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Oh my dear fellows, gather around Grandpa Averno. I shall tell you neither a fairy tale nor a true story, but the honest-to-goodness truth. At first I wanted to tell a scary story, but then I changed my mind, and here is a story neither cheerful nor frightening. And though it has no AK or ATG, it features characters no less colorful. Listen...
This happened about 7-8 years ago, when I was not yet a big boss and businessman, but worked as a hired hand, a simple land surveyor. I measured plots in towns and villages of our glorious Moscow-region Nigon. That day, my partner and I got a plot in the suburbs. And it so happened that a jeep pulled up to the neighboring plot—neither big nor small, but a five-door, which is very important for our story. And out of that jeep stepped a hero, a mountain of a man, the kind that in jokes are called "New Russians," and among the people, "bulls." And he had everything a bull should have: fingers splayed and snot bubbles. He stopped the jeep in the middle of the street opposite his cottage, opened all the doors, and began pulling out all sorts of fishing gear, a pump-action shotgun, a tent, a boat. Apparently, he came to relax, to fish and hunt. A perfectly natural desire, I must note.
There were many items, and the bull carried them in in several trips. And on the back seat, as the autopsy later revealed, lay several loaves of bread—whether for his own needs or for fish bait, history is silent on that.
And opposite the cottage and the jeep was an undeveloped plot, where a cow was peacefully grazing. And this kind creature, sensing a tasty morsel, disdained the fragrant clover and juicy burdock, and set off to obtain its daily bread. The cow climbed onto the back seat with its front legs and head and began to enjoy itself.
Our hero came out of the house and saw a sight: "a cow in a jeep." "Holy crap!" thought the bull, and began to take measures. First, he cursed the animal with foul language. Cows are clever creatures—they understand swearing; you tell one, for example, "go to..." and it turns right or left. But this cow turned out to be an intellectual and let the swear words go in one ear and out the other.
Then the bull started pulling the animal by the tail. But the cow had the advantage in mass. Probably the smartest move would have been to go around the other side and throw the bread out of the car—then the cow would likely have climbed out on its own. But here's the trouble—our area is "urbanistic," I'd even say spoiled by civilization. Soon we'll be putting mosquitoes in the Red Book, and here's a live minotaur in a car, and on top of that, it has horns growing on one side.
Time passed, the bull's authority was declining, and although there was hardly anyone on the street (except me and the total station), this decline was unbearable. The hero lit a cigarette and began to think; from afar you could see the thought rapidly hopping through synapses and gray cells enriched with nicotine. Finding a solution in an instant, the bull ran home. And now, many years later, I remember his face: full of determination and inspiration.
The face returned with a pump-action shotgun at the ready. No, don't be afraid—the bull didn't shoot the beast, but decided simply to scare it and fired near its tail.
Well, what can I tell you—the hero achieved his goal: the cow really did get scared, and in fright, it jumped forward, knocked out the opposite door, and... got stuck. Moreover, even without any instrument, I could see that it was stuck for good—nothing like Winnie the Pooh.
What followed was a silent scene, though quite noisy—the cow mooing, the bull dancing around the jeep in something like an African style, me quietly regretting that I didn't have a video camera handy, and the street began to fill with citizens. The people in our Nigon are compassionate and sympathetic; everyone wanted to come over and offer condolences. The police arrived in the form of the local precinct officer, an ambulance arrived, I expected the fire department and gas service to show up too, but apparently no one notified them. And finally, the rescuers arrived—back then, they were still a novelty around here. A council assembled, and they unanimously concluded that cow anatomy and physique do not allow them to comfortably sit in passenger cars. The precinct officer authoritatively stated that a jeep in such a state would be moving in violation of all traffic rules. After that, the verdict was announced: "the jeep must be cut."
The bull suggested cutting the cow, but then another character appeared at the scene—the last one for today—the cow's owner. And although she was a skinny old woman, all wrinkled and freckled, she would not let her dear creature be harmed. Like a tigress, she pounced on the bull, accusing him of all mortal sins, and he might not have escaped alive. The rescuers put an end to the scandal, stating that they lacked the experience and nerves to cut the cow with a gas cutter or metal shears. The weeping bull was led into the house, a crane was brought in from some plot, the roof was cut off, the pillars were bent open, and the cow was secured.
Evening was falling; it was the end of September, and the sky, clear, cool, and indifferent to human problems, gazed down at us. The last clouds disappeared, and the first stars appeared. And I, watching the cow soar into that delicious sky, finally pushing off from the sinful earth and the innocent convertible, was filled with a feeling of love. Love for machines and beasts, for life in general, and for people who always find a reason to quarrel.
Why did I tell you all this? Hell if I know. Stupid situations happen to everyone. And applying harsh measures sometimes makes the situation even stupider, requiring even more radical solutions. Or maybe it's simpler: you're convinced that someone is cheating mercilessly, and no facts will convince you otherwise, even if you stand behind the cheater and watch the game yourself. Well, forgive that person, have a heart-to-heart talk with them, and forgive. Convinced that someone, like the ultimate bore, is nitpicking every comma in the Dragon Fly Hives and has already gathered enough of those commas for a capital offense? Understand and forgive them.
Do not indulge your heart in anger unnecessarily, do not bargain your soul away for trifles. After all, it is not only by reason but also by mercy that man differs from beast.
PS I apologize in advance to the fair half of the forum and the moderators for any awkward expressions, like "the end of September was standing," etc.
PSS Anyone up for a game?
