For a very long time I was a full-time student. Very long. I was a full-time student for five years, and I completed only three and a half courses. Then I became a student of the correspondence department. This is not about these trivial figures and vulgar estimates of the compliance of completed courses with the years spent at the university. Unfortunately, I don’t remember how the effectiveness is determined (this is a term from E. Prokhorov’s Introduction to Journalism textbook, not to be confused with virginity) journalism, but I’ll remember all my life that while I was studying full-time at a university, I always had only one shoe in a season.

In such seasonal black shoes, as I recall, I rushed from the Borovitskaya metro station to my native faculty with full confidence that I was late. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the test began, as they like, at ten. I naturally overslept. Given the fact that Shokhov accepts, the test has already ended for sure. Shokhov - an excellent teacher, the dream of every student. A smart, energetic, drinking man of about forty years old. Not to surrender Shokhov meant to be a complete moron or a complete loser. The only trouble is that Shokhov rarely took the exams, only if other teachers were ill. The subject, which he led, was called the history of Russian literature. Today, due to unknown problems at the department, Shokhin took credit from group 208 instead of Professor Krasovsky. In no case should one miss such a chance.

I'm not My colorful cheap dress with a full skirt once again brings me down. At that moment, when I was trying to open a heavy faculty door, the skirt flew smoothly and holding it evenly around my waist, reluctantly lowered. What the heck! She did the same thing a few minutes ago when she left the subway. There would be beautiful panties - to hell with you, get up. But with a student scholarship and the restructuring that had begun, the pants were extremely white, simple and modest, and the Moscow shameless winds were not calculated.

The faculty is full of people. I'm on the third floor. On the way, I fly on Sasha, all the time I forget his last name, some kind of ridiculous, which holds in hand a textbook on Russian literature. The subject, I must say, is scarce and I currently need, as air. I brake on the fly and tightly grab the old battered cover.

- Hi Sanya!

- Hi, I'm Seryozha.

- This is even nicer. Listen, be a man, give me a tutorial.

Serezha's face is drawn out a bit, as if I said something very strange.

- Lenka, these textbooks for 250 people daily and a hundred evening, not counting the correspondence no more than two dozen. And I have a credit tomorrow.

- I have - today! No, I have - now! Yes, I'm already late at all!

- In this case, the textbook you are completely useless.

He laughed at his, as he probably decided, a good joke and, not paying attention to my angry facial expressions, which, according to the plan, was supposed to plunge him into awe and paralyze his will, literally pulled out a textbook from my hands and left. Just picked up and gone! Bastard, brute, well, you ask me in the winter snowball in debt!

***

Igor Petrovich was about to leave when I flew into the audience. He has already collected all the papers, signed a statement and, in front of my last name, wrote “I didn’t come.” And yet I managed, I had to take the exam.

- Ta-a-ak ... Well, what would you ask ... Did you read Pavlov's novels?

- Yes of course.

- Now find out. Why is Pavlov's story "Yatagan" so called? What is a scimitar?

"Scimitar. Scimitar. Something I retold in a coffee shop. There tearful-snotty love is fatal. The main thing is to behave confidently. "

- Yatagan, this is such a weapon. GunshotThis is the kind of gun or revolver.

Igor Petrovich wrinkles his forehead.

- Let me correct you right away, otherwise you will be completely lost. The scimitar is a melee weapon, not a firearm. This is the kind of blade. Okay, and what happens there?

- This is a story about big and pure love. The main characters are young boys and girls united by a sincere romantic feeling. The Tale of Yatagan is one of the best works of Pavlov. It is necessary to note that the author himself is unfairly forgotten today. But in his time he was known ...

- Enough. Well, and what is it over there? - Igor Petrovich is clearly not interested with me.

- He shot himself.

- Who? - the teacher looks at me in amazement.

Damn, I do not remember the name of the deceased!

- The main character...

- What? - even more amazement.

- scimitar.

- Oh, my God, - Igor Petrovich rolls his eyes tiredly, - we just a few minutes ago agreed that he was not shooting.

How could I forget! With obvious indifference, Shokhin closed my record book and handed it to me.

- I will be glad to know that you have passed this exam to Professor Krasovsky.

But it was already a real disaster. For a few seconds I sat motionless with a record book in my hands and an expression of horror on my face. During this time, Igor Petrovich managed to get together and, grabbing his daddy and leaving without looking around the dry "All the best", left. For some time I sat at the table, then I jumped up and ran out of the audience. Thank God Igor Petrovich has not had time to leave. He tried to start his Zhiguli, which just didn’t really want to wind up. I rushed to the car, wondering how to safely block her way with my body. And at that moment a gust of wind blew up, picked up the hem of my paftan robe, raised it to the level of my waist, and thus showed everyone who gathered at that moment in the courtyard of the journalism department the color and texture of my cowards. I met my eyes with the interested gaze of my teacher and realized that I still had a chance to pass the rest of the session. Trying to lower the dress to the appropriate level for a modest girl, I reached Igor Petrovich’s car and stopped in front of him.

“I'm listening to you,” he stopped plugging the ignition key, although he was just very interested in this process.

- You see, the fact is that I have a pressing need for what exactly today ...

“Everything is clear,” he interrupted me, opening the passenger door. - Come in, sit down, now you will tell everything.

I jumped into the car, hoping that now a little flirting, I could speak his teeth, and he himself would not notice how he suffered, I can say, set me off. But the events did not turn out exactly as I expected. As soon as we left the university courtyard, Igor Petrovich Shokhov, a married doctor of science, a teacher at a leading university in our homeland, and the father of two children (girls, by the way) put his hand silently under my skirt, right on my shin. I almost jumped from such a quick and unambiguous turn of events. Igor Petrovich removed his hand and laughed

“Okay, don't be afraid.” If you want, come tomorrow to Professor Krasovsky, read Pavlova after all, but you can come to visit my friends right now and solve your problems there for five balls. I'm sorry that everything is on the move. I'm just late. He promised his friend to be at 12. If you have other plans, no problem.

My thoughts are completely confused, I even shook my head, all of a sudden it is all wrong. Igor Petrovich laughed again, in general his life was incredibly amusing. My humble persona, too, probably seemed funny.

***

Despite the fact that Igor Petrovich constantly repeated that he was late and that he was very uncomfortable in front of a friend of Seva, who, being a great adherent of punctuality as a lifestyle, now waits for us on ...