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Give me a robe!
I was 18 at that time, and I had my first love. It's late, of course, but anything can happen. My name Sergei was a very serious and positive person, and he looked after me according to all the rules: he took me to theaters and conservatories, gave flowers to me and candy to my mother, well, and so on. And since his intentions were the most that he was not matrimonial, we did not get any farther than kissing him for six months. I, in the end, this bagpipe even a little disgusted, but I then in such things poorly understood, I thought, maybe it's right. In addition, I had, and indeed is, in fact, Anton's neighbor. We are familiar with diapers, together grew up, in general, childhood friends. Well, it's a story, a fairy tale ahead. After the last 6 months of our acquaintance, I urged my Sergei to go on vacation to the south. But with the return there were some problems. Sergei lived in Kronstadt, there are no buses 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, done! My mother, on the occasion of summer was also away, so the night of love nothing should not be prevented. And so, on the specified day, I began to prepare according to all the rules. The shower took, namarafetilas, my mother's spirits poured from head to foot. I'm waiting. Doorbell. Something, I think, rather early. And for sure. On the threshold is the neighbor Anton in an embrace with a cat. They both look like a kind. It turns out that in a neighboring apartment repair began, and they have a cat allergic to paint. They ask to spend the night. Very timely, most important. But it became a pity where they should go. Let go. I think the 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 the rough uncle-painters of his Manechka (this cat) are completely intimidated, she does not get out from under the cupboard, she does not want anything and does not want anything at all. And Manechka, a creature with a subtle emotional organization, felt friendly participation, suddenly relaxed. Well, she did. She did not dare to get out from under her closet and to the toilet. So she threw everything on Antosha that had accumulated over a long and difficult day. And under the full program. In general, the picture is oil: my Anton is all wet and dirty, like a sewer and cursing on what the light stands. I, of course, laugh, like an abnormal. And Manka with a sense of accomplishment climbs under the table. Laughing, I handed Anton a washing powder and a basin and sent him to the bathroom soaking clothes, and at the same time taking a shower. And at that moment, of course, a bell rings at the door. I somehow already forgot about Sergei ... And he comes in all tanned, beautiful, in white pants and embraces me. I missed seeing you. Follow the stormy greetings, kisses, etc. And at that moment the bathroom door opens and Antosha appears in the towel around the waist and with a replica - "Let's get out of the way!" In general, a typical scene from an anecdote on the topic Returns the husband from a business trip. I tear off the fascinated look from Anton, I look at Sergei and I see in his eyes a very thoughtful expression. I understand that now someone will be beaten. Maybe even me. And I even understand Sergei somewhere. Well, how would you react? You come after a long separation from the girl, in which you see the future wife and mother of your children. And find there some kind of red-haired subject in a towel that requires a robe. Trying to at least somehow defuse the situation, I squeeze out a smile and say in the voice of a sweet idiot: "Meet Seryozha, this is my neighbor Anton." It can not be said that this phrase produced a soothing effect. Stress, they say, shortens life. This story probably took at least a week for all four of its participants (including Manka). She just added gray hair to me.
Everyday Life of the Service Center
Dialog. Not contrived. - I'm having a problem with the printer. Fix it. - Learn more. What about him? "He prints pale." - Has it started for a long time? - No, recently. Previously, I printed normally. - Cartridges used only original? - Of course! I did not change them at all. I took off their cover and poured water, everything was fine. Now here's the pale print went ... probably the printer broke ...
The formula of socialism It was a long time ago - under socialism ... One woman saved up money for new furniture. For a long time I was looking for opportunities to buy without queue, finally, I found a seller. There is a bargaining. - Your conditions? There is the economic formula of capitalism "commodity-money-commodity." The seller's answer can be considered an economic formula of socialism: - TWO PRICES AND YOU!
It was a long time, in the year 85. With a group of friends-tourists went on a campaign. First rafted along the Indigirka 500 km, then went to the ridge. Chersky in the foot of the hike. During the alloy, a very important detail was lost from the primus - a burner (this is such a thing in the form of a cap with a lot of holes). The rafting was completed in a small village of Khonu - a district center of the Momsky District of Yakutia. We did not, of course, find the primus in it, where it would come from, but it would be undesirable to go to the mountains without it. During the visit to the pharmacy for replenishment of the supplies of medications and condoms (do not think bad, but we hide matches in them), our supervisor's look fell on the contraceptive metal caps sold at that time. In shape and size - an exact copy of the lost part of the primus, only without holes. Well, holes do - no problem. Asking him at the amazed young apothecary, our manager clicked on it with his finger, returned the cap to the girl, saying to her: "It will not do, aluminum, will MELT."
