Rus Articles Journal

Business trip. The breath of fresh air in a smog of life

All life lived in lie. No, itself tried not to lie though very badly it turned out. Generally because the truth sounded so deceitfully that began to doubt its truthfulness. And here the lie almost always sounded so plausibly that very much there was a wish to believe in its exclusive truthfulness.

As soon as it was executed eighteen, sight, and then suddenly deteriorated and hearing, and then in general all bodies fell apart. Suddenly began to see what others did not see, or, at best, noticed only out of the corner of the eye. And, as he is timid, staring in disbelief and always keeping the mouth shut. Doubted, worried, even did not want to live, confident in the pathology.

For example, always saw that my chief, well, the idiot the idiot! No, it at all not the same when “yes all chiefs are idiots!“. Therefore as was and vice versa: I was an idiot, and my some chief - not idiot, and quite even a reasonable being, of course, within the existing idiotic rules.

Or, for example, that I work at the enterprise where only idiots work. To take at least our idiotic rules and orders which I, the idiot, never understood. And others even very much. Not idiots, means.

Yesterday I prepare for business trip, and money, on registration of bossy visas as our accounts department speaks, it is not necessary to me. Speak, you at first show the check to us, and already only then, we compensate to you. I ask: it is interesting that I from own pocket perhaps have to pay for the administration? And suddenly I will have a production need in a look very much even a round sum so, I will have to lay out it from the pocket full of holes, and to suck a paw, and then to you with a cap in hand to go? Quite so - answer.

I am long rumpled and, at last, I go to the boss that or money to ask, or to ask that lashed out at accounts department for such idiotic orders. I explain, and the chief to me: so what you did not tell at once? I, grit, now I will send the car for evram, wait. I waited, waited, and he home left, about me, small, forgot. I dared to call it home - here the idiot! - and it on me as will begin to roar: what you disturb on trifles?!

Anything to on trifles! Now I have to make out at own expense visas, and hotly to thank the chief for it?

So I go to business trip to Minsk. Ahead some head with ears, and all road, such well put office tenorok, vigorously, before drowsy sudden start as it from the broken horn of plenty of god Boltun, pours inhuman such speech sits: the committent - the contractor, the commission - audit, transaction - accounting. And further, in the same musty smell, tireless office workers of a computer and Klava. Working diligently mixes calls with calls to darlings and relatives. Lisps with synuly, the daughter, the wife. At once it is visible - the careful father and the exemplary husband. And then again adds some salt and fries: corporation - an action, cooperation - approbation, stagnation - the bank note. All this speech generously peppers words of successful managers, it seems “advanced“, “interview“ and “market“. And, not stupidly so, and with skill - it is visible that word meanings, to this parasite office, are well familiar.

To me, from all this office carrion, there is an involuntary itch in different places. And the main thing, most strongly scratches in that place on which, an ekskyyuzta, I quite conveniently so sit. Itches - even my urine is absent! So that I begin zhivekhonko to crawl on it, back and forth, but I do not use a hand, so not to seem to my fellow travelers absolutely ill-bred. Despite mine quite comme il faut - a poyerzyvaniye, my neigbour - by the form at once you will tell, the lady quite intelligent - begins so refined to askance at me. And I burn is even hotter as the head with ears ahead of me the to the colleague and a family already, to svidanyitsets, stopped ringing, and now talks to the boss: “OK, Ivan Ivanych, everything will be in the best possible way, do not desire to worry“. Further: a compress - progress - full saksess.

Incredible effort of will I overcome the shameful itch, I breathe deeply and exactly, I am almost forgotten and I fall asleep. But here the bus turns to a motelk on a roadside, the door opens, passengers joyfully pour out outside and the numb members begin to knead. I, at last, am more shameless I reach by all hand that place where five more minutes to that at me itched and itched, I unburden the heart into place, and I am happily looked out in a window, in search of the head with ears, at last, to uvidat her hated corporate person.

The head with ears and at a stop with someone fries by the mobile phone, accepts poses, interesting to others, vigorously gesticulates hands as if it waves a checker, and I want to tear off it ears. And that she ceased to wave a hand, would grab those places where there were ears, and began to yell on - native, on - our: oh, mlya, painfully, mlya!

In the Minsk bank where I have to make financial transaction, the girl with the look looking through me monotonously declares to me that for carrying out transaction needs to be had at myself and the person from what a name it is made.

