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Give me a robe!
I was at that time 18 years old, and I had my first love. Late, of course, but anything can happen. My subject, Sergey, was a very serious and positive man, and he took care of me according to all the rules: he took me to theaters and conservatories, gave me flowers and sweets to my mom, well, and so on. And since his intentions were the most matrimonial, there were no further advances in kissing for six months. In the end, this bagpipe was even a bit disgusted with me, but I didn’t understand these things at the time, I thought maybe it should be so. In addition, I had, and indeed there is a neighbor, Anton. We are familiar with the cradle, together grew up, in general, childhood friends. Well, this is a saying, a fairy tale in front. After the aforementioned 6 months of our acquaintance, my impatient Sergey went on vacation to the south. But with the return of some problems. Sergey lived in Kronstadt, buses do not go there at night. And the train from Sochi arrived at 12 o'clock. And so, I asked for a bunny to spend the night with me. Well, I think, here it is, it happened! My mother, on the occasion of the summer was also away, so the night of love, nothing should not interfere. And so, on that day, I began to prepare according to the rules. The shower took, namarafilas, mom's spirits licked from head to toe. I am waiting. Doorbell. Something, I think, too early. And for sure. On the threshold stands a neighbor, Anton, hugging a cat. The view of both is unsupervised. It turns out that the repair began in the neighbor's apartment, and they are allergic to paint with the cat. Ask to spend the night. Very on time, the main thing. But it became a pity where they should go. Allowed. I think figs with her, with love, will not go anywhere. In general, Anton, continuing to hold the animal in his arms, begins to tell me that, supposedly, rude guys-painters, his Little Man (this is a cat) was completely intimidated, she does not climb out of the closet, does not want to eat, and does not want anything at all. And Manyechka, a creature with a fine spiritual organization, having felt friendly participation, suddenly relaxed. Well, and issued. She didn’t dare to get to the toilet from under her closet. So she dumped on Antosh everything that had accumulated over a long and difficult day. And in full. In general, the picture is in oil: my Anton is all wet and dirty, like a trucker and swears at what the light is worth. Of course, I laugh, like crazy. And Manka, with a sense of accomplishment, climbs under the table. Having laughed, I handed Anton a laundry detergent and a basin and sent him to the bathroom to soak clothes, and at the same time take a shower. And at this moment, of course, the doorbell rings. Somehow I had already forgotten about Sergey ... And he comes in so all tanned, beautiful, in white pants and puts me in his arms. I miss you, you see. Stormy greetings, kisses, etc. follow. And at that moment the bathroom door swings open and Antosha appears on the scene in a towel around the waist and with a replica - Give me a robe! In general, a typical scene from a joke on the subject Returns husband from a business trip. I tear away the spellbound look from Anton, look at Sergey and see a very thoughtful expression in his eyes. I understand that now someone will be beaten. Maybe even me. And I even understand Sergey somewhere. Well, how would you react? You come after a long separation to the girl, in which you see your future spouse and the mother of your children. And you find there some kind of redhead in a towel that requires a bathrobe. Trying to somehow defuse the situation, I squeeze a smile out of myself and speak in the voice of a sweet idiot: - Meet Sergey, this is my neighbor Anton. This is not to say that this phrase has a calming effect. Stress, they say, shorten life. This story probably took at least a week from all four of its participants (including Manka). To me, she definitely added gray hair.
Weekdays Service Center
Dialogue. Nonfictional. - I have a problem with the printer. Fix it. - Learn more. What about him? - Prints pale. - How long has it started? - No, recently. Previously, normally printed. - Cartridges used only original? - Of course! I did not change them at all. I took the lid off and poured water over it, everything was fine. Now here's a faint print went ... probably the printer broke ...
The formula of socialism It was a long time ago - under socialism ... One woman has saved up money for new furniture. For a long time I was looking for opportunities to buy out of turn, finally found a seller. There is a bargaining. - Your conditions? There is an economic formula for commodity-money-commodity capitalism. The seller’s response can be considered the economic formula of socialism: - TWO PRICES AND YOU!
It was a long time ago, at 85. I went camping with a group of tourist friends. At first they rafted Indigirka 500 km, then they went to the ridge. Chersky on foot part of the hike. During the rafting, a very important detail was lost from the primus burner (this is such a thing in the form of a cap with many holes). The rafting was finished in the small village of Honu, the district center of the Momsky district of Yakutia. We, of course, did not find a primus in it - where could he get there, and it’s undesirable to go to the mountains without it. During a visit to the pharmacy for the replenishment of medical supplies and condoms (do not think bad, but we hid matches in them), the look of our supply manager fell on the contraceptive metal caps sold at that time. In shape and size - an exact copy of the lost part of a primus stove, but without holes. Well, make holes - no problem. After asking him from an astonished young pharmacist, our supply manager snapped his finger over it, returned the cap to the girl, telling her: "Aluminum will not fit, MOLDING."
