living in the back room, small businessmen, ply through the room. One of the business people, seeing something on his TV, laughs like a woman, just like an agent “Zero-zero X” from a famous cartoon. In the evening the eight-year-old daughter of the mistress approaches:
– Mom asked me to tell you: did you wash your feet at night?
– Girl, well, you like that, I do not know what …
“She said you need to wash.” A few minutes later, I thought, I go to the bathroom. Hmm … A complete mess. Well, let him. I called home for about two months, you need to gain a foothold. The initial reception made a favorable impression. The woman wants to reform, after her quibbles, brought her husband to a sad end. Maybe today’s incident is an accident?
I put my feet under the tap. Again.
…-My daughter said you were unhappy yesterday? Unfortunately, we will not succeed. In a week you need to leave. I will return all the superfluous to you!
And – new wanderings. Those who live in palaces – we are not friends. For them, we are useful insects, working ants. No, they are not against our existence. The main thing is that we do not interfere with them. There is no sustained emotional contact with these people. They reached a high level of well-being, but they do not want to share their emotions and knowledge, as it actually happened.
In America there is the concept of “the path of success.” Businessmen share the history of their ascent, in the smallest detail. It is accepted to be “kleve” – “transparent”, without darkness inside. “Look, I’m good. Be like me, next to me, I’ll show it. “You can betray only friends, if you understand the meaning of this carelessly constructed phrase. If you tell an unpleasant truth about people with whom you are not related, or emotional ties, everything is fine, my friend. In courts, they are released from the certificate of relatives and spouses. But, an outsider, the law simply obliges to give evidence. It would be nice if the workers began to collect data about their customers who are too shiky and send them to the appropriate authorities. Data on the incomes of all citizens, without exception, should be freely available. You can find the name of the customer in the list, see what his annual income (say, one hundred thousand rubles) and – to give an application, attaching a photo of the palace to the file.
– But, after all, some criminals can find out how much money a person has, and, as you know, to extort them. Did you think about this? Yes, and it sounds all too unusual. We do not do that.
– On the amount of money your criminals can find out easier – see what kind of a car. A person living in a luxury house is guaranteed, a rich man. So what? Realizing this, they will go to storm the cottage village?
Yes, now it is our custom to remain silent. Or bleat, under vodka, in the cabins, about how it was and will be.
Actually, the idea is not bad. Not bad, if the perimeter of this Korosta is surrounded by submachine gunners, an APC will roll into the courtyard, groups of serious workers will approach the gate, they will call. What will they say? “So, hello. We came. Tell me, dandies, where does the money for this all come from? Is it not from our pocket? Look in the eyes!”. I wonder what they will answer us? Let’s talk about our workers. I was engaged in the completion of this house, a financially independent official. The former brigades were gone, they were paid too little, or something. …Wire protrudes from the walls. They were circumcised, maybe out of a sense of justice, or, most likely, to accelerate the pace of construction. The plasterers, who dreamed of going to the warmer regions, prevented them from “doing volume” and they were shortened. The former electricians were, as I understand, on the drum, they did not plan to finish what they started. Who will do what? “You call all these wires, will you repair it?” Other guys just do not take it” – “The task is complex, but feasible. “And so, I, with the device and the hank of a long wire, walk along the floors and the cellar, looking for the ends. I stand at the switchboard, I clean out hundreds of exits. The chief engineer approaches, sharply glitters glasses of glasses:
– There, in the basement, the workers said, you do nothing, only walk, and stand for hours, near the shield. Down below, people swallow the dust, smashing the walls with the perforators, and you’re cool?
– Yes, here everything is so messed up! Complex control circuits, relays, contactors. Here, notebook, here are all the schemes, look. In theory, the one who started the business should finish it. Where are your former employees? If there are willing to stand in my place, unravel it all, please. I’ll go to the basement. Have agreed? Will I send a replacement?
He is silent.
Thinks.
After dinner, as if there was not this conversation, comes up, babbles that “very slowly, and beneath the good workers about you say a lot of bad things about you.” I look at him – not a bad one, man. But, something is wrong. As well as with these sweaty employees. After all the agreement is reached, but, here, again all over again! It’s like a man became a zombie. Outside, everything was as it was. Inside is emptiness. And really want now to drive these glasses into the eye cavities. I had to leave. I wonder how they figured out the wires themselves? The last lesson with the disappeared specialists was not enough?.. That’s what I’m leading to. I do not want the income of people in palaces to check this herd. Wait. Did I say “herd?”. I agree, the word is not good, but so far it is pretty close to the real state of affairs. If the workers see that a person, at least a little, starts to stand out from their environment, they try to “punish” him and bring him back to his place. To avoid this, a spatial and psychological separation is required. But, one, or two people should be found who would lead the work of the Spies of Justice. On tax inspectors in America, legends have been composed since the time of Mark Twain. There is a colorful character, the hero of many stories, delving into all the events that occur, talking freely both with beggars and pompous financial aces. Just like Lieutenant Colombeau. Our profession of a noble tax collector is not fully covered. To some extent, this is correct.
Now, the tax authorities are residents of stuffy offices with a lot of different businessmen, who flock there in droves, in response to another invention of “inventors”. Gloomy personalities, accustomed to working only with paperwork, pounding out businessmen, even fragile, money for the next Olympics. The paper will endure all. In it the palaces turn into huts, shopping centers become kiosks. Unfortunately, yes, in our country for a long time trust more papers than eyes and common sense, but confused slightly. The more papers, the easier it is for the clerks to get lost in them.
…One and a half years ago I had to work in the office. Noticing that I own some programs, but rather, through a misunderstanding, I was seated at the computer. And I began to prepare documents for the Energy Supervision. Technical work has already been completed. Experts have installed in the kindergartens and schools of Moscow a device for remote transmission of data on energy consumption. It only remained to get money from the state for this. The project manager, myself and two other workers, worked on this task for eight months. Photocopies of passports, meters, current transformers, many other devices. Endless signatures of the manager on the protocols. Then the supervising authority needed additional photos of schools, cabinets, counters and the data transmission devices themselves. Another circle of sixty-three establishments. In the folder for each object were also attached documents, made in the program AutoCAD (the fruit of the efforts of a savvy specialist). By launching “Point”, I quite truthfully depicted (no one needed) circular vector diagrams. Description of the organizational structure, functional, project evaluation of reliability, metrological support – a few tens of points. Copies of permits, credentials and certificates. Documents in an electronic form to a capricious organ seemed not convincing enough. I piled all the new piles of paper into the printer.
The weight of the folio for only one object was two kilograms. I pushed the folders into the closet, some of them were placed on the office table. But, with the passage of time, Energonadzor lost interest in them. During a corporate event,