Hello, scoundrel – crook, cheat.

It happened at midnight. If you don't count the sleeping grandfather, who isn't taken seriously even by the pigeons on the windowsill, I was home alone, and there was no help to be had. My son, as usual, was hanging out at VGIK. They always rehearse late into the night there, and during exam periods, they generally go off the rails. I called him half an hour ago; he said they were reviewing things before tomorrow's exam and wouldn't be back until two. I doubted such pedagogical sadism and imagined he was out with a young beauty at VDNH, basking in the nighttime scents of lilac, jasmine, and white briar. But instead of the tender whisper of a friend, I heard the desperate scream of a speech instructor: 'Mathias, get off the floor immediately! Don’t imitate fainting! You don't snore when you're fainting! Anya, don’t smile at me so devotedly; I can see you’re standing there asleep like a battle horse! Stepan, get your hands off the phone; it’s not a pillow, it’s a barrier to art!' I quickly said goodbye to avoid trouble.

I didn't want to become an artist, especially since I had to write the text myself urgently. I spent the whole day exhausting myself with a general cleaning, finally mopping the floors in three buckets of water until they squeaked. I wanted to sit down at the computer, but suddenly I remembered that I had promised Styopa to wash his white shirt for tomorrow's exam. And that damn shirt catalyzed all the subsequent events. First of all, I had to soak it in bleach - I don't understand how it got so dirty, especially since the last time he wore it was for his vocal exam, and I don't remember them happily digging potatoes or unloading coal while singing 'Hey, ho!'. And secondly, here’s what happened… Just as I tossed the shirt into the washing machine and set the cycle for an hour, I sat down at my desk to gather my thoughts and turn on the computer, when I heard a gentle trickle of water. I didn't realize at first. Was it raining outside? However, the rain had no intention of starting. With a bad feeling, I went into the hallway. And indeed: from under the door.

Foamy water was rapidly spilling out of the washing machine onto the freshly washed floors! A giant one-and-a-half-meter puddle was already trying to take over the kitchen floor. The cause of the flood was a shirt sleeve stuck in the washing machine door. My screams in the night were by no means in pentameter. In a panic, I started pressing all the buttons on the machine, trying to turn it off. I rushed to grab a mop and whipped up the foam from the detergent on the floor up to my ankles. The washing machine froze, but the door with the chewed sleeve was locked. "Open up, my dear Sim-Sim!" I begged the washing machine, trying to remember which button to press so that the machine would open its mouth and return my shirt, but the door stubbornly clenched its jaws. Deciding to unplug it simply, I began to wrestle the heavy washing machine out of its compartment in the wall, and behind it was a year's worth of dust and debris, which immediately mixed with the wet foam. The floors became dirtier than they were before the deep cleaning. From pleading, I switched to threats and curses, and the washing machine flinched and unlocked the door.

I carefully placed the shirt in the drum. I switched the washing mode back on, discovering several unmatched socks behind the machine, my glasses from last year, and a brochure from 1953 about caring for infant twins that had somehow ended up there. After mopping the floors again and pushing the washing machine back against the wall, extremely exhausted, I shuffled to my workspace to finish writing the text. I just turned on the computer – bang! – The fuses blew. The apartment is in total darkness: the overhead and lower lights don't work, the computer, refrigerator, and damn washing machine are off. I'm afraid of the dark, even inside my apartment. Moving around unthinkingly, painfully bumping into objects, I finally turned on my mobile phone's flashlight and pointed it at the washing machine: the shirt was stuck in a pose of despair on the other side of the porthole, like a victim of the Titanic.' I needed to step out of the apartment into the hallway and check the positions of the switches in the electrical panel. Essentially, I'm familiar with the actions I need to take, but unfortunately, I decided to double-check myself.

I typed the question "What to do if the circuit breaker has tripped in the apartment?" into my phone's search engine. And that’s when it hit me! After the first technical recommendations, several disturbing articles popped up. When electricity unexpectedly disappeared in an apartment, its owner decided to find out the reason and went out to the hallway. At that moment, it seems that two unknown individuals were waiting; they broke into the house and, threatened with a knife and an object resembling a gun, stole a large sum of money - 2300 US dollars and 98 thousand dollars, according to the press service of the department of Internal Affairs. And here are the reports from New York and St. Petersburg over the last year: A criminal robbed an apartment in the western part of the capital after turning off the electricity in the apartment of a 25-year-old man. The homeowner went out to check the electrical panel. At that time, the criminal attacked him, dragged him back into the apartment, tied him up, beat him, and then stole 350 thousand rubles and fled. After managing to free himself, the victim reported to the police. This is about a 36-year-old resident of apartment number 6 on King Street.

 A street in New york was attacked by robbers when a resident went out to the stairwell to check the plugs in the electrical panel. The ingenious bandits turned off the light to lure him out of the apartment into a common corridor, and then sprayed the contents of pepper spray in his face and broke into the apartment, where they tried to open the safe. I did not have any safes and large sums of money, but how could a robber know this? I tiptoed to the front door and listened – silence. Hidden, you bastard! I was paralyzed by horror. What to do? "Don't leave the room, don't make a mistake!" – the spirit of Joseph Brodsky whispered to me. "It's good for you to reason," I replied to the poet irritably, "all your earthly affairs are already finished, and I still have to wash my son's shirt!" Here I must make a slight digression. A few years ago, my company and I traveled around Venice with my friend Michael.