It was about a year ago. We decided to go to the forest for the next two days in the next-to-last year of the student’s serving a term - gathering daisies, which means eating sandwiches. Well, knowing how these daisies run out, he took the bait with him, as a person I, admittedly, doesn’t drink much, and I’m more than half a liter. And I know for myself that such popular bouquets of “champagne-cognac-vodka-moonshine-beer” later evoke many different helicopters in my imagination and the lack of desire to close my eyes for the night. And in our group, there was a guy like that, a croaker - Red, that is, since birth he was destined to amuse everyone with his love of adventure. He then returned only from Canada, from which, besides his memories in his homeland, he brought only a spoon for 30 bucks (catching pike, perch and other talents of nature). He was still in the train boasting that the fish is all his, because if this fish sees such a stupefying lure, he will consider it an honor to have a word on it. I, being well acquainted with the terrain and possessing a few words in such situations, decided not to mention the absence of predatory fish in the intended demonstration object of the 30-bucks Canadian lures. Well, we arrived at the place of deployment, settled down, wept for a little, and I decided to go fishing, there to catch toads and stuff. My buddy Igor and that Redhead went with me. I took with me a bottle of "Pervak" (that is stronger), chickens, black bread and a jar of Olivier, as I didn’t fish for the first year, and I know that fishing in such fish places is an excuse, alcohol is a means and heartfelt conversation is the goal. We threw the fishing rods with Igor and let's go for Ukraine, for health, for women, traditionally. Then after the third we notice that someone is missing ... where is Red? We look, we are looking for, whether the bathing has gone over the water. And he, deciding not to postpone anything pleasant for later, went to the lure of the lure to launch. Well, it means that my friend and I have zero attention to our fishing poles, because ritual preparation for launch is in full swing at the dam. I don’t know why I should wipe the minnow with a minnow, and then spit on it and so on, but the process lasted about five minutes. Here we have already come up with a bet - how far it will fly. I mean, I say 20 meters, Igor - 25. How then would we figure it out - dick knows, but excitement is excitement. Look - right now will be kooky. Swipe ... start ... fly ... fly ... fly ... still fly. Eshkin cat - at the other end of the lake !!! This, honestly, I have not seen in my life! To throw so far. Well, we started to applaud, we praise Ryzhy, we have already gathered for his health ... and Ryzhny is spinning on the dam of something inhuman with a mat! Conclusion: the line to the coil must be tied.
It was in our student life. In the hostel, in the room where we lived together, we talked about blue in the evening. It turned out that from six people the blue ones approached four. These four told how the attempts of this indecency took place. The story of the next guy: - I stand at the bus stop. A man comes up to me. In a raincoat, a hat, beautiful such ... No one could listen to him anymore ...
It was in the city Izum (Ukraine). My uncle, having drunk a little with the godparents, decided to go to a local hotel or hangout for businessmen, it is difficult to determine. (The hotel is beautiful, in the form of a castle, standing on the edge of the mountain, well, and the prices, respectively, are beautiful) And inside it there was also a shop, there were products, as well as products from the Izyumsky optical-mechanical plant - glasses, binoculars, night gear visions, etc. And so, my uncle came into this shop, wandered around it a bit, and then notices that the guard of the institution is constantly following him. (And my uncle had a good look, he was a former cop, he had scars, his face was a little twisted and he could extort money). To the uncle’s direct question, the guard timidly mumbled that this was his job, etc. The uncle promised to pay more and the guard, apparently believing or frightened, disappeared. So, an uncle with a godfather came up to the counter and began to ask the seller about optics, examine the devices (and the seller worked for 2 departments - for food and optical) and finally reached the night vision devices. Took over a long time, the seller probably was already sure that they would buy something, and then it sounded: - Okay, give us something cheaper! The seller, with joy, pokes a finger at the device: - This one ?! Uncle, smiling wickedly: - No, give us a bottle of vodka and we'll go. The seller was stunned. When leaving the house, they were probably accompanied by all the guards.
What month are you on, Anya?
School. High school. I, an excellent student, proudly stomp from the assembly hall, where they announced the results of the next Olympiad. On the stairs, I am obstructed by the benevolently soft head of the head teacher. With a sweet smile, Olga asked: - What month are you, Anya? I go nuts, fade, slowly precipitate, drop my jaw on the marble floor of my native gymnasium ... I look blankly at my stomach, which is completely stuck to the spine, and feverishly recall what could give rise to ... - So where? - insistently asks the head teacher. Oh, Freudian ...
It was during those times when I was a heroic fighter of a no less heroic construction squad. We worked in the Arctic, and engaged in the fact that poured concrete floor in the basement of one of the plants under construction. And since we live in Russia, we are building in our own way. At first, the entire workshop, 500 square meters, was completely built, and then they remembered the floors in the basements. The basements were not used in any way, as they froze through long polar nights through and therefore the ceilings were 1.5–1.6 meters high. And we are seventy meters - ninety meters. So drag a stretcher with concrete by 15 meters in a half-bent state of joy is not enough. And now, at the end of the day, I see such a picture: two first-year students are dragged by these unfortunate stretchers. And since the day is running out, their strengths are also running out. They wander along a sine wave, and the one who is in front, looks, poor guy, on the floor, and the one who is behind is wobbling from side to side and yelling at him (also nerves, of course, on a platoon) - Go to the left !!! He turns to the left, and the rear yells: - Bl # d, I tell you - LEFT !!! He takes more left. Again to him: - Where are you taking you ?! Take a left, goat !!! And so a few more times. Finally, the front one does not stand up, and without throwing the stretcher, it starts yelling too: - And where do you think, your mother, am I carrying ?! Here the rear silences for a short time, and then without reducing the tone, yelling: - So it should have been RIGHT, and in general, WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE !!! It's all around and fell, and many have not got up.