Far cast
It was about a year ago. We decided to the group meeting in the penultimate year of the student's serving time to go to the forest for two days - picking chamomiles, then sandwiches eat. Well, knowing what these daisies end up with, I took a fishing rod with me, since I, admittedly, drink a little, and more than half a liter to me. And I know for myself that such popular bouquets "shampusik-brandy-vodka-moonshine-beer" subsequently cause in my imagination many different helicopters and the lack of desire to close my eyes for the night. And we had a guy in the group, a crook - Red, that is, since his birth, he was destined to amuse everyone with his love of adventure. He then only returned from Canada, from which, along with his memories of his homeland, he brought with him only a spoon for 30 bucks (pike fishing, perch and other gifts of nature). He still boasted in the train that the fish was all his, since if this fish sees such a stupid spoon-bait, he will consider it an honor to be caught on it. I, being well acquainted with the terrain and having a littleness in such situations, decided not to mention the absence of predatory fish in the planned object of the demonstration of a 30-bucks Canadian spinner. Well, we arrived at the place of dislocation, settled down, tyapnul on a little, and I decided to go fishing, there to catch the toads and stuff. With me went my friend Igor and the same Red. I took with me a bottle of Pervak ​​(stronger than that), tsybulk, black bread and a can of Olivier, since I've been fishing for a number of years, and I know that in such "fishing" places fishing is an excuse, alcohol is a means, and spiritual conversation is the goal. Igor and I put the fishing rods and give for Ukraine, for health, for women, traditionally. Then after the third we notice that someone is missing ... where is Red? We look, we look, whether did not go to swim varieties with drinking. And he, deciding not to postpone the pleasant for later, went to the dam to run the lure. Well, it means that my friend and I take zero interest in our fishing rods, as the ritual preparation for launch is in full swing at the dam. I do not know why I need to wipe my hair with a hamster, and then spit on it and so on, but the process lasted about five minutes. Here we have already figured out how far it will fly. I, then, say 20 meters, Igor - 25. As we would later calculate - dick knows it, but excitement is excitement. We look - right now there will be a zakid. The sweep ... the launch ... flies ... flies ... flies ... more flies. Yoshkin cat - at the other end of the lake! I honestly did not see this in my life! So far away they threw it. Well, we started applauding, we praise the Redhead, we have already gathered for his health ... and the Red one covers something on the dam with a superhuman mat! Conclusion: the line to the coil should be tied.
Blue harassment
It was in our student's time. In the hostel, in the room where we lived six times, in the evening somehow we talked about the blue. It turned out that out of six people the blue approached the four. These four as to the spirit told how there were attempts at this indecency. The story of the next guy: - I'm standing at the bus stop. A man comes up to me. In a raincoat, a hat, a handsome one ... After that no one could listen to him anymore ...
Something cheaper
The case was in the city of Izum (Ukraine). My uncle, having drunk slightly with a godfather, 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 are, respectively, beautiful) And inside it was also a store, there were products, as well as items from the Izyum Optical and Mechanical Plant - glasses, binoculars, night gadgets visions, etc. And so, my uncle went to this little shop, wandered around for a bit, and then he notices that the guard of the establishment is constantly walking behind him. (And his uncle looked good, he was a former cop, with scars, his face curved slightly and money could be extorted). On a direct question from his uncle, the guard timidly mumbled that it was his job, etc. The uncle promised to pay more and the guard, apparently believing or frightened, disappeared. And so, an uncle with a godfather approach the counter and begin to ask the seller about the optics, examine the instruments (and the seller worked for 2 departments - for food and optical) and finally reached the night vision devices. Long sorted, the seller probably already was sure that they would buy something, and then it sounded: - Okay, give us something cheaper! The seller jokes with his finger on the appliance: - This one ?! Uncle, maliciously smiling: - No, give us a bottle of vodka and we'll go. The seller was dumbfounded. When they left the institution, they were probably escorted by all the guards.
What month are you in, Anechka?
School. Senior classes. I, honors pupil, proudly stomping from the assembly hall, where they announced the results of the next Olympiad. On the stairs, the friendly-soft carcass of the head teacher obstructs me. With a sweet smile Olga Alexandrovna asks: "What month are you, Anechka?" I figeyu, pale, smoothly fall into a sediment, dropping the jaw on the marble floor of the native gymnasium ... I stupidly look at my belly completely attached to the spine and feverishly recall that it could give cause for ... - So where? the headmistress asked more persistently. Oh, Freudianism ...
Concrete floor
It was in those times when I was a heroic fighter of not less heroic building squad. We worked in the Arctic, and were engaged in the fact that the concrete was poured into the basement of one of the plants under construction. And since we live in Russia, we also build in our way. At first the shop was almost completely rebuilt - 500 square meters, and then they remembered about the floors in the cellars. The cellars were not used in any way, since they froze through the long polar nights, and so the ceilings were 1.5-1.6 meters high. And we are a meter seventy-meter ninety. So to drag a stretcher with concrete of meters on 15 in a half-bent state of pleasure it is not enough. And so, at the end of the day I see such a picture: two first-year students are dragged by these ill-fated stretchers. And as the day is running out, the strength of them also ends. They blunder along the sinusoid, and the one in front, looks, the poor guy, in the floor, and the one that behind wobbles from side to side and yells at him (also nerves, of course, on the platoon) - Yes, go left! He turns to the left, and the rear yells: - Bl # d, I tell you - LEFT! He takes more left. He again: - Where are you carrying? Take it to the left, goat! And so a few more times. Finally, the front does not stand up, and without throwing a stretcher begins to yell too: - And where do you think, fuck, I bear ?! Then the rear subsides for a short while, and then without lowering the tone yells: - So it was necessary to RIGHT, and generally WHAT DIFFERENCE !!! Here all around and fell, and many did not get up.
