The old barber.

We lived in the same house in the corner of Komsomolskaya and Chkalov. On the second floor, right above the garden "Young Astronaut". There was a good sound insulation in the stalinks, but in the afternoon there was a quiet blinking of the upset Sadiq piano and a choral youth cosmonaut colorated messo-soprano.
When I hit three, I went into the same garden. I didn’t even have to get out of the parade. My grandmother and I were going down to the same floor, she was knocking on the door of the kitchen – and I was diving into the thick smell of cheese baking, a burnt snack and other masterpieces of kindergarten cooking.
The rotation in these high spheres required everything to be perfect in me, as Chekhov had planned, and for the first time in my life I was taken to the barber.
Here, in a small hairdresser in Chkalov and the Soviet Army, I met Stepan Izrajlevich.
In fact, it was he who met me.
There were three hairdressers in the room. Everyone was busy, and a few others were waiting for their turn.
I never had a haircut yet, I was absolutely sure that at least my scalp would be removed from me, so I revelled, and my grandmother tried to take me to the weak, writing absolutely unbelievable stories about my fearlessness in old times:
When you were small...
Stephan Izrailevich – a tall, thin old man – let the client go, approached me, took his head with both hands and began thoughtfully to turn it in different directions, somewhat bragging about himself. Then he grumbled satisfied and said:
I’ll make this young man a head!
I was surprised and let myself sit in a chair.
Someone who was waiting began to get upset that he came earlier.
Stéphane Izraylevitch rejected carelessly:
Oh, I beg you! Did you come to me personally? Or did I call you? Have you seen me run all over Moldova, or where did you come from there, and call you to my chair?
The scandal was served by another barber. Stepan Izraylevič did not take the turn. He chose the clients himself. He is not stripped. He made his head.
Go here, I’ll make your head. Go here, I tell you. Or do you want to walk with your head unworked?! to
I will not make your head. I don’t see you have a head. The Rain! The Rain! This is for you: just shave him.
Stephan Izraylevitch long clapped with his scissors in the air, praised the scissor, cut five microns - and spoke, speaking without stopping.
I spent my whole childhood with him.
He shaved me just like all the other hairdressers shaved almost all the Odessa boys: under the Canadian.
But he was not another barber, but Stepan Izrylevitch. He was a magician. He was priest. He made my head.
Or do you want to walk with your head untouched? He asked with horror when he accidentally met me on the street. And from his face it was evident that he could not even imagine such a terrible nightmare.
Every minute, with a funny whisper, he blowed a metal chest - as if he was playing a lip harmonic. Zvonko knocked his scissors, then knocked them on the table and grabbed the shave to shave his whiskey and neck.
Stepan Izraylevich had a daughter Sonetchko, about my peer, whom he loved without memory, all the bites. And how many times I was cut - I told about her without silence, cried, sprinkling with saliva from excitement, from the desire to speak to the bottom, without residues.
And how many cannabis she has: she even showed her to the doctor. She laughs astonishingly, shaking her head. And how she is a little whispering because she broke her tooth when she was riding in the yard on the big. How beautiful she sings. How wonderful her eyes are. What a beautiful nose she has. And what a wonderful hair she has (and I’m a little bit familiar with her hair, young man!) is
What a sunny character.
Stepan Izraylevič admired her not in vain. She was indeed a very unusual girl, judging by his stories. Good, fun, smart, honest, courageous. And most importantly, she had the talent to constantly catch up with the most incredible stories. In stories that instantly turned into anecdotes and were told over the years by all Odessa.
It was she, on the boastful question of the neighbor, how the sunny mother liked the long hollow neighbor's nails, shouted, ahead of her mother: "Even like! They might climb trees well!“”
It was she in the tram at the question of some aunt with a baby pot in her hands: "Girl, do you not go here?" She replied, "No, I will go to the house," and at the request, "Send the ticket to the conductor," she was surprised: "So he goes for free!“”