Do you sell us red mercury?
It was at the beginning of perestroika, when the cooperatives were selling clothes, soap, laundry detergent and other rubbish, and mobiles, e-mails and pagers had not yet appeared, so it was a separate technological task to call from the capital to us in Novosibirsk via a long-distance telephone. Once my friend calls to his parents. Once the number is dialed - silence, two numbers are dialed - the sounds are mysterious from the subspace, it angers the whole thing, the person begins to boil slowly. The third time I dialed the number - it seems I’ve made my way, the beeps are long - they’ll pick up now. But here is a nuisance - in parallel with the background there is a conversation between two "merchants": - Well, so you sell us red mercury? - Of course, we sell. - Do you have a license? -? - Well, we will not be put in prison for selling red mercury to us? But it’s clear that it’s not a thrill to call back - to spend the tags on spending, or to talk to the co-operatives with the mother “in such a society”. My friend was angry with this chatter and says viciously into the phone: - Let's plant! And immediately shoot! Both merchants immediately threw the tube.
this is destiny
At the very beginning of the 90s with products, if anyone remembers, it was, to put it mildly, bad. And so we went once with my mother to the nearby shops, in order to get food. In one of the shops there were a lot of people - apparently, they brought the FOOD. I got up with bags in the corner, and my mother went to get what they brought. I stood very close to the meat department and after a while my attention was attracted by the following picture. One old man bought meat. The algorithm there was this: a butcher (a very colorful man of 35 years old) showed a client a piece of meat, if he (in the sense of a piece) arranged the client, the butcher weighs the meat, counts the price, writes it on two pieces of paper - gives one to the client, puts the second on the piece of meat . The piece of meat chosen by the client is laid on a separate table, where several similar pieces of paper are already lying. The client goes to the cashier (there is, of course, also a queue), pays for and with a check comes back to the butcher, who by check gives the meat to the client. Why do I describe all this in such detail? Now you understand. The above-mentioned old man chose meat very long and tedious ... And then he is wrong, and this is not the way ... in one piece of bones, you see, a lot, in another fat ... About the quality of meat at that time, I think it is not worth talking, and that is understandable. But the old man, apparently, was not understandable ... The Butcher with a stone face chopped off another piece of the big carcass with an ax, it was clear that he was holding on with difficulty - and look at the steam from the ears. The probability that another blow of the ax will be inflicted not on the carcass, but on the harmful old man, increased. In the brutal queue, by the way, someone was already beginning to express the opinion that this would be a good solution to the problem. And then a miracle happened - another piece of meat, finally, the old man made. All relieved breathed. The butcher did the above actions - weighed, wrote the price, gave a piece of paper to the old man, put the selected piece aside. The old man trudged over to the cash register. He came after 20 minutes. He gave the butcher a check. The butcher recognized him immediately. A butcher with a check comes up to the table on which the selected pieces lie. He looks at the table, then at the check for a few seconds ... And then he understood EVERYTHING. And this is what happened: someone had a piece of meat worth exactly the same as an old man, this man came before and the butcher gave him by mistake a piece of the old man. The butcher with the funeral facial expression slowly approached the old man who was waiting for his prey and said: “Father, this is fate.” This is fate, father. Moreover, it was only for me alone: the people who stood in the queue had already sold out, and those who were standing now did not see the first act of the tragedy. The old man after this was surprisingly accommodating: without a sound, he took another piece for the same price and left. Tired, probably ....
Visit to Irkutsk
In Soviet times, two friends lived in a hostel - one from somewhere near Ryazan, the other from Irkutsk. And during the whole course of study, and they were already on the 4th course, the one that told from Irkutsk - what a beautiful city he is in, beautiful, in general Siberia is a miracle, Baikal is near, and all that. At the same time, he advised a friend from Ryazan, who had never been beyond the Urals at all, to go to Irkutsk. He always refused (like: “What I didn’t see in your Irkutsk, this distance,” and so on). But the Siberian all the time he lined it up. And one fine day, when both of them were already close to the 5th course, a guy from Ryazan got drunk in the trash, and ... remembered Irkutsk. And something he terribly wanted to (there was no friend then). He went without hesitation, and bought a plane ticket. I must say that at that time a plane ticket was much cheaper, and a student could afford it. So, he bought a ticket, boarded the plane, continued to weld all the way, then he gasped ... In general, he flew to Irkutsk in a state of grogg. When he set foot on the glorious Baikal land, he was not in touch with the beauties and landscapes - he was terrified to start stirring up (so much to drink, and probably also had a flight) After standing up and having vomited from the bridge to the Angara, he took the ticket back and ... flew away to Moscow In the plane he continued to stir up (so much in the air to be hard). I flew to Moscow, got to the dorm, fell asleep. Then, until the end of my studies (and probably further), I told everyone about what kind of city ... this Irkutsk, and what there is nothing to do there.
