In the fifth year, when we were already exasperated and lazy journalists, not afraid of cholera, we decided to swell on one of the classes. It seems that “Journalistic Investigation” or “Criminal Journalism” was on, I don’t remember exactly. We bought a bottle of vodka, mixed it with cola and let it run down the rows.
The teacher later recalled when they told him: “I thought you liked my lecture. I tell and see that every minute you are more and more fun, you ask interesting questions, you nod in time. And you just got drunk!”
But he said with a laugh, without offense. There was only one resentment, and even that was not serious: “What the hell,” he says, “you yourself drank, but they didn’t offer me? I would, of course, refuse, but the very fact of politeness!
Then he nodded silently and added thoughtfully: “Maybe he wouldn’t have refused, the devil knows.”
this is such an old story
Did you have similar ones? tell)
interesting to read =)
all good)