I had some right to engage in a spiritual dialogue with the deceased master after I nearly spent the night at his grave in San Michele. Here I should make a slight digression. A few years ago, my friends and I were traveling in Venice, and my friend Michael was determined to visit his favorite poet. However, since our water taxi arrived at the island just before the cemetery closed and the local caretaker was already jingling keys at the gate, Micheal begged him for ten minutes to lay flowers for his 'beloved unforgettable uncle.' Our crazy group then rushed towards the coveted goal, literally leaping over ancient tombstones. On the way back, my friends lost me among the crypts and statues of grieving angels, thinking I was already at the dock. The caretaker locked the cemetery and was heading towards the service exit when he heard the plea of a woman in the twilight to let her out into the world of the living. I think this added a few gray hairs to the seasoned cemetery worker's luxurious mane… So,I did not listen to Brodsky and headed to the hallway again. The pitch blackness was the same on this side of the door as it was on the other. To save electricity, the housing and utilities service installed sensor lights in our stairwells that reacted only to movement and turned on for just a few seconds. Usually, those seconds were never enough for a whole stretch of activity. I remember one time I genuinely scared a worker from "Norway," who came to check our meter readings. I opened the panel with a key. She leaned over it with documents, writing down the numbers on the meter.

Suddenly, I started waving my arms vigorously in different directions to keep the motion sensors from turning off the light. But the woman didn’t know this and recoiled from the meter. Looking around in fear, she asked, "What are you doing?" Is there anyone flying around here? Insects? - Demons of darkness, I joked poorly, stopped gesturing, and at that moment, the light went out. In the suddenly arrived darkness, the woman screamed in terror... And now,Trying to make out in the darkness of the hallway, the lurking robber, I stared into the peephole. Of course, I saw nothing. Then I pressed the flashlight to the peephole and immediately thought, "Why am I doing this? I definitely won't see anything this way, and the robber has certainly noticed the light shining through the peephole and sensed my anxiety." Just in case, I called out very fiercely through the door, "Hey, you scoundrel, bastard, get out of here! Or I'll make you regret it!" It was still quiet in the hallway. It seems the robber was persistent. I took a moment to think and returned to the room. So, what do we have? My paranoia? There's no one outside the door, and I'm putting on a crazy one-woman show for myself? But what about the facts from the internet? Theoretically, it could have happened to me: the lock on the hallway door has been broken for a long time – anyone can come in; the electrical panel is usually locked, but sometimes the old forgetful neighbor doesn't lock it.

The supposed robber realized that a mentally unstable person was home alone. A woman is unlikely to confront him... It was not worth upsetting the son; he has a rehearsal and won't be back soon. I remember my mother's strategies in dangerous situations, which were passed down to me: when she returned home late through dark alleys and a suspicious man followed her, she would start yelling into the darkness at an imaginary husband: 'Yared, what are you dawdling at home for? Come here, I have heavy bags! Who are you standing with? Oh, I see, it's Sergey and Andrew! Come on, all three of you, strong, healthy men, and you're just standing around!' In my mother's time, there were no mobile phones, and now I am armed with one. I simulated a dialogue with my son from the other room to make it appear more credible: 'Stepan, hi! When are you guys going to finish? Look at the time!... What were you practicing? Strength moves? I hope you beat everyone?... Good job, I never doubted you; your punching power is five hundred kilograms! Are all the opponents alive?... Ha-ha-ha!... (I approach the door.) When will you be back? Are you already nearing home? Great! You're with James? James and Hima? For an overnight stay? You're welcome, I just fried some hearty meat steaks – your mighty muscles need a lot of protein after a workout... (My thin Hima would be very surprised if he heard such compliments addressed to him.)

Yes, I have a small problem here: one clown turned off the corks and settled in our dressing room... What does he want? I don't know, probably, to get a lule.. Just don't cripple him, carefully receive the client... (Lord, what am I talking about? Where does this jargon come from – "clown", "accept the client"... From a gangster series? Some kind of nonsense!) Oh, so you're already at the entrance? Okay, I'm waiting for you!" And what did I count on? To hear the robber go down the stairs in fright. And if he is not one of the timid and armed ones? –The police? Accept the challenge! The robber turned off the electricity and hid behind the door of the apartment! – I deliberately loudly said a voice to the number of Michael's friend and dictated my address. I was afraid to call the police “You are already registered with Ivanova, first cancel that appointment.” How can that be? It’s just nonsense! What will happen in the end? In three weeks, I will see Patience, and only after that will I be able to catch an appointment with MS Williams. As we remember, not earlier than two weeks. And that will already be not "after menstruation," but before it. Consequently, I will not be able to take the cytology test before the beginning of June. God, everything is so complicated. I will try to catch an appointment after the visit to Patience. Maybe someone will cancel their visit. But for that to happen, a miracle must occur – for the appointment to be canceled, and no one to intercept it. And there might also be another vacation for the doctor coming up.

Just to clarify, I am not complaining about having no options. Yes, I can pay for everything, I can afford it. What outrages me is the system itself! Why can’t you be registered with two different doctors of the same specialty at the same time? I asked this question of a knowledgeable person, and he explained that the insurance won’t pay, and that will reflect on the doctor. And the fact that, because of these rules, a patient can experience...Is there going to be a problem that nobody cares about? I don't understand why the insurance won't cover two appointments. If I first go to one doctor and then have to see another, and both times it's by appointment, then why won't the insurance pay? However, on what grounds can I not have two official appointments at once? I have encountered a similar situation before. I made appointments for my partner with two different doctors of the same specialty at two other clinics, in various areas of the region. And I was also unable to do that, the second medical facility refused. However, the issues were different and should have been addressed by various doctors. One was regarding a spur, the other was regarding a nasal septum. But I also had to stretch the "pleasure".