What is Minsk?
In the mid-80s I was on a business trip in Moscow. Along the way, some logistical questions brought me to one of the Moscow suburbs in the Kursk area, where I became a participant in the dialogue, in the authenticity of which never, no one believed it. But he was. I remember every word. Having found out the necessary questions, I went to the post office, call home in Minsk and consult with my superiors. A puny lady of 35-40 years old with a head twisted into a white kerchief sat in the order acceptance window. - Where are we calling? - To Minsk. - Minsk is a city? - City. Yes. - Which one? - What, what? - Minsk, what? - Well, what is he ... Nice, such a cute little town. - Mila mo-oh! You'll be my brain to powder that, eh? Areas that kind of? - Ah, the area. Minsk-oh he area, aunt, Minsk-oh! She upset me then. But when it drifted to America, to Boston, my neighbor was there, an American (of the same age), on the contrary, I was pleased. The time was in the period of their "Storm in the Desert". In the political discussion of this event, I suddenly doubted the intellect of my interlocutor working in a used car sales company. I asked: - And where, they say, is this very Iraq with which you are fighting, is it? After a sufficient pause, he replied: - No, this is definitely not in South America. After Minsk, I didn’t tell him anything after that. He said that I was from near Moscow.
In ancient times, the state, represented by OSVOD, took care of the citizens of a great country. On our beach were placed crosses with lifebuoys crucified on them and vivid agitations. Hot Summer. Seeing a friend in the Red Army. Naturally, night swimming. After swimming, rubbing with my girlfriends, we are going home, and here we find the absence of one comrade. We come back, remembering it with all sorts of different words and whole expressions. And we fall from laughter. Standing on his knees near the cross with a life preserver, on which someone's forgotten swimming trunks were drying, he with tears on his eyes begged: - Girl !!! Well, come with us! Yes, I have the most serious intentions.
Nothing to lose
When I just finished school, I worked as a assistant in a warehouse of radio components. Our closet from the closet of the storekeepers was separated by two shelves, between which there was an embroidered cardboard box from the TV. Me and the same loafers were 17-18 years old and we eagerly caught everything that was connected with sex, which, as we know, we did not have then. And once we managed to hear the aunt talking about it (~ 30, 40, 50 years). The story of the elder: - I’m going somehow from the second shift and three suckers stop me, 14-16 years old. They say come on, aunt, take off your clothes and lie down, or else ... Well, I think I have nothing to lose, I do not feel like getting in the face, I will endure somehow. They are still so cultured bed jacket. Well, the first was so, nothing. But under the second I was so well-behaved !!! How I hugged him, honey! I was brought to my feeling by his cry: "AN AUNTER !!! LET UP !!! I WILL NOT BE MORE !!!" The third refused ...
I work in the women's team, as it is not surprising, but squabbles occur extremely rarely. Usually in the office is fun, sometimes too. Today, our managers have issued. The girl manager receives a fax, something does not work, and she asks the person on the other end of the line to repeat. Literally: - I already got up, maybe again. After some time, the second manager on the phone explains how to get to us (to the office) by the following words: - ... On Ligovka with your feet first. The director rode up to our wild laughter.
Why in Lopotovo?
It was in the midst of the Gorbachev era. Who does not remember - the most unpopular decree of Gorbachev was - not to sell alcohol until 2 o'clock in the afternoon. We rested in a holiday home called "Robinson". The nearest village, Lopotovo, is 4 kilometers away. In Lopotovo there is a shop and a bus station. We are a company of colleagues — not fools to drink, and their wives, who constantly husbands for it, criticize, spy, take away alcohol, and so on. On the first evening they drank everything they brought with them. The next morning, the dark men are talking to each other: - By two o'clock, let's go to Lopotovo ... The wife of one of them heard and asked ominously: - Why in Lopotovo? It should answer: - ... Yes ... Bus timetable view. After some time, when sad men, having had breakfast without an appetite, leave the dining room, Volodya runs toward them and happily shouts: - Guys! What I learned !!! Suddenly he notices a flock of wives standing nearby and catching his ears, and finishes his sentence: - In Lopotovo, the bus schedule from eleven is shown! The wives laughed so badly that they couldn't even get angry.
It was at that time when our head of the department (colonel) was still a cadet of the rocket school. One evening the people wanted to drink beer. Scraped up money, found a messenger - but the trouble is, there are no dishes. Some gifted head proposed to use a ball balloon from a lamp as this. No sooner said than done. On the way to the beer, the messenger successfully jumped the fence and found himself outside the school. When he returned, the cadets saw with horror that he was rushing to the brim with a canopy full of beer straight to the central checkpoint. Everybody was already mentally sprinkling with both beer and a messenger for the time he was on the gauptic watch. And at the checkpoint at this time there is such a story. The duty captain, seeing a passing cadet with such a container and a familiar-looking liquid, called him in and asked: “What about you, comrade cadet?” - Drying oil, comrade captain. - Fu, fool, get out of here soon, while there is no head of the school. After this, more suitable utensils appeared for beer, and this case is still remembered.
