all the tiles here and make it beautiful, you understand?

In principle, our basket was present and the brigadier decided that it would be right to eliminate the destruction. A normal, but inexpensive domestic gentle blue tile was brought from the past object. Also, we bought a simple mixer with leake, so to speak for moral damage. I put everything at the entrance to the shower.

The next day I was going to start work. The door opened to me by the alchemy in the trainers and began to scream. From his screams, matts and whispers, I realized that the tiles are shit, the mixer is shit, I am shit and he will complain.

What are you holding us for fools? Why are we shit? Normal tiles are Italian, not this.

Out of the rooms looked the residents and something approving bumped.

When I went into the kitchen, I shrugged. The whole plate was broken into a tiny piece. The first thought was to fuck this man, and then somehow became a pooher. He turned and left. He told me about the Brigadier.

Well, they go on, let the act be drawn up and submitted to the court.

Then the fun began. A commission came to assess the destruction. For a long time they wrapped in their hands the plan of the room and thoughtfully looked at the shower. The verdict was roughly the following. There should be no shower in the apartment according to the plan. The wall carried (according to their plans, there was no chimney or stove in this place) and it was seriously damaged. To eliminate it is necessary to lay the wall with bricks, and on the entire depth of the hole.

Then there were a lot of screams, matts, threats. All the neighbors were running to us. They were even a little sad, but nothing depended on us. They did not lay the wall themselves and I do not know how it ended, because we completed the object and left.

The turn. The cashier opens a cellophane bag with the buyer’s cash and eats a few nuts, binds the bag and pierces in the box. There is no pause in the line. The cashier noticed the question in his eyes:

How do I know what nuts you have? ? to ? to

Courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to act despite our fear.

An Italian acquaintance told him how he was riding a long-haul train in the winter:
“At night, I went for mineral water to the restaurant car, on the way back, with a bottle of water in my hands, saw in the room between the cars (tambour, I tell him), where glasses were broken and snow was thrown, three men of the topless drink vodka, and they, Misha! They! They look at me like an idiot!! to

Who are you studying with?

by Doctor
Look at my throat!

for the programmer
Remove the window!

by Translator
Translate a song to me!

by Economist
M is understandable.

Of the two lovers, a man of the age will choose the one who lives closer.

On yesterday’s story about mobile x-rays and a wonderful doctor.
When I recently heard that a super doctor in an expensive Israeli clinic stinged something to a patient there, and it came to life, I immediately remembered his youth. In the early 90s, in the summer, he went to the village, there helped with the farm and fished. I met a local fisherman. One brush badly obeyed him, he was constantly developing it, sorry expander. So his brush cut off the pyloram. They burned, cut off a brush - in a bag and placed frozen meat, and took to the district center - a village of urban type. 
The local surgeon, not thinking long, squeezed him this brush in place. 92 years! In a poor town hospital. The brush! There is also a concentration of vessels, nerves, tendons, small bones, bands of muscles and other things, which I do not guess by ignorance.
And the brush not only survived, but also worked! This is what I think a wonderful man worked there. and Unique.