Do you sell us red mercury?
It was at the beginning of perestroika, when cooperatives were selling clothes, soap, washing powder and other rubbish, and mobile phones, e-mails and pagers had not yet appeared, so it was a separate technological task to get to us from Novosibirsk to the city by long distance telephone. Once my friend calls to his parents. Once the number dialed - silence, two numbers dialed - sounds mysterious from the subspace, angers it all, the person begins to boil slowly. The third time I dialed the number - it seemed to make my way, long beeps went on - now they will pick up the phone. But the annoyance - in parallel, there is a conversation between two "businessmen": - Well, so you sell us red mercury? - Of course, we sell. - Do you have a license? -? - Well, we will not be imprisoned, for the fact that you sell us red mercury? And it is clear after all, that it is not in the buzz of calling back - you spend money on spots, or talking with your mother "in such a society" of co-ops. My acquaintance became furious with this chatter and speaks maliciously into the receiver: "Let's plant!" And immediately shot! Both merchants immediately threw the tube.
this is destiny
In the early 90's with the products, if anyone remembers, it was, to put it mildly, bad. And so we went one time with my mother to the local shops, in order to obtain food. In one of the shops there was a lot of people - apparently, they brought the EDU. I got up with bags in the corner, and my mother went to get what they brought. I stood right next to the meat department and after a while my attention was attracted by the following picture. One old man was buying meat. The algorithm there was this: a butcher (a very colorful peasant of about 35 years) showed the client a piece of meat if he (in the sense of a piece) the client arranged, the butcher weighs the meat, considers the price, writes it on two pieces of paper - one gives to the client, the second puts on a piece of meat . The piece of meat selected by the client is deposited on a separate table, where several similar pieces of paper are already lying. The client goes to the cashier (there, of course, also the queue), pays and with a check comes back to the butcher, who on a check gives the meat to the client. Why do I write all this in detail? Now you will understand. The above-named old man chose meat for a very long time and is tedious ... And then he does not, and it's not like that ... in one piece of bone, you see, a lot, in another fat ... About the quality of meat in those days, I think, it is not worth talking about - and so it is understandable. But the old man apparently did not understand ... The butcher with his stony face cut off another piece from the big carcass with an ax, it was evident that he was already struggling - that's why the pairs of ears will go. The probability that the next blow of an ax will be inflicted not on the carcass, but on the harmful old man, increased. In the brutal turn, by the way, someone was already beginning to express an opinion that this would be a good solution to the problem that arose. And then a miracle happened - another piece of meat, finally, the old man arranged. All sighed with relief. Butcher did the above-mentioned actions - weighed, wrote a price, gave the old man a piece of paper, put aside the chosen piece. The old man trudged toward the cash register. He came in about 20 minutes. He gave the butcher a check. The butcher recognized him at once. The butcher with a check goes to the table, on which the selected pieces lie. For a few seconds he looks at the table, then at the check ... And then he ALL DID. But what happened was that someone had a piece of meat that was exactly the same as that of the old man, this man came earlier and the butcher gave him an old piece by mistake. The butcher, with a funeral expression on his face, walked slowly to the old man who was waiting for his prey and said: "Father, this is fate." It's fate, Father. And, it was fun only to me one: the people standing in line before that, already broke up, and those who stood now, did not see the first act of the tragedy. The old man, after that, was surprisingly amenable: without a sound he took another piece for the same price and left. I was tired, probably ....
Visit to Irkutsk
During the Soviet era, two friends lived in a hostel - one from somewhere near Ryazan, the other from Irkutsk. And throughout the entire course of study, and they were already on course on the 4th, the one who from Irkutsk told me - what a beautiful, beautiful city in his, Siberia in general - is a miracle, Baikal nearby, and all that. In this case, he advised a friend from Ryazan, who was never beyond the Urals at all, to go to Irkutsk. He all refused (such as "What I did not see there in your Irkutsk, such a distance," etc.). But the Siberian all the time, he podbival to it. And one fine day, when they were already approaching the 5th course, a guy from Ryazan got drunk in the trash, and ... remembered about Irkutsk. And something he terribly wanted there (a friend then was not there). He did not hesitate to go, and bought a plane ticket. I must say that at that time the ticket for the plane was much cheaper, and you could afford it to the student. So, he bought a ticket, got on the plane, continued to weld all the way, then he threw up ... In general, he flew to Irkutsk in a state of groggy. When he set foot on the glorious Pribaikalsk land, he was not up to the beauty and landscapes - his start terribly muddied (so much to drink, and even the flight probably affected) After standing, and paling from the bridge to Angara, he took the ticket back and ... flew to Moscow. On the plane, he continued to muddle (so much in the air is hard). I flew to Moscow, got to the hostel, fell asleep. Then, until the end of my studies (and probably even further), everyone was talking about what kind of ... this Irkutsk, and what there is nothing to do.