She asked the teacher, “What was the name of Pushkin’s babysitter?” She replied, “My dumb pigeon.”
Sonina's sharpness and adventures differed so quickly that I often even learned about them first in the form of an anecdote from friends, and then from the barber.
I never met Sonia, but I would definitely recognize her, meet her on the street - before that the master's stories were delicious and accurate.
Then my childhood ended, I grew up, I went to the army, we moved, I studied, I worked, I turned around, I lost many old acquaintances - and Stepan Izraylevich too.
Ten years later, I met again. He was an old man, in his eighty. He still worked. Only in another hairdresser - on Tiraspol Square, right above the "Golden calf".
Strangely enough, he remembered me very well.
I went back to the old man. He also solemnly and magically "made my head." Then we went down to the Golden Turtle and he allowed me to eat a cognac.
And while he cut me, and while we were drinking with him, he talked silently, sprinkling with saliva. Gold, a daughter born to Sunny.
Stephan Izraylevitch simply worshipped her. He called her gold and gold. He blissfully closed his eyes. He put himself on the beds. And sometimes he even began to shake up, as in a Jewish prayer.
Then we separated. To say goodbye, Stepan Izraylevich warned me not to forget to come again:
Do you think, or do you want to walk with your head untouched?! to
Most of all, Zlata, according to Stepan Izraylevich, loved Iriski. But it was at the height of the damned nineties, there was a ball of repentance in the shops, for some reason they disappeared too.
Absolutely by chance I saw the iris in Uzhgorod – and solemnly handed them to Stepan Izrajlevich, sitting with the already made head in the “Golden calf”.
For your gold. her favorite ones.
He reacted wildly. He grabbed a candy ball, pressed it to himself and suddenly cried. He really cried. The old tears.
The gold... the gold...
He ran away without even saying goodbye.
And in the evening he called me from the machine (he had my phone for a long time), and for a long time apologized, thanked and admirably told how Zlata was delighted with this unwise guest.
The next time I came to make my head, the hairdresser girls told me that Stepan Izraylevitch had died a couple of days ago.
I long called the manager. Finally, he dictated the old master’s home address, and I went there.
He lived on Mills, somewhere near the Parachute. I found in the half-broken courtyard only in the slum of a roasted yard.
It turned out that I was late for the meals: they were yesterday. The relatives of Stepan Izraylevich did not announce (I thought that something bad could have happened to Sonya and Zlata too, we need to find them soon).
Neighbors took a meal in the hairdresser’s room. They remembered. They overturned. They danced under the Mayak. overturned again. They wasted the old man’s wealthy treasure.
The palace man managed to hide at least a wallet filled with documents and letters from sin.
I gave him a bottle, picked up the wallet and brought it home: it will probably contain Sony’s address.
There are addresses for everyone.
Stephan Izraylevich’s father passed through the entire war, but was killed by the Nazis at the very beginning of 1946 in Western Ukraine during the cleansing of the Bandera pagan that spread through the shrines after our victory over their German masters.
The mother was shot in the occupied Odessa by the Romanians, five years before the death of her father: in October 1941. Together with her were killed two of her three children: Sophia (Sonnechka) and Golda (Zlata).
There are no other relatives of Stepan Izraylevich.
I watched for a long time the broken notes and excerpts. Then I poured the glass to the edge. I drank. He sat with his eyes closed, feeling the burned vodka penetrating his way.
And it was only now that I realized that the only man who could make a head was dead.
The last time he had a ridiculous whisper. I put the scissors on the table. He went home, taking a large piece of Odessa with him. He went to his sisters: the shameful hemp Sunetke and the touching shameful Golden Golden.
And we, all who have stayed here so far, will now walk with the unmade head for the rest of our lives.
Or do we want that?