It was at the time of not very long student life. My friends and I hung out in a dorm room after couples - naturally, with beer, while managing to play cards and gab. After the traditional themes (football, girls ...), we turned to the institute and classes. One guy from our company, Oleg, shuffling the deck, casually said: - And I learned German. Yesterday I watched a movie in the original language - I understood everything. We have a stupor. In my head the thought "Damn! Here is a hero, not like us ...". And everything would be fine if Oleg did not continue at full serieze: - Yes, what to understand in German porn movies is one “Wah! Wah, ah !!! Oooh! Wah! Wah !!! Wah !!! Ooooooo. .. Das is fаnastisсh! "
Queue for meat
It was at that time when Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev was glorified on radio, television, in newspapers, etc., etc. so intensely that my nephew was in the first grade, when asked by the teacher “Who wrote the poem“ What was the name of the great Russian poet Pushkin? ” without hesitation, he answered - “Leonid Ilyich.” In those years, in Sevastopol, where the business was going on, the meat in the stores was very bad and the people wrote to the line in the morning on a piece of paper pressed against a stone at the entrance. It looked like this: "1. Ivanov 2. Petrova 3. Sidorchuk, etc. "And when the meat was brought in, people pulled themselves up and made a roll call. And a man came up and wrote it down on a piece of paper:" 56. Lenin ". After a while, the next one comes up, reads the last surname and, laughing, writes:" 57. Brezhnev ". And the number 58 turned out to be a snitch, and the brave guys drove up to the roll call and fixed numbers 56 and 57. They bring them to the KGB, bring them in for questioning and ask for the documents at number 56, and he calmly takes out his passport, in which his name is black and white. it says "Lenin" (his ancient clan of Lenin is proud of his last name, which is much more ancient than the clan of the Ulyanovs, whose scion took this pseudonym). The people from the guardsmen are pulled out, taken under the visor and they take Lenin to the shop manager individually to not discretiro vat great name entry in dubious lists. After this embarrassment, the GB with caution asks the number 57: “Excuse me, but what is your last name?” (Surely, Brezhnev, there is hockey player Brezhnev). He replies guiltily: “Tyutkin.” Ah, Tyutkin! - the KGB officers yell with joy, and gets Tyutkin in full.
It was during the memorable times of the mid-eighties. I studied at the institute and once a week we spent the whole day at the military department. And the classes in the military department differed from the others in that they were almost impossible (due to the severity of the consequences that followed) to miss. And the fact that there were not three pairs, but four - a full 8-hour working day. Two couples, a lunch break - everything is as it should be. However, it sometimes happened that, due to various reasons, the course of lectures ended earlier, so that the teacher had two or even four hours left in reserve. Then this teacher "in order not to violate accountability" all this time has been baiting us from his serviceman in the troops of the past. Let go of the studios from the last hours - never, because "according to the Charter - it is not supposed to". If the teacher Ivanov could not occupy these hours himself, then he asked to replace his teacher Petrov ... The ritual was observed sacredly. But one big lump from the Political Administration came to our military department once and arranged for the general headquarters officer political education for the whole afternoon. In view of what, the established procedures risked collapse due to the inability of the officers to set themselves a replacement. The way out was found in the fact that, on our cycle, there was nevertheless one “acting non-officer” - a laboratory assistant by the name of Mashkovsky. All the students of all the teachers were united into one audience, they were shown "senior - Mashkovsky", the officers retired ... Naturally, the laboratory assistant did not even have one hundredth of that glorious past that any of the missing teachers had. Why he announced - "to do business, to sit quietly, the end of classes - at 17 o'clock, I - in the next room" and washed off. Four hours of total quiet idleness brought everyone into such an awesome state that when it was “5 pm”, when an alarm clock started waking up at that time someone sounded “peep-peep-peep” and I uttered the phrase " Mashkovskiy time - seventeen hours "- the people slammed to the ringing in the glass ...
It was in the early 90s in a small town near Smolensk. The next block of the nuclear power plant was built near the city and the Poles built it, they are extremely enterprising people, so they organized a whole Polish market. In those days, the shops differed in their virginity; in short, there was no shit in the shops, and on the Polish market one could buy everything - from nails to stinger. One day, my husband's mother asked me to sell a carpet. The carpet was huge and we just went to the market to look for a buyer ... We hoped for our ingenuity (we must somehow tell the foreigners what they want from them). We did not know only one thing that the carpet in Polish - IKRA. In general, we approach the first Pole we like and ask: - Pan, do you need a carpet? He is joyful to us like this: - Red and black? My husband: - White ... The Pole turned pale, and my husband: - Well, yes, handmade! A few more of his comrades approached the Pole, and everyone had a dumb question in their eyes, and my husband: - Vietnamese! There were more Poles, and they tried to understand us with interest, and my husband, angry at their stupidity, was already sold out: - On the wall, assholes, 3 by 4. The Poles surrounded us with a tight ring and caught every word of my spouse, and he, showing the length of the fingers, shouted: - Here is such a nap !!! Pure wool!!! The thick ring only asked us from time to time: - Pure wool? White? On the wall? 3 by 4? Handwork? In general, I don’t know when and how it would all end, if I hadn’t remembered the word “GOBELEN”. The ring around us just collapsed! The giggle was such that no humorist can boast such a reaction to his speech !!! We walked home for a very long time, as we recall the faces of the brothers Slavs, so it became bad at once!