What kind of Minsk?
In the mid-80's I was on a business trip in Moscow. In the course of the matter, some supply questions brought me to one of the Moscow suburbs in the Kursk direction, where I became a participant in the dialogue, in the veracity of which never, no one believed. But he was. I remember every word. Having found out the necessary questions, I went to the post office, call home to Minsk and consult with my superiors. In the window of receiving the order sat a frail lady of 35-40 years with a head swirling into a white kerchief. - Where are we calling? - To Minsk. - Is Minsk a city? - City. Yes. - What? "What, what?" - Minsk, what kind? "Well, what a he ... A nice, such a nice little town." - Milai my-oh! Do you want to powder me for a long time, huh? Are the areas the same? - Ah, the area. Minsk-oh he area, aunt, Minsk-oh! She upset me then. But when it was brought to America, to Boston, there's me a neighbor, an American (of the same aunt age), on the contrary pleased. Time was in the period of their "Desert Storm". In the political discussion of this event, I suddenly began to doubt the intelligence of my interlocutor working in the company selling used cars. I asked: - And where, they say, is this same Iraq, with which you are fighting, is located? After a pause, he replied: "No, it's definitely not in South America." About Minsk, I told him, after that, did not tell me anything. He said that I'm from Moscow.
Serious intentions
In ancient times the state, in the person of OSVOD, took care of citizens of a great country. On our beach were placed crosses with crucified on them lifebuoys and visual agitation. Hot Summer. Seeing a friend in the Red Army. Naturally, night swimming. After a swim, after wiping ourselves with my friends, we are going home, and then we find out the absence of one comrade. We return back, remembering it with all sorts of different words and whole expressions. And we fall from laughter. Standing on the knees near the cross with a life ring on which some forgotten trunks were dried, he pleaded with tears: - Girl !!! Well, come with us! Yes, I have the most serious intentions.
Nothing to lose
When I just finished school, I worked as an assistant in the warehouse of radio components. Our closet from the closet of storekeepers was separated by two shelves, between which stood an embroidered cardboard box from the TV. Me and the same lazy shots were about 17-18 years old and we greedily caught everything that was associated with sex, which, as is known, we did not have then. And one day we managed to hear how the aunts talk about it (~ 30, 40, 50 years). The story of the eldest: - I go somehow from the second shift and stop me three milkers, years to 14-16. Mole come on, aunt, undress and go to bed, or not ... Well, I think I have nothing to lose, I do not want to get a grudge in the face, I'll endure it somehow. They so kul'tutnenko still lay the jacket. Well, the first one went like this, nothing. But under the second I was so dumbfounded! How I hugged him, dear! I was brought to the senses by his cry: "Tetenka !!! VOOSE !!! I WILL NOT BE MORE !!!" The third refused ...
Cheerful office
I work in a women's team, as it is not surprising, but squabbles occur extremely rarely. Usually the office is fun, sometimes too much. Today our managers gave it away. The girl-manager accepts the fax, that's impossible, and she asks the person on the other end of the wire to repeat. Literally: - I have already BECOME, maybe once more. After a while, the second manager on the phone explains how to reach us (to the office), with the following words: - ... Ligovke forward with your feet. On our wild laugh the director rode.
Why in Lopotovo?
It was at the height 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 at the rest home under the name "Robinson". The nearest village, Lopotovo, is 4 km away from it. In Lopotovo there is a shop and a bus station. We are a company of colleagues - not to drink fools, and their wives, who are constantly being criticized for their husbands, spying, taking liquor and so on. The first evening they drank everything brought with them. The next morning, the gloomy peasants are talking among themselves: - By two o'clock we'll go to Lopotovo ... The wife of one of them has heard and threateningly asks: - Why in Lopotovo? The answer is: - ... Yes ... Bus schedule to see. After a while, when the sad men, having breakfasted without appetite, leave the dining room, Volodka runs to them and shouted joyfully: "Guys!" What did I find out !!! Suddenly he notices a flock of wives standing nearby and pricked up their ears, and ends his sentence: "In Lopotovo, the bus schedule from eleven shows!" Wives laughed so much that they could not even get angry.