Alexander Pashchenko

In defense of July and on the questions “Why send a weak singer to the contest” I can say – and in the world football championship why do we participate?

I went to work at a call center. I have not been there for a long time (spoiler). I went through training, got acquainted with future "colleagues", everything went well. Often the guys in the smoker mentioned a girl, calling her no other than a "gorilla". I was intrigued, asking everyone what the gorillas were, why, and so on. And here I saw her. A cute girl. Yes is high. More than 2 meters. Higher than me by half the head (I 195), and wider in my shoulders. Unfortunately I had her. She blinked in her eyes for no apparent reason. She did not communicate with anyone, came, worked on a change, left. I decided to approach her, talk to her. I shyly sit down and greet me politely. And then I get a “greeting”: “So we won’t get anything out because you’re crazy. You can say nothing.” I sneezed, left with a pale face and didn’t even look at her again. Soon she resigned, and then I. And what was it? Ultimate stupidity or confusion?and :)

I remembered the story of the aircraft.

A fun Friday evening, I sit with my friends at the bar. It was just beginning, so it was too early to think about the clarity of the mind... Suddenly, a call from an unknown number:

- Allo

Hi to you! Do you sell any_object?

- Yes

Are you changing on the phone?

No, it is not interesting.

You don’t even know what the phone is.

What does it matter to me what kind of phone if I am not interested in exchanging on the phone?

What should I do with him now! ? to ! to ? to ! to

Gothic...



The next evening I was in some confusion and even a bit of guilt.

The youngest son was taken to kindergarten. They were worried, but they went home. The hour was written with the teacher. How is? What? Relaxed and dependent...What to do? Quiet at home. Cases are rearranged. No one cries or cries.

They turned on the TV and watched the cartoon on the Carousel channel for five minutes until they realized that they could switch.

A man is given a wife to argue boldly with her. Not really engaging with the boss in disputes.

