Piousbox

There was a revolution at the factory. The new leadership threw out all the stupid instructions that had been drinking working blood for years. You're late? Fuck you, up to two hours a month, no questions asked. Did you break some stupid checkmark rule? The fine is one ruble, pure to beat. The men crossed themselves and decided that communism had come.

But there was one big detail. The management created a cunning insurance fund of the shop, where a percentage of the total salary dripped. The scheme was brilliant: the fund had a fixed “capacity” (safe buffer). As soon as it was filled to the brim, all new income was immediately paid to the peasants in the form of regular bonuses. But if there was an emergency with real damage, the repair of the machine was paid directly from this fund. The safe was emptied and premiums were frozen for the entire shop until the fund again accumulated its allowance.

And since a couple of months before that, one cheerful tractor driver had already managed to plant an imported loader in a power transformer, zeroing the fund and leaving everyone without a bonus for six months (the wives almost burned this shop alive), the holy concept of “proletarian solidarity” was eradicated in the same second. Snitching? No, man, personal investment protection!

Therefore, when Vasya crawled to his shift in the state of “light autopilot” and tried to turn on the machining center, his gently but with proletarian fury twisted their own peasants from the brigade. Handed over to the master warm. Of course, they were fired on their own. But the act of medical examination, the head of the shop defiantly locked in the safe:
- All of you, if you complain to the labor inspectorate - we give this paper a move, and you will only wave a broom until retirement.

Vasya took the calculation, bought for all the money a fierce moonshine machine with a drywood and a copper column and sat down to think how to survive.

Trading blue is an article. But Vasya is a former engineer! He invented a brilliant scheme of “church accounting”. Can't you sell? We'll just buy you a drink! And the fact that grateful guests in return share food and resources - it is purely from the heart.

Vasya solved the problem of cooling as the god of engineering: he built a closed system. Dragged an old car radiator from the balcony, smashed a penny pump from the aquarium into it, and voila - a hundred liters of water endlessly chased in a circle, cooled by a household fan. Technical genius, no other way!

But how to pay a fixed rent and buy bags of sugar? Vasya built a perfect natural exchange. He brought home a homeless drinker Kolya. Kolya took over the life and payment of communal from his penny sabbath - a good thing, for gas in the apartment was paid at a general tariff without a meter, so that the burners under the tank could burn at full capacity at least around the clock.

The remaining “clients” quickly understood the rules of the game and organized uninterrupted supplies of raw materials for the “church accounting”. One dragged bags of sugar, the second - packs of yeast, the third - a snack, the fourth brought Vasa quite decent used sweatshirts instead of burnt.

At the point, a cruel, almost sectarian discipline was established. Everyone understood: if someone starts yelling songs, brawling or puking from the balcony, the vigilant neighbors will call the outfit, the bench will cover, and the freebies will run out. We're gonna have to go back to the store to get the expensive coffer. Therefore, a crowd of severe bruises sat in the Vasina kitchen in the coffin silence. They drank silently, talked in a whisper like the conspirators in a safe house, and blew their noses out into the bathroom, first turning on the water to muffle the sound.

It was the perfect ethyl paradise! No taxes, the police are powerless (just friends came for a cultural drink), food in bulk, clothes are available, the communal is paid, and from the tap flows the purest, like a tear of a baby, a product of 70 degrees strength.

It would seem - live and rejoice. But there was one system failure in this perfect scheme. While Vasya worked at the factory, his body, without knowing it, was kept on a rigid external frame: the morning horn of the passage, a strict master, fear of dismissal and biting prices in alcohol stores. The plant actually worked for Vasya personal sanatorium-prophylactic – he dosed his life, forced him to breathe fresh air on the way to the shift and kept the inner animal in strict control.

And remaining in absolute freedom, one-on-one with unlimited, free and round the clock murmuring tap right in his kitchen, Vasya just physically could not press the brake. In this quiet, uninterrupted paradise, his health ended to hell in exactly one year.

So take care of your job, guys. Sometimes this hated entrance hall is the only thing that separates us from an early meeting with the Apostle Peter!