A story worth a thousand rubles

Being a law-abiding citizen, today at nine in the morning I went to the outskirts police station, to which a couple of days before I was taken, not without fanfare. I signed there that I would appear at nine in the morning on the tenth, so that they would take me, a socially dangerous type, to court.

The appearance of my police gentlemen deeply shocked me. Painting "We Didn't Expect", updated version. After an hour of fuss, they found some unfortunate girl driver who, in a broken Citroen, took me to the court of the wicked. Well, that is, how lucky I am. First, she made a heartfelt and rather seditious speech, in which she shared, without mincing her words, her thoughts about the mental state of her own superiors. Then I ran around the neighborhood for a long time looking for a navigator. Then she apologized for her way of expressing herself - “this is how work works” - and made another speech of similar content. Then we went to her house and borrowed a navigator from a neighbor.

We got to the center quickly, which, however, did not stop my beautiful companion from sharing with me her views on the national question (which views would have pleased K.A. Krylov, my good friend), on her own husband (“well, a man has no brains, I I won’t put mine in there for him”), on everything once again the authorities, and on the supreme authorities at the same time. But when we got there, it turned out that her colleagues had given her the wrong address. Not only was there no court there, there wasn’t even a house there with the number you were looking for.

And again speeches, speeches and speeches. If only someone could speak at rallies, it’s not the sad Shenderovich. I called my employee and asked her to find out the address of the court. We set off. But on the spot it turned out that the court had moved. In general, after about two hours, having already become friends and being imbued with sincere sympathy for each other, we found the court. But they didn’t judge me - the judge was busy. They wrote down the phone number and said they would call.

My alleged offense is punishable by a fine of 500 to 1000 rubles. The third day of a crowd of people: about 50 riot policemen who tied me up, seven more unfortunate police officers, in ranks from colonel to senior sergeant, who jumped around the police department at night, wrote heaps of meaningless papers and sobbed loudly because they could not go home, dear the girl with whom I rode around Moscow for several hours, the busy judge with his assistants - they are all working to take a thousand rubles from me.

And they can’t take it, which is significant. This regime is doomed.

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