Interestingly, you noticed that big cities are inhabited entirely by androids, but not living people? Quite attractive, but cold before anabiosis, such kiberga. Girls with the long fitted tight jeans in the latest fashion legs, colored in two colors indumentum - blond and the brunette, and always on hairpins - stilts? - androids somehow it is less boys, but also they, with plugs - earphones in ears, with an earring - pugovichy in an ear, a bag - the tablet atilt, with the look left at home, jump hares here and there. Androids are more senior are full of self-respect and look only in themselves or from top to down. Only on you.

Especially their “androidnost“ is felt in the subway. They watch a vnikud, speak about anything, or are silent about themselves. When your views are crossed, on the contrary you see only two empty pupils which look through you. If you start talking to them, then hear not a live voice, but the monotonous signal issuing information.

- Tell and how to pass to the Stone Hill?

- Buses the fifty fourth, seventy fifth or trolleybuses the twenty third or forty fourth - the end of communication.

At androids it is useless to look for compassions, empathy or any understanding. Their slogan - “At you is problems? These are your problems!“.

Here and this time, in bank, I stand opposite to the girl - the android which looks through me as if I a blank space, on a face of any emotion. Full impartiality.

- I know Nothing. The person who you make out has to undersign on documents, otherwise transaction will be invalid.

- What?!

Ya - not the android, but the simple phlegmatic person - the Buddhist. And therefore, in comparison with this cybernetic organism, I instantly boil as the piece of carbide thrown into water, and I give it everything that I think. About it, its idiotic bank, their idiotic city. I behave as the Sicilian mafioso who just found the wife in a bed with the neighbor, and it is pleasant to me.

Eventually there is two-meter growth an android - the chief and absolutely unemotionally settles everything. I pay, I sign twenty eight very important pieces of paper at three different windows, and fatefully - with relief I am rolled out by Kolobok back home. Transaction is complete.

Now I should find Embassy of Iran. Oh, these streets, small streets and side streets! Nekrasov, Naryshkin, Nezhdanova. On the left, directly, to the right. And … to the surprise, I without effort find that place around which was going to stray long and tiresomely in one of cozy zakutochok of one-storeyed Minsk which is wrapped up in Indian summer. Carefully I ring low gate with a shod ligature. I am let in, smile, seated. Any militia, important stomachs, views haughtily. As it is unusual. I as if appear in the recent youth in which I had to face and work, including, and with Persians. Unlike the television image of east barbarians so lovingly drawn with zapadofila I that know that Omar Khayyam`s descendants, in the majority, hospitable and peaceful people. And even we, “mirnyya lyudz“, to them not to podstat. We, inhabitants mega-and macropolicies, eternally anxious, not smiling, often unfriendly. We go all out to be better. And others. We wriggle and eternally we represent something, hiding ourselves and the thoughts. Though is not present: we are good. But they now to me seem better. Just because I missed the youth, and I want to poidealizirovat a little.

Politeness and hospitality at the Asian in blood. Even if he intends to fry you on a spit, he at first will invite you to sit down and will pour a cup of fragrant coffee, and only then will knock on a head.

I sit in a cozy chair. On the Persian carpets in footwear absolutely not ambassadorial physiognomies walk about. Without ties, it is frequent in jeans, all women in scarfs. All are natural as the Asian`s eructation at a table. Unpleasantly, but naturalness bribes.

It is amusing to watch the Slavic women working there. They are also forced to go with the covered heads, hands and legs, and for some it is obviously Chinese torture. Some of them nervously glance in my party as if they are afraid of something. Here, probably in pass - skirts to a navel would go - were not nervous. And in a scarf - and already felt shy.

Instead of habitual ambassadorial arrogance I meet plain hospitality and understanding. Nearly tap of me on the shoulder as ancient friend. You have no power of attorney? It anything. For the first time it is not terrible. You will take in following. You cannot find the handle? Here, please, to you mine. Be so kind. Please, here. Please, there. Well, precisely, will fry and will gobble up.

While I collect the belongings, I hear unknown: one of visitors somewhere got lost, and the secretary of embassy, the large woman in a scarf, with Slavic light eyes and an Asian nose, in Russian, on - Persian asks the driver Said to go behind the last. Calls loss and asks to remain on the place, before its full detection by the driver of embassy Said. Who this gone in the jungle of Minsk? A press - the attache friendly to Iran Libya? Or, maybe, wife of the Persian consul? Or still what celebrity at least local manner? No, the ordinary Belarusian, as well as I who is making the way through the Minsk jungle behind the visa to the boss. You heard it? For the plebeian - an ambassadorial car?

I fall out on fresh autumn air, I inhale a full breast, and detaining in a breast this quickly withering feeling of a schastlivost from a simple human unification, slowly I go there where in five minutes this feeling will be replaced by other, more prosaic feelings and feelings.