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.

Sports injury is when your tendon is broken or your bone is broken, not the hole has cracked.

Suddenly it turned out that in America the couriers are also not the elite. I worked in my youth for a couple of months at DHL on a Volkswagen carrier, was very surprised by the attitude of people to their duties. This was my first and last experience working in a large group. Let's say, when one of the first days I said that I delivered all 82 positions by address, my aunt made round eyes, and when I left, called the manager and he then for a long time from me to find out in what rubbish I dropped it all and why fake the signatures of the recipients.

Tells a colleague (K) - the Azerbaijani, then from the first person.



I go in the subway in the morning at the end, in order to forget, through all of Moscow, to bring my fifth point to the place of earning money.

He sat down, clogged his eyes and seemed to be just about to sink into a sweet sleep, as the next station filled up a full car of the people.

I see in this crowd a 70-80-year-old grandmother of a rubber (B). As a well-educated young man, I give her a place:

Sit down grandmother!

The grandmother smiled and with a gentle, affectionate voice said:

B: Not a whirlwind, but a charm!

The neighbor's children, 7-8 years old, went to their place through our. I’ll just hide until we see it. The way they see is shortened. Even the cylinder is not closed behind. I just cut the cut under the bathroom. There are no windows and doors under the roof, only small holes instead. I’m crawling something inside.

The beginning of darkness. I hear them coming. I didn’t see it means I came. Well, I think Hanna for you. Shesh Shuhana, you will walk around this place!

I begin to swim in the dark. They gave a strike! I am even louder! Oh wow wow wow. They run, they run, their name is Mom. I am an AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! The voice broke, and already with a wild whisper into the whole throat, the ear went on. The soul rejoices! and here...

I wake up, I feel a deadly, frightened wife near me. Speaking with a loud voice, simultaneously with anger, fear and confusion:

and BL@e! That’s what dreaming should be like!! to

My brain crashed and my body fell asleep again.

My friend, Vitaly, found 50 rubles. And we went for a walk, first in the cafe, ice cream with pepsi-cola to eat, took the largest portion, a pound of five for the brother. My aunt, of course, asked where we had such daniches, and Vitalka lied that my uncle came from the north. They ate ice cream as they could, and after an hour they came out of the cafe with the feeling that we could freeze the passing Icarus by breath.

Then we went to the children's world, entered the arms department, bought the largest machine machine, Uncle Terminator would cry out of envy to see our machine guns, with bulbs, one submarine missile could destroy any cat at a distance of ten meters. Then for a long time thought, buy a tank or a game "Driving", bought a tank, the fathers were military. After we went to the bakery, we bought a cake "carton" pieces twenty, "for uncle from the north." And here with a large pack of cakes and armed to the teeth, entered the courtyard. In the courtyard there was a furor waiting for us, only the fool Lenka started screaming to the whole world, "Aunt Sweeta, we found Vitalka, he is here, he is here." Having seen aunt Svet with a belt, I had a vague suspicion that Vitalka had not found the money with everything, and decided to surrender the weapons.

Vitalka turns out to have found the money, lying on a camouflage, at home.

Vitalka was released after three days, for good behavior, he said on "preliminary" came out, as he was punished for a week. But on the bench, the day two did not sit. The author is thorough.

A new employee came to us for a trial period. One day he came with a suitcase. When the backpack was left unattended, the local men threw a tool into it, so that the new extra weight was worn, such as humor. The newcomer noticed nothing and went home with the tool, and in the morning called and said that the job is not suitable for him and he will not come again.

After some time discovered the lack of the tool, the boss gathered everyone and began to ask who saw what. The joke speaks in one voice.

This is a new robbery! We have seen!

Did you see and not stop? So it’s your puddle and you’ll buy a new tool.

“No, you misunderstood,” one of the jokers joked, “we just wanted to joke and threw him the tool, and he had to return it in the morning.

You guys, you are bats! I don’t care, but tomorrow you have to bring the tool!

The jokers began to run to find out the number of the newcomer, his address, tried to contact. I don’t know if they managed to contact or not, but in the end, the jokers bought a new tool.

The most common kind of ghost in white savannah is the ghost of people who died in an attempt to change the carpet. So they wander through the bedrooms in eternal search for corners.

A gift is what a woman can wear, and flowers are a gift for a vase.

the dissemination of uncensored literature by means of the so-called of self. In the words of a friend:

"I remember when they took up the eradication of the Chronicles of current events, then moved along a chain of distributors, arrested one, learned from him to whom he was transmitting literature, arrested the next,... In the end, for two steps along the chain from my parents arrested a man - nothing special. Everyone in the chain split up. No one expected heroism from him. He did not deny taking the chronicles. But he said that the first time he took, looked - some boring shit, he threw out. And then he took them because they were given to him by a girl who he liked, and he wanted to fuck her, so he continued to take and throw away. Eventually the chain broke.”

Did you think the heroes are the ones who strike their fists? Heroism is brains, greed and pofigism :)