Here you are waiting for funny stories and trying to write funny about the WOW. But it all comes down to mate and sex. I read fictional stories about veterans and offended them. So 11.05.18 story No.947488, 947489 by signature –Serge, well “natural hills” as said in the comments – tracer. War cannot be written funny. It is always hurt. I will try to write about my relatives. My father, Ivan Afanasievich, was in the army for 7 years. Called into the army, then war with the Germans, then with Japan, and demobilized only in 1946 was a front driver, carried shells on the front, fought on the Kursk arc, in Poland, in Sanok was wounded, awarded with combat medals and orders. He was very modest. I’ve never heard of his mother’s word, although he’s seen a lot. But he didn’t like to talk about the war, but in 1991 he wrote memoirs to the newspaper Veteran to tell “the younger generation how they liberated the freedom and independence of our Soviet Motherland from German-Fascist enslavement.” The part where we carried ammunition on the spot was not backwards, it went forward, breaking the enemy's defense, and we followed it along the wheat-roast fields, shaken with bullets, and approached the unusual wall. A wall of human corpses, about two meters high, was neither visible to the right nor to the left of the wall. The corpses were laid as ordered by the ranks of German and our Soviet soldiers, who, then assaulted, then retreated through these corpses, and they were crushed by hurricane fire, building a wall. I saw roughly the same walls from the corpses of German soldiers and officers, but there they were laid specifically when cleaning the streets of St. Korosten. Looking at these walls is wild, horrible. What nerves does a soldier need to have to survive all this horror of the war?"My mother, Elizabeth Nikiticna, at the age of 16, in 1942 was mobilized to the military plant in Krasnoyarsk, making parts for aircraft, shells. I remembered that it was so hard that they were constantly asking for the front, for the front. If you work at night and fall asleep behind the machine – the court! I could sleep out of weakness. I have always eaten and always wanted to eat. The master regretted the girl, walked around the shop, woke up. My mom was constantly performing.
100 percent or more. She said that if there were any inaccuracies in the details of the aircraft, such details in the flight could be refused and they were very responsible about their work. My mother was awarded a medal "for courageous work in VOV". My grandfather, Athanasius Nikolaevich, was wounded in a battle with a shell fragment, right in the heart. the shell fragment stuck in mm from the heart and the surgeon said: - if I am to remove the shell fragment, then the soldier may die at my table, and so can still live. My grandfather lived 70 years, worked, built houses, raised five sons. I’ve never heard from him a mother’s word, and I don’t remember that he remembered the war. There was some kind of taboo. My other grandfather, Nikita Egorovich, having armor, volunteered for the front, for the front. Also no talk about the war, the only case I remember, my mom told, my grandfather in the colchon had a family, children. And the collective farms, too, during the war, were hungry, because everyone was delivered to the front, there was a plan to deliver milk and tobacco oil, etc. Do not submit to the tribunal. And here my grandfather receives a letter on the front that his only son (there were only girls) died of hunger (maybe not from hunger, but there was no doctor in the village). Grandfather from sorrow stood on the brustover let the Germans kill me, why live.high, 2 meters tall, a beautiful man stands in all his height, bullets with a windsurf whipped from all sides and none even hit. Then our people started shouting, “Sit down, otherwise we’ll kill you because you’re giving out positions.” He fell and cried, hugging the ground. Grandfather died early, at 50 years old, but I remember him as a kind, never-mother, and he sang beautiful songs he had a beautiful voice. I grew up in the post-war period, there was famine, destruction, but our generation grew up in the conditions of love for children, for life, for peace! Our parents and grandparents rebuilt the country. In our time, mat and tattoos were a sign of a bad tone, as campers from places not so remote were mating and accumulating. But today’s young people don’t think it is shameful. On the Internet, it is “fun” to joke all mat and at the same time get a bunch of likes (even the name dog). The singers sing their native songs, earning millions from it. Is this our culture? Lolita, Shnur and even Kirkorov, the king, pop star, fell down to this cheap authority, taking a shameful clip-"color of mood blue" on the eve of the holiday on May 9, where there are bombs, addicts, alkashi, a small child drinking wine from his throat right in the store and Kirkorov himself matures, and deliciously, with taste. And then he rejoices like a boy: “Ura, I have ten million views!” My daughter, a modern woman, 34 years old, when I begin to say my opinion about all this, says: “Yes, it’s just such a joke. Millions of our descendants have rebuilt the country from the ruins, so that now, because of the incident, you have looked at them, and they are already all in the world and can not defend themselves. And now the day of Victory has become a source of profit. It is a pity that fascism in our country is furious about our veterans. She wrote the true truth. Sorry for not being funny, but with tears in my eyes.

Donald Trump has promised to deport all illegal immigrants from the United States. The Indians finally rejoiced for the first time in several centuries.

I am a single father. In 1993, after the divorce, he remained with his little son in his arms, well, and went away, smelled and worked wherever possible.

For those who do not remember those years, I will say that there has been no such ass in our country since 1945. Work was as a gift of God, and salary in general seen by few lucky people. I worked at a poultry factory, first as a slug, and then as an electrician, I received a boiler (chickens in the amount of 12 kg) and could collect products under the salary in the buffet. They also needed “live money.” That’s why I had to crack again.

This continued for several years. Sometimes I was so tired that I forgot to eat. Despite my age, I knew I was doing my best.

And this morning, on my rare weekend, I woke up with a son standing at the door of my room. He was seven years old then. I see he was waiting for me to wake up, and I wonder:

Son, what are you?

He is pleased:

Dad, I have prepared your breakfast!

After this news, my dream disappeared. Agree, for a seven-year-old boy cooking breakfast is not a very usual activity.

We went to the kitchen, and there in the plate was a real egg with sausages and a glass of tea.

Nothing that sausages he burned right in cellophane, and the eggs embossed well very cool. Everything was delicious, even sausages.

The tea was strong and sweet.

It was the best breakfast in my life.



Sasha is cooking fantastic. Sometimes his dishes cause questions to me, but here’s what he inherited the culinary abilities of his grandmother, grandfather and hopefully mine – that’s true.