Beacon for beer
It was in those days when our chief of the department (the colonel) was still a cadet of the missile school. One evening, people wanted to drink beer. Scraped up the money, found the messenger - but here's the trouble, no dishes. Some kind of gifted head suggested using a ball light from a lamp. No sooner said than done. On the way for a beer, the messenger successfully crossed the fence and was outside the territory of the school. When he returned, the cadets were horrified to see that he was running with a plafond full of beer right to the central checkpoint. All already mentally pereporaschalis and with beer and messenger for the time of his presence on the guardhouse. And at the checkpoint at this time there is such a story. The captain on duty, seeing the passing cadet with such a container and familiar liquid, seemed to call him and asked: "What do you have, comrade cadet?" "Olypha, Comrade Captain." - Fool fool, get out of here sooner, while the chief of the school there. After this, more suitable dishes appeared for beer, and this case is remembered until now.
It was at a time of not very old student life. My friends and I were hanging out in the hostel after the couples - naturally, with beer, managing to play cards and flutter. After the traditional themes (football, girls ...), the speech went to the institute and classes. One guy from our company, Oleg, shuffling the deck, casually said: - And I learned the German language. Yesterday I watched the film in the original language - I understood everything. We have a stupor. In my head the thought "Damn, that's a hero, not that we ...". And everything would be fine if Oleg did not continue in earnest: - Yes, what to understand in German porn films - one "Uha! Uaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa". .. Das is fantustisch! "
The queue for meat
It was in those days when Leonid Brezhnev was glorified by radio, television, newspapers, etc., etc., so intensely that my nephew in the first class, the question of the teacher "Who wrote the poem" was called the great Russian poet Pushkin, "Leonid Ilyich." At the same time, in Sevastopol, where the business was going on, it was very bad with the meat in the stores and the people wrote down in the morning on a piece of paper pressed by pebbles at the entrance. Ivanov 2. Petrova 3. Sidorchuk, etc. "And when meat was brought, people pulled themselves up personally and arranged a roll call." So a man approaches and writes himself down on a piece of paper: "56. Lenin. "After a while, the next one comes up, reads the last name and, laughing, writes:" 57. Brezhnev. "And number 58 was knocking, and the brave guys drove up to the roll call and numbers 56 and 57 were fixed in. They bring to the KGB, start for interrogation and ask for documents at number 56, and he calmly gets a passport in which the name in black and white in the column it is written "Lenin" (his ancient genus Lenin is proud of the name, which is much older than the genus Ulyanov, whose son took this pseudonym.) The Gebeshnikov faces stretched, take under the visor and they take Lenin to the store manager with a request to buy Lenin individually, so that not discredit After such embarrassment, the GB cautiously asks number 57: "Excuse me, what's your name?" (Really, Brezhnev, there is a hockey player, Brezhnev), who guilty answers: "Tyutkin." "Oh, Tyutkin! - with joy yelling Gebeshniki.And Tyutkin gets in full.
17 hours
It was in the midst of the eighties. I studied at the institute and once a week we spent the whole day at the military department. And classes at the military department differed from others in that they were practically impossible (due to the severity of the subsequent consequences) to filter out. And also because the steam was not three, but four - a full 8-hour working day. Two pairs, a break for lunch - all as it should. Nevertheless, it sometimes happened that the course of lectures for different reasons ended earlier, so that the teacher left two or even four hours left. Then this teacher "in order not to violate the accountability" all this time, poisoned us with tales from his serviceman in the troops of the past. Release studios from the last hours - never, because "according to the Charter - not allowed." If the instructor Ivanov could not occupy this watch himself, he asked to replace his teacher Petrov ... The ritual was respected sacredly. But one day a big bump from the Political Department came to our military department and arranged a general police officer's polls for the whole afternoon. Because of this, the established orders risked crashing down because of the inability of officers to expose themselves a replacement. The solution was found in the fact that on our cycle there was still one "acting non-officer" - a laboratory assistant named Mashkovsky. All the students of all the teachers were driven into one audience, the "elder Mashkovsky" was revealed to them, the officers retired ... Naturally, the laboratory assistant did not have a hundredth part of that glorious past that any absent teachers had. Why and announced - "to do business, sit quietly, the end of classes - at 17 o'clock, I'm in the next room" and was washed off. Four hours of total quiet idleness led everyone into a state of such fucking that when it was "17 hours", when the clock-wake-up clock from someone was squeaking "pip-pip-pip" and I said spontaneously the phrase " Mashkovsky time - seventeen hours "- people banged to the ringing in the windows ...
It was in the early 90's in a small town near Smolensk. Next to the city, another block of the nuclear power plant was built and its Poles built, they are very enterprising people, so they organized a whole Polish market. In those days, shops were different in their primordiality, there was not a shit in stores in short, and on the Polish market one could buy everything from nails to "stinger". One day my husband's mother asked me to sell the carpet. The carpet was huge and we just went to the market to look for a buyer ... They took it into their wits (we should somehow tell the foreigners what they want from them). We did not know only one thing, that the carpet in Polish is ICRA. In general, we approach the first Polish who liked us and ask: - Pan, do you need a carpet? He cheerfully so: - Are red and black? My husband: - White ... Pole turned pale, and her husband: - Well, yes, handmade! Another few of his comrades came to the Pole and all had a dumb question in their eyes, and my husband: "Vietnamese!" The Poles became more and they tried to understand us with interest, and my husband, angry at their dullness, already broke into all: - On the wall, assholes, 3 to 4. The Poles surrounded us with a tight ring and caught every word of my spouse, and he, showing his fingers length, shouted: - Here's a pile! Pure wool!!! A dense ring only occasionally asked us: "Clean wool?" White? On the wall? 3 on 4? Handmade? In general, I do not know when and what would have ended if I did not remember the word "Gobelin". The ring around us just collapsed! Gogot stood so that no humorist can boast such a reaction to his performance! We went home for a very long time, as we remember the faces of the Slav brothers, it became so bad at once!
