English / 02.03.2020 / 1466
He stumbled over a crisis, stupidity, and marriage. He stumbled, he got married. When he got married, he fell on the couch
— And the girl has become an adult! — Zemfira yelled from the speakers of old foreign cars. Our hero, Danila, was listening to music from other spheres on a lumpy couch. His wife was playing Johann Sebastian Bach's Requiem on his strained nerves.
— Why are you lying like this? You have to get a job! Masha, my friend, has a husband who works as a programmer. He goes to the office like a white man. Do you know how much he gets?
Danila was silent. By the age of twenty-five, he had reached everything. He owned a nightclub. When he asked a girl out, he invited her to his own club. And he'd make fantastic $300 a week — a little more and he'd be rich as Rockefeller. He stumbled over a crisis, stupidity, and marriage. He stumbled, he got married. When he got married, he fell on the couch. No club. No sex with models. No $300 a week.
— I'll make a programmer out of you! Hillary made Clinton President...
— And Monica Lewinsky made a joke out of him...
— It doesn't matter. Hillary made Bill president, and I'm gonna make a programmer out of you!
Her wife's seriousness and the severity of her gaze made Danya leaf through the newspaper with vacancies. As he flipped through the pages, he thought: whether he is a trembling creature, or whether he has the sacred right to flog his wife properly with a soldier's belt?
— Look, I've found it all! Read it! — the wife showed up in the kitchen. The storm broke, the dark kingdom came without a ray of hope.
— A system administrator is required... — was sluggishly reading Danya.
— Well, what did I say? Is required. Well, then it is. Why are you sitting there? Call before they cut our phone off.
With his fingers tangled in the buttons, Danya dialed. Confusing words due to racing thoughts, he made an appointment. He sighed and fell.
— Somebody's waited by a railway station, somebody's waited at home... — was coming from the open window. Zemfira was a year younger than Danya, and already a star. And he's unemployed. The achievements of one-year-olds at times like this is particularly offensive.
— Did you do any programming? — strictly asked the sexy HR manager.
They used to call them "personnel officer" and they looked in keeping with the title. Women in their 40s with complicated destinies. Now they're called fancy English words and Danya saw a girl in a narrow skirt, a transparent blouse... Stand down! In the man's head, his wife's voice rang out. The ghost of libido was gone.
— Yes, I was programming. I even wrote a few programs — Danya didn't lie. He was exaggerating a bit. One day he ordered the techies who were hanging out at his club to write an accounting program. He also played Doom. That was the end of his introduction to computer science.
— Maybe you speak English? — the interlocutor continued to torment with questions.
— Nice, — Danya picked up the answer from his thesaurus, three English words in length.
— I remember myself from the age of three...
— But I have memories since I was two.
Friends were arguing about who had the earliest memories. And I realized that I don’t remember myself in childhood... Not that I don’t remember anything at all. I don’t remember winter. I only remember summer and the moment when that summer of my childhood ended.
The Marxists took offense at me. We have an article called "Don Juan's Wall". In the article, I wrote about the unexpected consequences of quarantine. But I made an ideological mistake. I refused to consider the overproduction crisis as the cause of the Great Depression. And then it hit me.Read more...
— So the secret to success is to be in the right place at the right time?" - Someone asked in the Dark Side chat. How can I comment on this? Let me tell you about a multi-million dollar deal I once made. I'm not telling the story to show off as the money was already spent for parties in the city a long time ago — there is nothing to brag about. I'm telling the story to illustrate one principle.
So, here is the story. At a restaurant in Moscow, there was this construction businessman, his PR guy, and me. I had already handed over a report on my work. I was having some coffee, meanwhile listening to them discussing the promotion of business operations abroad.
How do you find your purpose? This question torments the poor and the rich alike. And if someone thinks that once they earn millions and billions, they will no longer have to worry about it... I will run as fast as I can, fall, rub my knees (ouch!), and still keep running, just to make sure I'm there on time to disappoint the reader. The question of purpose weighs on anyone-regardless of the bank statement. And if the reader is curious, I'm going to tell a story about a very wealthy man.Read more...