Why two dials ?!
It was in the year 83-84 that an exhibition of promising models of watches from all the factories of the USSR was held in Riga — it was almost an unprecedented sight for our people — an indescribable crowd at the entrance. I get inside and enjoy the sight of what our industry can produce in the future. Near one of the stands are a sister (12 years old) and a brother (5 years old) looking at samples of tourist hours. I explain: on the usual dial with a diameter of 6-7 centimeters there are two more small dials with a diameter of about a centimeter. You can set an additional time of two time zones on them, but they show the same sister question: - Why do two dials ?! Immediate response of the brother: - So after all two eyes that ...
It was in India in the distant eighties. Our small Soviet team helped Indian friends build a new mine. Helped - this means: we built, and they conscientiously learned from us. Work was carried out on the sinking of the vertical shaft at the mine Janjra. And there was one Indian engineer named Gupta at the construction site who, again, very conscientiously taught the great and mighty language of ours. One day, this Mr. Gupta comes up to our translator and asks: - Mr. Anatoly, what does the word "solder" mean in Russian? Anatoly, like all of us, at first did not understand the words, and then, as he could, intelligibly read a short lecture on the process of soldering non-ferrous metals. Gupta listened to all this and said: - No, not that. Mr. Ivanov had just left the trunk and said that the water level in the barrel is ON EGGS! These were the lessons of the Russian language in India.
Special Russian mentality
It was in the year 95-96. In one part, the soldiers were very often poisoned with brake fluid. No disciplinary action was taken against them. Then one Polkan guessed the following poster: “Sodata! Tormozuha is poison! If it were harmless, the commanding staff would have drunk it long ago.” There was not a single case of poisoning next month. Here is such a special Russian mentality, you know ...
End of tenderness
In the early 80s I worked in one of the maternity hospitals in Moscow. And we had a wonderful anesthetist Alex, a young, tall, charming, handsome. Ladies from him just dragged. In addition, he possessed an amazing gift for a woman during childbirth to calm, relax. Somehow the Ukrainian one and a half centners gives birth to me, yelling with a good mate, does not listen to me. And I must say, the sign of the khokhlushk is that the louder or shouting during childbirth, the more chances to give birth to a kid. She tired of me to death with her cries, I call Lesha - calm down, I say, but I pay attention to the debt, I'll sometime help you. Lesha comes to boxing, Madame begins to hypnotize, to persuade: - Honey, relax, calm down, now you do not need to shout. Take my hand ... The lady, without looking, stretches out her hand, falls to Lesha between her legs, then her next fight begins, and her hand impulsively compresses. The bestial roar of Leshi blocked the cries of all women in labor. When I was finally able to unclench the hand of Madame, Alex came out of boxing in a raskoryachku, was on sick leave for a week, and then did not even look in my direction. And never again addressed women in labor tenderly and gently.
Who did not vote?
It was back in the 96th, the day after Beni’s first round of elections. I study in the glorious HIATE and we have a wonderful (without the slightest irony) philosophy teacher Petrash Yu. G. But he has his own point - the old-school Communist. And so, Monday is a pair of philosophy. The first question of the respected Yuri Grigorievich - who voted for the Communists ... one or two hands in the group. It should be a half-hour lecture on how good it was under the Communists and what we obadlui. After the lecture, he wonders if there are such irresponsible personalities among us who did not vote at all. I, as an honest person, raise my hand. What started here! I, in principle, was in good standing with him, and here ... The lecture continued personally in my honor !!! The whole group crawls under the tables ... when the lesson is almost over, one of the guys could not stand it and moaned through laughter: "He is a minor" ... In more embarrassment, I never saw him ...
Addict in SCLIFE
Back in 1993, one young opera from MUR was sent to enhance SCLIF. At night, somewhere around 4 in the morning, when he heard the sound of a broken window, he ran into the room next door and saw a man getting in through the window. Later it turned out that they needed drugs. There was an ordinary dialogue in such cases, with interjections like garbage, a rotten cop and an argument in the form of a water pipe somewhere 80 centimeters. A man crawled through the transom, his leg sticks out and in this position he led the dialogue. The answer to the pipe was a second shot in the legs, which hit the stomach. Svezhestrelyannogo removed from the transom on the operating table and two gray-haired old uncles sewn up and on a gurney. The shift of the opera is over, he left the gain, passing the shot by the change to his friends. The most interesting thing he learned from friends. The drug departed from anesthesia, everything is as it should be in the left hand dropper, the right handcuffed to the gurney. After the tirade about the damned cops, requests began to unfasten their hand. And she got numb with him, and to roll over on one side and smoke, well, in less than two hours he was mollifying. Ulamal on what he needs to pee. Only he was unhooked by an addict who immediately climbed up to fight, in order to escape. Two operas began to twist it. But very carefully - the person from under the knife, the dropper in his hand dangles. Puffed, puffed, twisted,
They sit otduvuyutsya, then the surgeon on duty comes - a man of about 30 (old men were replaced). He asks what kind of noise was there. Well, they explain to him that yesterday's operated operated wanted to run away, but we carefully fastened him again. Phrase surgeon quote literally: - Et who yesterday's addict? But why did you mess with him, give it to the head and to the operating table, I would have killed him right there. After this phrase, before the discharge from the SCLIFE, the drug addict begged not to unhook him from the gurney, ate, slept. that rhymes too, did everything with a gurney.