Why two dials ?!
It was in this year that 83-84 in Riga there was an exhibition of perspective models of clocks of all factories then the USSR - for our people an almost unprecedented spectacle - the crowd at the entrance is indescribable. I get inside and enjoy the spectacle of what our industry can produce in the future. Near one of the stands stand sister (12 years) and brother (5 years) look at the samples of tourist hours. I explain: on the usual dial diameter of centimeters 6-7 are two more small dials with a diameter of about a centimeter on them, you can expose the time of two time zones, but they show the same question of the sister: - And why two dials? Immediate response of his brother: - So after all, two eyes then ...
It was in India in the far eighties. Our small Soviet team helped Indian friends build a new mine. Helped - it means: we built, and they honestly studied with us. Work was carried out on the penetration of a vertical trunk at the Dzhanjra mine. And there was at the construction site one Indian engineer named Gupta, who again very conscientiously taught the great and mighty of our language. One day this Mr. Gupta comes to our interpreter 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 best he could, intelligibly read a short lecture on the soldering process of non-ferrous metals. Gupta listened to this and said: "No, not that." Just from the trunk went Mr. Ivanov and said that the water level in the trunk of the EGG! These were the lessons of the Russian language in India.
Special Russian mentality
It was in the year that it was 95-96. In one part, soldiers were often etched with brake fluid. No disciplinary action was taken against them. Then one polkan guessed he hung a poster with the following content: "Sodatas! Brakes are poison!" If she was harmless, she would have been drunk long ago. "The following month, there was not a single case of poisoning. Here is such a special Russian mentality, you know ...
End of tenderness
In the early 80's I worked in one of the maternity hospitals in Moscow. And we had a wonderful anesthetist Lesha, young, tall, charming, handsome. The ladies simply dragged him. In addition, he possessed an amazing gift to a woman during childbirth to calm, relax. Somehow gives birth to me hohlushka one and a half centners, screaming good mate, I do not listen. And it must be said, hohlushek has a sign - the louder during the birth of an umbrella, the more chances to give birth to a kid. I'm tired of it to death with my cries, calling Lyosha - calm, I say, and the debt is paid in red, I'll help you someday. Lesha comes into boxing, starts to hypnotize Madam-persuade: - Honey, relax, calm down, do not shout now. Take my hand ... The lady, without looking, stretches out her hand, gets to Lesha between her legs, here she starts another fight, and her hand is impulsively compressed. The bestial roar of Lesha blocked the cries of all women in childbirth. When I finally managed to unclasp Madame's hand, Lesch went out of boxing, he was on sick leave for a week, and after that he did not even look in my direction. And he never again addressed to the women in childbirth tenderly and gently.
Who did not vote?
It was in the distant 96th, the day after the first round of elections Beni. I study in a nice OIATE and we have a wonderful (without the slightest irony) teacher of philosophy Petrash Yu. G. But he has his point - the old-school communist. And now, Monday is a pair of philosophy. The first question of the respected Yuri Grigorievich - who voted for the Communists ... in the group rises one or two hands. There should be a half-hour lecture on how well it was under the Communists and what kind of obadlui we are. After the lecture, he inquires - and whether there are among us so irresponsible persons who did not vote at all. I, as an honest man, raise my hand. What started here! I have, in principle, was in good standing, but here ... The lecture continued personally in my honor! The whole group crawls under the tables ... when the lesson was almost over, one of the guys could not stand it and groaned through the laughter: "He's a minor" ... I never saw him in more embarrassment ...
Addict in SLEEP
In the distant 1993, a young opera from the MUR was sent to reinforce SCLIF. At night, about 4 am, when he heard the sound of a broken window, he ran into the next room and saw a man climbing through a window. Later it turned out that drugs were needed. There was a usual dialogue in such cases, with interjections such as rubbish, a bad copy and an argument in the form of a water pipe somewhere in the centimeters. 80. A man climbed through the transom and his leg protruded forward and in this position he conducted a dialogue. The response to the pipe was a second shot on the legs, which hit the stomach. The freshman was removed from the transom on the operating table and two gray-haired old uncles sewed him and on a gurney. The change in the opera was over, he left with the reinforcement, having surrendered the shot at the change to his friends. The most interesting thing he learned from friends. The narcosis has departed from a narcosis, all as it is necessary in the left arm or hand a dropper, right handcuffs to a wheelchair. After the tirade about the accursed cops, requests began to unbuckle. And she stiffened from him, and turned over on one side and smoked, well, in less than two hours I broke it off. Uhlamal that he needed to pee. Only he was unfastened, the drug addict immediately started to fight, in order to escape. Two operatives began to twist it. But very carefully - someone from under the knife, a dropper in his hand dangles. Puffed, puffed, twisted,
fastened again.