My wife left me because I was panic and paranoid.

UPD: No, she just went out for the mail.

Regardless of how the Russian state is reformed, it is still the Moscow Empire.

Baroness and Cossacks

I went to the electric shop for a lamp.
Within the people there were a few, five people in all, but only two of them can be called characters. The first character is a lady (with, not by age, straight back) standing at the box office. Running forward, I admit that I envy her friends and acquaintances, because they have the opportunity and pleasure to communicate with such an extraordinary person. Dressed she was shameless and somewhat old-fashioned: a dark dress to the floor, a silver brochure, a small riddle, a ring cloth in her hand and a hairstyle like the lady from the Chekhov stories. In the theatre hall, no one would pay attention to it, but in the electric goods store, it looked like a wooden rope in Silicon Valley. The age of the lady was difficult to determine, maybe 61, or all 79. The hell knows her. In one thing I now have no doubt that she has a secret family recipe, according to which she makes a tincture and takes it one teaspoon on an empty stomach, every two hundred years.

The second prominent character in the store was a bearded Cossack studying a window with wires. The Cossack was dressed simply and with taste: shoes, a sporting suit, and on his head a carakle hat-cube. On the street was hot under thirty, so the face of the Cossacks from under the hat flowed courageous streams of sweat.
The cashier for some reason for a short time got out of the box and the turn spread throughout the store. There is only a mysterious lady left.
I approached her and asked:

Are you in the box? I will be after you.

She sneered and, pointing to the side of the Cossacks, replied:

- I have to warn you that the gentleman in the winter hat was behind me.

Everyone in the store exploded with a wild whistle, including me.
Kazak was obviously offended, he pulled his chest forward and said strictly:

My grandmother is not your winter hat, I am a Cossacks!

The lady pretended to be surprised and replied:

Who could think? and Kazak. What a sweet coincidence, your nobility, you are a Cossacks and I am a Baroness.
I am a Cossacks without coincidence. I understand!? I can’t see anything on the hat.? to
“Well, don’t get angry, pigeon, on the hat, so on the hat, Cossacks, so Cossacks. But I am older than you in age and rank, so I will allow myself to give you a little life advice: if you suddenly get bored of being a Cossack and you want to be called, say, a pearl hunter, then one swimming cap will not be enough, you will still have to dive for a pearl.

A man in a winter hat spotted the lady with a glance, splintered inside and, without waiting for the cashier, proudly left the store, lying with invisible spurs on his shoes.

Putin has appointed Mutko for construction and now chooses who to appoint in the government for science - Valueva or Poklonskaya.

I go, I mean, on the street... The sun shines, the birds sing... And my teacher, with whom I was in a great relationship, goes to meet me... He also saw me... I greet him:

Hi Valery Ivanovich.

Hello to Niaveika. Why have you not been to my class for a long time?

Dick, I’ve been studying for two years.

Valery Ivanovich withdraws from poker.

Spartak Michulin received from Dosaaf a valuable gift - a gold clock. I went to the restaurant of the House of Cinema, and there, behind the corner table, Alexander Pankratov-Black...

My brother, I got a gift. The golden clock.

It cannot be! Show me...

Here you look.

Are they all gold?

and Absolutely.

A second shooter?

And she too! Michelin answered with pride.

– Listen, – suddenly proposed Pankratov-Black, – and let’s drink it, do you need it?

My first car was the gorgeous Zaporozhets, I loved it.

Zaporozhye had a bad character and already a non-young battery.

So in the winter, I took it every night and carried it home in the heat to recharge.

Once I stumbled on the stairs between the second and third floors, the battery fell and broke.

Sulfuric acid flows to the stone floor.

In such moments, you think very quickly.

And most often wrong.

Especially interfering with the lonely five chemistry students in school.

I went home with two packs of soda.

It was a volcano in miniature.