Cat in a suitcase
It was in the relatively near years, when the first Chechen company had just ended, and people of Cop nationality became especially interested in Caucasian people. One citizen I knew, generally Assyrian, born and raised in Ukraine, but the person who had the most, besides after a long-time car accident adorned with a faint scar across his cheek, moved from point A to point B and carried with him a disruptive and mischievous kota - teenager black suit. We had a lot of stuff in our Peugeot, there were plenty of things, and the cat, stuffed into a big suitcase with a hole for ventilation, was loaded into the trunk. A brief digression is necessary here: the person of Assyrian-Ukrainian nationality at that time was a free artist, filmmaker, and so on. - i.e., a creative person and a passionate at that moment in mysticism and occultism (he is now a respected Orthodox clergyman - fate often throws creative people at different extremes or, to put it in its current lexicon: demons are not asleep in temptation). In his behavior, he then and now was distinguished by a great restraint, if not to say gloominess, being rather laconic and having a rather heavy look. He wore very extravagant clothes, like the representatives of the free artists' workshop, such as the Finnish national card with a cut off visor and some kind of a pea jacket of dark colors. So, having such a driver behind the wheel, we drove into the wheelbarrow-driven wheelbarrow on the way to another artist, taking from him a plastic dummy of a skull with a jaw on a spring and a pair of femoral (plastic) bones for work - well, some kind of still life a person needed to write, in his own gloomily-conceptualistic manner;), citizens who did not sit behind the wheel and indulge in drinks happily greeted the appearance of a skull (and why are young people always so happy with the sight of skulls and skeletons?) ad libingly with a spring-loaded jaw, sticking teeth in a plastic cup and thrown into the same trunk. We didn’t have time to turn our Peugeot from Ligovka to Marat as a two-on — the operation “whirlwind-antiterror” or there “tsunami-anti-Caucasus” - the comrades in bullet-proof vests, hung with machine guns, stand at the corner, and from afar are pretty smiling, seeing not the blonde driving not bad "cars": - Do you have documents, drugs, weapons, ammunition? - and one already to the waist in the cabin rummaging in the glove compartment and between the seats. The driver climbs gloomily, pulls through the documents, and in between times says: “Why do I need a weapon, I'm a sorcerer, we usually understand things differently (well, the person has been locked on sorcerers lately). Captain with a wry ironic smile: - Come on, wizard, open your trunk. - You are welcome. After opening the trunk, the lieutenant with the sergeant bent over there, bouncing briskly, and some of them even squeal on a high note — a red coca-glass cup pops out of the teeth from the skull, and flashing in a dim ray of light from a street lamp, silently hides in dark snowdrifts at the curb. In a couple of minutes, when the automata were again fused, and the skull and bones were even ostentatiously slightly floated with a lighter (Lord, our happiness that these are dummies would be real preparation bones, we would definitely prove in the area for a couple of days that participated in a ritual sacrifice), the lieutenant, a bit stronger, but still in a trembling voice, says: - What is in the suitcase, present it. Even more gloomy driver: - Yes, there is no fig, except for a black cat ... - and opens the lid! I will never forget the faces of these cops - a sergeant, with such Ryazan ryakha, he will even cross himself in secret. But they let us go instantly, without asking anything more.
1969 We returned with a friend after working on unloading vegetables at the base of the Kiev railway station to the hostel on a trolley bus. In the back seat was a small man with a certain iron construction. Apparently, he had already received him somewhere well and dozed off slightly. At one of the stops, another not sober man entered the salon from the front door. From the starting jerk of the trolley bus it carried through the cabin and it neatly perched right on the knees of the first peasant. They did not argue for a short time and separated from the world. And the first peasant after wake-up wanted to talk with us. We asked him about the iron construction (a brilliant nickel-plated pipe about a meter high with a crosspiece at the base), for which it is needed. He began to tell with animation that they were going to play dominoes in the yard in the evening and this thing would serve to make a domino table. Then it was time for him to go out. He goes down to the lower step, grabs the rail of the trolleybus (he has confused him with his design) and tries to tear it off. When this attempt ended unsuccessfully, he prayed to us: - Guys, help !!! Of course, we helped him.