Sit puffed up, then the surgeon on duty comes in - a man of 30 years old (the old men were replaced). He asks what kind of noise there was. Well, they explain to him that he wanted to run away yesterday's operated, but we carefully fastened him again. The surgeon's phrase is verbatim: - At that yesterday's drug addict? Yes, what fussed with him, they gave me on the head and the operating table, I would have stabbed him there at once. After this phrase, before discharge from SCLIF, the addict begged not to unhook him from the wheelchair, ate, slept. that rhymes too, everything was done with a gurney.
Cat in a suitcase
It was in the relatively recent years, when the first Chechen company had just ended and people of the Mentovian nationality became especially interested in the Caucasian people. One citizen I know is an Assyrian, born and raised in Ukraine, but the person who did the same thing, also after a long car accident, decorated with a strong scar across the cheek, moved from point A to point B and drove a balum and shaky the cat is a teenager of a black suit. Filled us in his Peugeot a lot, there were enough things, and the cat, thrust into a large suitcase with a hole for ventilation, loaded into the trunk. Here we need a brief digression: the face of the Assyrian-Ukrainian nationality at that time was a free artist, a film director and so on. - that is, a person who is creative and strongly fascinated by mysticism and occultism at the time (now he is a respected Orthodox clergyman, fate often throws creative people at different extremes, or in the words of his current vocabulary: demons do not slumber in temptation). In behavior, he then and now was distinguished by great restraint, if not to say sullenness, being very laconic and looking quite hard. He dressed, as well as follows representatives of the shop of free artists, wearing a very extravagant - such as a Finnish national cap with a severed visor and some pea jacket of dark colors. So, having such a driver at the wheel, we drove into the car, hammered to the eyeballs, to another artist, taking from him for work a plastic skull dummy with a jaw on the spring and a pair of femoral (plastic) bones - well, a still life of some kind the man needed to write, in a gloomy, conceptualistic manner peculiar to him;), citizens who did not sit behind the wheel and were drinking drinks, joyfully met the appearance of the turtle (and why are young people always so pleased with the appearance of the skulls and skeletons?) - with a jaw-dropping jaw, teeth in a plastic cup and thrown into the same trunk. No sooner had our Peugeot wrapped from Ligovka to Marat as both on-the operation "whirlwind-antiterror" or there "tsunami-anti-Caucasus" - comrades in flak jackets, hung with automatic rifles on the corner, and already smiling from afar, seeing not the blond driving good "wheelbarrow": - Show documents, drugs, weapons, ammunition is? - and one already waist-deep in the cabin rummaging in the glove box and between the seats. The driver gets out grimly, hands over the documents and says between the case: - Why do I need a gun, I'm a sorcerer, we usually sort things out differently (well, the man recently closed witches). The captain with a wry ironic smile: - Come on, sorcerer, trunk open yours. - You are welcome. After the trunk was opened, the lieutenant with the sergeant was bent over there, bouncing off briskly and one of them, even on a high note, even screams: a red coca-cola glass pops out of the teeth from the teeth and flashes in a dim ray of light from a street lamp, silently hides in dark snowdrifts at the curb. After a couple of minutes, when the automatic weapons are again put on the fuse, and the skull and bones are even demonstratively slightly puffed with a lighter (Lord, our happiness is that these are dummies - if they were real bone, we would have done everything on site for a couple of days to prove that participated in the ritual sacrifice), the lieutenant is a bit firm, but still trembling voice says: - What's in the suitcase, present. Even more gloomy driver: - Yes, there is no fig there, except the black cat, no ... - and throws back the lid! I will never forget the faces of these cops - Sergeant, with such a Ryazan ryakh, so he even cross himself secretly. But they released us instantly, about nothing more than asking.
Iron construction
1969 We returned with a friend after work on unloading vegetables on the basis of the Kiev railway station to the hostel on a trolleybus. In the back seat, a peasant with a certain iron construction settled himself. Apparently, he had already taken something well somewhere and was dozing off a bit. At one of the stops in the salon from the front door entered another not quite sober man. From the starting jerk of the trolley bus, he was carried along the salon and he neatly sat directly on the knees of the first muzhik. They did not argue long and broke up with the world. And the first guy after waking up wanted to talk with us. We asked him about the iron construction (a shiny nickel-plated pipe about a meter high with a cross at the base), for which it is needed. He began to talk with animation that they were going to play dominoes in the evening and this thing would be used to make a domino table. Then it's time for him to go out. He descends to the bottom step, grabs the handrail of the trolleybus (he confused it with his design) and tries to tear it away. When this attempt ended unsuccessfully he begged us: - Guys, help !!! We helped him, of course.