The reagents interacted and the pH went rapidly to 7.

It is still in this place in the stairs of deepening.

And the guests of the house think that these are signs of time, because the house is really old.

I met Mary on her birthday. I immediately attracted her attention because she is a very beautiful girl. Although not so, she is very beautiful. At the first communication she showed herself quite well: she did not say nonsense, was too modest.



I spent the whole night with a girl. We exchanged phone numbers. Everything was cool.



The fun started the next day when we met in a cafe. I was a little surprised that every dish the girl photographed before eating. A little later, I realized that she had put it all on Instagram.



I also photographed a bouquet of roses. Probably, he lives on the principle: "not stuck - there was not." I was first photographed once. I waited for the reaction of the subscribers. Then I started taking general photos. It polished me. No matter where you go, there is a selfie everywhere. He’s constantly putting something in his smartphone. I tell her something or answer, and she cries. It became angry.



On the second date, she almost always disappeared in the smartphone. To be honest, it turned out to be crazy. I asked her to remove Device for a while, so that they could communicate like ordinary people. She put off the smartphone for a while, and then everything again.



The same thing happened on the third date. I even signed it on Instagram. And you know... before the beginning of the tape I could not twist: the toilet selfies, then in the office, then during lunch, then before going to bed, then near the bench, then behind the tree tree...



I asked her at the next meeting not to get the phone to give time to each other, not to the subscribers. I look at her and she’s frightened. All psychic became. That night everything was wrong with her: they get annoyed, it’s not that, it’s not that.



This was our last meeting. And everything she thinks of me I read in her profile tonight, and all the 2,400 followers too. stupidity of some sort.

A review of the vibrator on Ali: "Looks good. After two weeks, my wife filed for divorce.

Hello to everyone. I read posts here as people argue with vendors of equipment trying to return the blood for a low-quality product and remembered the story on the other side of the barricades. The letters were unexpectedly many. A few years ago I worked in a regional network of digital supermarkets. Service engineer on paper, but in fact accepted the goods for repair and sent them to certified offices. As one comrade handed over a planch of the Chinese company. He left contact details, address, phone and phone of his wife. I with a clear conscience sent the patient off on Saturday and forgot. He was repaired quite quickly, and he came back to me. I joyfully ran to call the client, and there would not be this post if not but. Both phones were disconnected from the network. Time allowed me to wait, so I hit. I tried it a few days later and the result was the same. As a result of the ten days before the end of the 45 days I went to the boss, and he sent a letter to the client. It would seem all, but it wasn’t here. The letter returned with a sign that there was no such thing. The address of the client always filled in the questionnaire by hand. It would seem clear, but suddenly for 45 days, I accidentally called his wife and told her by phone that the tablet was ready and needed to be picked up. She gladly said that today will and turned off the phone. No one came. In fact, for another six months, we constantly called on all the numbers once a week. Both were inaccessible. But six months later, the customer appeared in the store and raised an or. No, he raised the OR about the fact that the store has delayed the repair period, and now he must return the money for the equipment, for morality, for simple equipment in 100 days with more than a percentage per day. Roughly speaking, he wanted to get from us 3-4 times more money than he spent on the tablet. But whether he was either stupid or decided to roll on the ball, I don’t know I think the first. They didn’t even need lawyers. We were able to explain through the whole or to this dude that: 1. He himself indicated the wrong address, because there is a questionnaire with his signature. 2nd We were able to call in the specified time, there is a recording of his phone conversation with his wife. Three For the storage of his tablet he owes us 1% per day after 45 days, which is also stated in the repair documents. Days passed over 100, but as it happens with inadequate it did not convince him and he drove away threatening to go to court. The ship we waited for about a year, until the liquidation of the trade network. Morality is simple. Neher exit if wrong, because they could just go to the world giving the tablet. This did not arrange him, so neither money nor a plan he saw.

No one teaches history. Everyone thinks it will be different this time. will not be.