The narrative does not pretend to be accurate in narrating the historical facts encountered, the characters are represented in the text, their surnames and names are made up, coincidence coincidentally, coincidence.
Note by the author.
This story began at the very moment when, after graduation, as a young specialist, I cam to an aircraft factory and entered the position of a process engineer. I was told from the parent that I will transfer to my bread and now that I will earn, I will have for my existence in the future. In the factory floor, as a process engineer, the salary is several times lower than the working machinist. And often, when I went to the workers with my papers to the workshop, I was embarrassed to communicate with the working class, because there was a difference in their status as a worker and my current situation. In a word, both the salary is scanty and the contempt of workers who consider me a parasite on their neck.
Some experienced machinists on occasion told me that we don’t need your technology and sketches, and we can even make a detail according to the drawing. And even I heard conversations in the smoking-room that it would be better to disperse this workshop of those bureaus, and for the workers to add the salary and work would be done on time, and the plans would be over fulfilled, and the bonus would be needed every month. In short, the gloom and disappointment of my current situation hung with the Damocles sword above my head, like a sentence, like a heavenly punishment, perhaps for my sins in a past life or for something else. But I was young and I was interested in the opposite sex. The time has come to start a family, live a full-blooded life, have children and be happy. And every time I woke up in my room to go to the factory, I felt like an insignificant low-income creature. My suit was worn out, the shirt was washed and did not sparkle with whiteness for a long time, as brilliantly as when I defended my diploma at the final exam at the institute, what can I say with my tie and worn shoes. General full paragraph. Because of this state of things, I did not want to go to work, sit out my young life there and make hemorrhoids, as a gratitude for a seated kind of activity. And then one day after waiting for a lunch break, I fluttered a dove out of the factory entrance, hoping that I would return by the end of the working day, as our shop manager often did, disappearing during work hours to her mistress. Friendship Cinema was located after several metro stops. I decide to get out of the metro there and already at the windows of the cinema I saw colorful advertisements for the festival of Indian cinema masterpieces. Today, just at that time, the demonstration of the two-part film The Tramp starring Raj Kapoor began. I figured that having looked at the session, I would just be back at the factory by sixteen hours, and then there would be an hour and a half and the end of the shift. I liked the film in the workshop of acting by Raj Kapoor in the role of a Tramp, which in his position reminded me of my poor and insignificant life. But I absorbed the charge of cheerful cheerfulness like a sponge, and suddenly I realized that nothing is so simple, nothing is brought to us on a silver platter. And, most importantly, we must fight for everything, overcoming difficulties and hardships. Returning to the factory, I was full of life and hopes for the best, as if at that very time Raj Kapoor was walking next to me, henceforth becoming my Guiding Star…
So, I went to the factory entrance exactly at 16—00. The flow of workers leaving the aisles at the booths at that time was growing, and it was not difficult for me to mingle in this crowd of working people and to quietly slip through the turnstile to the territory of the enterprise. It was a warm autumn day, though there were no fallen leaves on the alleys lined with chestnuts. Since the cleanliness of the territory has always been ideal and cleaned thoroughly, as required at the so-famous aviation enterprise producing civilian liners. The trees along the alleys were already without foliage, their lonely yellow spots still clinging to the branches of the tops, trying to extend their fate of falling onto an asphalt path. Here on this path I went to my workshop with a sinking heart, but what will be for me to leave without permission? And I was not mistaken. Victor Ivanovich was already waiting for me at the bureau. He had just returned from the workshop technology archive and, holding a thick album of filed technology, rushed in my direction.
– I was looking for you all over the workshop, I even called the tooling workshop of the rigging, you weren’t anywhere.