The point has cracked
Yesterday my friend was walking my baby and took me with her. We are sitting on the playground, drinking beer. And Olka (my friend) looks at my glasses like that (my eyesight is bad) and worries so: "Masha, your point is cracked!" In the sense of a lens a little bit. I'm aware of this - I answer: - Well, yes, I say already two weeks ago, after our last party. When the meaning of what had been said reached us, we scared the local grandmothers for five minutes with our wild rust. Like this.
I missed a bit
In an old bachelor period, I lived with a friend in a post-graduate dormitory. Somehow on Friday two classmates came to us to mark the end of the work week. Well, they noted, they played cards ... Already in the dead of night these two codes quietly faded. 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: - Natasha, open up! One of us in the pitch dark groped for the corridor switch. Such a picture was illuminated. One of the friends stood by the wall, hanging his head. Another drummed into the fire shield. Has missed a little.
Do not take it off.
It was at the time of general medical examination, when in all enterprises and educational institutions it was obligatory to visit once a year X-ray room with mandatory fluorography. The mechanism of mass admission of patients was worked out by doctors before the automatism, that's why they usually visited X-ray rooms according to this scheme: the day of a man, the other day of a woman. Ten people came into the office. While some undressed to the waist, others did X-rays, and others already dressed. That is, the people in the office crowded a lot, and the process was put on the conveyor. On the day when a woman was examined, doctors had to be especially careful, since many hung chains, pendants and similar costume jewelery on their necks. All the decorations doctors forced to shoot, so as not to lubricate the picture. But since there are no places for storage and there are not always acquaintances who can hold gold and not so bland, the smart doctors came up with another way. When the woman, wrapped in chains, was getting into the apparatus, the radiologist forced 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, there was a fluorography of a young student of the Academy of Arts. The reception was conducted by a radiologist. Ignoring the charm of the exposed girls, a tired doctor urged them to finish the routine work more quickly. The girls, giggling, looked at the young doctor and, undressing, quickly dived into the X-ray apparatus. One of the girls stood indecisive, not knowing how to deal with the gold chain and pendant. Turning to a more brisk girlfriend, she asked if you need to shoot the chain. As sometimes happens in such cases, the hubbub in the office stopped for a second and in the silence the voice of a competent friend sounded. For about ten minutes, the doctors who were rolling away from laughing could not shove the students into the apparatus. "Looking at her inexperienced friend, the girlfriend authoritatively stated:" In principle, you can not take it off, then this guy will force you into his mouth. "
I rested with my girlfriend on the bank of the Volga one summer. The water was still cold and we lay on the beach, sunbathing, hiding behind an upside down boat. Around us, almost no one was. I took off my friend'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 peasant has fallen down from a steep cliff, apparently wanted to see what my friend and I are doing and lost our balance, as I was very drunk. We helped him up, it turned out that he got off with only scratches ...
The voice of the unit
It was a long time ago when, as an exemplary boy, I studied in the 6th grade of the Soviet school. Somehow in the lesson of literature they called me to the board for reading the poem by V. Mayakovsky. I must say that the teacher considered me a mutter, which was completely untrue. (In proof I note that I graduated from school with a medal). So, standing at the blackboard, the famous phrase of Mayakovsky, my frightened children's mind, frightened by a public performance, transformed into "the voice of the unit is thinner than the letters ...". I ask you to believe that I almost fell through. I was so ashamed that I, not knowing what to do, read the poem to the end, stammering and flashing with a purple color. Children in the class, of course, received a lot of fun, and the teacher, of course, put me a three-pronged, not diplomatically explaining for what ...
At first we doubted ...
In the late 80s the troops had a cheerful tradition - once a month to build personnel on the parade ground and read out the accidents that occurred during this time on the division. And not just the facts were cited, but also the explanations of the victims (probably, so that others learned from other people's mistakes). Intentions like good, but the explanations were quoted verbatim, so all this was heard no worse than Zhvanetsky. In general, we were built and a cheerful five minutes began. Pulkach, looking at the sheet, reads in a commanding voice: "A private soldier got a jaw fracture ... From the explanations of the victim - he slipped on a piece of soap in the bath. We are all - hehe-heh ... we know this piece - there it is in the nose picks. Palkach continues: "The sergeant got such a concussion ... From the explanations of the victim - he woke up and reached for himself in the cab of the car, slightly banging his head. We are - ha! Can we guess what kind of cabin it is! Well, and at the same pace a couple of minutes of fun. Then we look - the half-poacher began to shiver a little, face reddened and inflated. But all the same he gathered his strength and gave out: "A fifteen-year-old girl has infected three soldiers with gonorrhea." We slightly wilted from such a phrase, and the halfpot, apparently wanting to finish everything off, went on: "From the explanations of the victims: We initially doubted, but then she treated us to moonshine and we decided that it was not contagious ... Full of flying! All where they stood there and lay down ... But someone can say that in the army there were only harsh everyday life ...