Yesterday, a friend was walking her baby and she picked me up with me. We sit on the playground, drink beer. And Olka (my friend) stares at my glasses intently (I have poor eyesight) and gives me anxiously: - Mashka, your point is cracked !!! In the sense of the lens a little bit. I know about this - I answer: - Well, yes, I’ve already been talking about two weeks ago, after our last party. When the meaning of what was said reached us, we frightened the local grandmothers with our wild rzhach for about five minutes. Like this.
Missed a little
In the old-time bachelor days, I lived with a friend in a graduate student dormitory. One Friday we were visited by two classmates, traditionally celebrating the end of the working week. Well, noted, played cards ... Deep in the night, these two codes quietly faded away. We went to look for them, good, the assumption was one. And for sure. Going down to the second floor we heard powerful blows and deaf words: - Natashka, open! One of us in the pitch darkness groped for the corridor switch. Lighted such a picture. One of the friends stood against the wall, hanging his head. Another drummed into a fire shield. Missed a bit.
You can not shoot
It was at the time of the general medical examination, when at all enterprises and in educational institutions it was obligatory to visit once a year an X-ray room with an indispensable fluorography. The mechanism of mass reception of patients was worked out by doctors to automatism, so they usually visited the X-ray rooms according to this scheme: the day of the man, the other day of the woman. About ten people entered the office. While some were stripped to the waist, others were x-rayed, and others were already dressed. That is, the people in the office crowded a lot, and the process was put on the conveyor. On the day when the women were examined, the doctors had to be especially attentive, as many had chains, pendants and similar jewelry on their necks. Doctors forced to remove all the decorations in order not to blur the picture of the picture. But since there are no places for storage and there are not always acquaintances who can hold gold and not very trinkets, sharp-witted doctors have come up with another way. When a woman hung with chains was placed in the apparatus, the radiologist forced her to remove the trinkets from her chest and clamp them in her mouth with her teeth. Thus, the process was accelerated, and the possibility of theft was excluded. On that day, a junior-year student of the Academy of Fine Arts underwent fluorography. The reception was conducted by a male radiologist. Ignoring the delights of naked girls, the weary doctor urged them on to finish their routine work faster. The girls, giggling, squinted at the young doctor and, undressing, quickly dived into the X-ray machine. One of the girls stood in indecision, not knowing what to do with the gold chain and pendant. Turning to a more brisk friend, she asked whether to remove the chain. As sometimes happens in such cases, the hubbub in the office stopped for a second and the voice of a competent friend sounded in silence. Ten minutes rolling around with laughter, the doctors could not shove the neighing female students into the apparatus. Thoughtfully looking at an inexperienced friend, a friend authoritatively said: - In principle, you can not take it off, then this guy will make you take it in your mouth.
I rested with my girlfriend on the banks of the Volga sometime in the summer. The water was still cold and we lay on the beach, sunbathing, hiding behind a boat turned upside down. Almost no one was around us. I took off my girlfriend's bra and stroked her nipple ... Suddenly a man runs past us and asks me to help him on the run. I jump up and see that another man fell off a steep cliff, apparently wanted to see what my friend and I were doing and lost balance because I was very drunk. We helped him up, it turned out that he got off with only scratches ...
It was a long time ago when I, an exemplary boy, was in the 6th grade of the Soviet school. Once, in a literature class, I was summoned to a blackboard to read a poem by V. Mayakovsky. I must say that the teacher considered me a blockhead, which was completely untrue. (As proof, I note that I finished school with a medal). So, standing at the blackboard, the famous Mayakovsky phrase, my frightened public performance, the children's mind transformed into "the voice of a unit thinner than LETTERS ...". I ask you to believe that I almost fell through on the spot. I was so ashamed that I, not knowing what to do, read the poem to the end, stammering and gleaming in purple. Of course, the children in the classroom got a lot of pleasure, and the teacher, of course, gave me three things, without diplomatically explaining why ...
We first doubted ...
In the late 80s, the troops had a cheerful tradition - once a month to line up personnel on the parade-ground and read out accidents that occurred during this time in the division. And not just the facts were cited, but also the explanations of the victims (probably others should learn from the mistakes of others). Intentions seemed to be good, but the explanations were given literally, so all this was heard no worse than Zhvanetsky. In general, we were built and started a fun five minutes. Polkach, looking at the paper, reads in a commanding voice: “A private soldier got a broken jaw ...” From the victim’s explanations, he slipped on a bar of soap. We all - he-he-he ... we know this piece - he stands in his nose picks. Polkach continues: “The sergeant got a concussion like this ...” From the victim’s explanation, he woke up and stretched into the car’s cabin, hitting his head slightly. We - ha! We guess what kind of cabin! Well, at the same pace a couple of minutes of fun. Then we look - the polkach began to tremble finely, his face to blush and inflate. But still he rallied and issued: - Fifteen GIRL infected three soldiers with gonorrhea. We were a bit fucked up by such a phrase, and the half-timer, evidently wanting to finish them off, continued: - From the victims' explanations: We first doubted, but then she treated us to moonshine and we decided that she was not contagious ... Complete flying! Everybody where they stood there and laid down ... But someone can say that there were only harsh weekdays in the army ...