I was out of work. Rejoicing and not rejoicing. Rest is such a bad thing that you get used to it quickly. But I was not given to get used to. The phone rang. A place was made in the sewing workshop, and since I was a jack of all trades, I was invited there. Blowing up from his seat after half an hour was there. A new unexplored profession spat before me. I wanted to become an indispensable expert in it. I went there like a love date.

An elderly man in his forties, when he saw me, was very doubtful about my features and abilities. I read his thoughts: “They sent a kid! What can he know about it? However, he told all the secrets and tricks of repairing sewing equipment. The main thing was there: belt tension, checking and replacing coal in a rheostat and of course a wooden mall, which had to luptsan from the side where the friction clutch was located and everything began to work ... But not for long. But on the floor of the shift, the shift was enough.

Having drawn up the documents and accepting the tools, I went to the workshop. In my opinion, for some reason, the seamstress was a small room in which 4–5 sympathizers sat, who sewed panties and tops… Yes, such a room was, was called raskroechnoy. And she did not sit there, but danced a portly matron, cutting huge feet of matter on patterns. She really danced: she danced her hands, moving the pile, danced and her legs, and she constantly sang something to herself.

And the workshop itself was a huge hall in which sewing machines chimed, followed by charming maidens, pretty girls, beautiful women and not so much. In short, a rather disparate audience, but all of the female class. There were them there, or 60, or a hundred (I do not remember). All were in dark blue robes, called bathrobes. Men were not there, except for your humble servant. But since I was still a beardless youngster, the man in me was not observed.

The brigadier, coming up to me, saying hello, offered to go to the very beginning and try to repair the typewriter in the third row, behind which sat an angry, black-browed beauty. Explaining to me: what is spinning, but not sewing, she gave up her place. After admiring the inoperative device, he cut off the power and began to remove the engine.

“And Sergey knocked with a hammer and everything worked,” explained the worker.

- For a long time?

“No,” she said sadly.

“I want a long time,” the engine uncoupled, dragged him toward him.

There, having done preventive maintenance, the replacement of worn-out parts, he soon brought it back and installed it, and began to wait for the working woman to get somewhere. "Not the gods sew a coward," - a sort of sensible thought visited my lush head. Grabbing a piece of cloth, I began to spoil it, and with it, expend the thread. That machine was slowly and sadly roaring, then roaring like a Leninist locomotive of a machine gun, like a Maxim machine gun on a gaping White Guard. I knew that in all you need skill, hardening training, and then, and then get shit! Esshiv piece of fabric along and across and obliquely, the future sewing affairs master, reached for another. But he was stopped by a joyful female worker, who, as it turned out, had come a long time and was watching my Kurguzy attempts in the case in which she was ace.

Having taken seat on the place it began famously to sew a subject of a man's toilet. Her hands danced the jig, shake and sirtaki. After a couple of seconds, the finished product was thrown into a pile.

- What is your name? - She asked.

“Yura,” the young man in my face replied, greatly worrying that the seamstress did not like his work.

- Yurochka, let me kiss you! “Suddenly, rising from her seat, she said,” I don’t remember her working so well!

It seems I turned red. Kissing me on the cheek, she proceeded to monotonous work. I still stood near her slave's place, admiring the dance of hands and lovely legs dancing on the pedals, and trailed kissed to my closet. Great things awaited me.I needed to prepare more spare parts so that the work would not stand idle, but a quick replacement would take place. My predecessor, although he was a master of high class, but his work belonged carelessly. I do not know why. Maybe young pretty women didn’t kiss him, or maybe Mother Len was born 40 years earlier than him? Or were there other reasons? But I wanted to be: “the best of the best, sir!”. And although at that time it wasn’t yet released, the sensational fighter: “Men in Black” - I liked this phrase.

Ordinary workers, if they were not bosses, sat all day long in their closet. From boredom pumping up with cheap wine or vodka. I, too, was my own master. But I did not have to miss. Having sorted out a pile that seemed to be scrap metal, he began to create masterpieces of sewing art, more precisely, production. I was three in one, like the modern Head Nd Scholders: an electrician, a mechanic, and a setup man. I wanted a fourth: To become an unbeatable mechanic, but that will be later. And now I went through broken motors and friction boxes for them. Having created three units per shift, I was in no hurry to go home. I had a row with my girlfriend, or rather, she ousted me, so by sublimating the sexual instincts, I plunged headlong into a new job. Going into the shop, I spotted a lonely worker who, probably taking advantage of her official position, was sewing something for herself.

Having asked her for permission to spoil a few pieces of fabric in order to acquire skills in an important and necessary business for me, I began to learn on any typewriter and be my sewing affairs guru. Occasionally distracting from her important occupation, Tamara, that was the name of my then teacher, gave me important advice.

- Yur, well, do not push hard! Gently press ... and now you sleep! Well, do not sleep - you will freeze. Faster than pull. In a straight line after all.

And I scribbled, scribbled cowards, tops and some other sewing products. On the fifth day, now Zinaida already, she allowed me to sew trousers for se "be. Having entrusted all the seams, I pulled them on my skinny little body.

“Not bad at all,” she remarked, “only I tightened here, but here it is bristling ... unpack!”

I sewed and flogged, learning the saying: "Shay yes pori, there will be no pores"

Then there were fashionable colorful shirts with huge collars. As a guy, I was very sociable and having drilled into a warehouse, I asked a pretty woman for three pieces of fabric, explaining to her that her beauty could be arguing with the moon and was very sorry that she was married. If she were free, she would have made her a wedding dress and begged her hand and heart. She laughed, completely not seeing in me a competitor with her present. My husband is a man of almost two meters tall, a basketball player in the past, having heard my testimony, absolutely not being jealous, asked what my name was and gave me a hand for acquaintance, explained that I had absolutely no chance. His faithful like real heroes, not youths like me. I was not offended. I was young and believed that not all women look at their appearance. Some people like the mind and their golden hands that grow from those places.

However, the girls working in the sewing, the man in me was not observed. Even the same weather. This was also explained by the fact that they wanted to be older, taller and more courageous. In me they saw a cute boy, a skinny boy, modest to horror and not yet suitable for serious family relations. Moreover, when I was engaged in my usual work, I turned off completely. Twisted the nuts, wires, regulated tension. And it would be necessary in the course of the play, to spin the novels, to regulate relations. In short, while working, I plunged into work. Not seeing and not hearing outside stimuli.

The women soon ceased to notice the creature of the opposite sex in me, and they carried on their female conversations, without being ashamed of me at all, as if I was a repairman girl or apprentice motor mechanic. I also walked in a blue floorless robe with long hair. Then there was such a fashion. In addition, he often sat down at the free machine, improved in the skill of sewing.

Once to ...