Funny, but True

© Igor Kluev, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0065-6236-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

How I Quit Smoking

“Please, quit smoking. Smoking is bad for your health,” my sister Ann said to me at the funeral of our uncle Peter.

In truth, my uncle had passed away from injuries sustained in a major car accident. But funerals have a way of making everyone think about their health.

“Of course, I’ll quit,” I said.

But I was lying. I liked smoking. It helped me cope with stress.

Soon after, it was my birthday, and Ann arrived with a peculiar smile.

“I brought you a present,” she said with a mirky smile, handing me a large box.

It was unusual. Ann’s gifts were typically predictable: T-shirts for birthdays and sweaters for Christmas. When the party was over, I opened the box. Inside was a small cage housing a parrot. The label on the cage read: Talking Parrot. As it turned out, this “talking parrot” could only say two words: Quit smoking. But it repeated them constantly.

Morning? “Quit smoking.”

Breakfast? “Quit smoking.”

Back from work? “Quit smoking.”

With my girlfriend? “Quit smoking.”

For weeks, the parrot tormented me. It invaded every moment of my life, screeching its relentless mantra: Quit smoking!

I started smoking even more – two packs a day instead of one – to deal with the stress.

Watching football on TV, my one escape, was no longer enjoyable. The parrot squawked through every game. One night, I dreamed my favorite football player scored an incredible 200-yard touchdown. But instead of cheering touchdown, the crowd roared, “Quit smoking.” I woke up in despair.

The next day at work, my boss asked a serious question.

“We’re borrowing too much money. Should we quit?”

Without thinking, I blurted out: “Quit smoking.”

My boss, a heavy smoker himself, glared at me.

“I didn’t ask for personal advice!” he snapped.

I returned home drained. And, of course, the parrot greeted me with its usual enthusiasm: Quit smoking! That evening, after chain-smoking three cigarettes, I finally snapped.

“You’re an idiot!” I yelled at the parrot.

“Quit smoking,” it replied.

“You’re an idiot!”

“Quit smoking!”

For two hours, we argued. Both were hoarse by the end, and I went to bed utterly defeated.

In the morning, the parrot greeted me with a surprising twist:

“You’re an idiot,” it said.

“Eureka! I am a smart person. When a parrot learns new words, it forgets old ones! If I could teach the parrot something pleasant to say, maybe my life could return to normal.” I thought.

I began repeating to the parrot the words: “I like you.”

Within days, my life transformed.

“I like you,” the parrot chirped every morning and evening.

My mood brightened. The constant positivity worked wonders. As I became happier, my need for cigarettes dwindled. I smoked less and less until one day; I didn’t need them at all.

In the end, I quit smoking – not because of nagging, but because happiness gave me the strength to overcome it. When someone is happy, he can conquer any challenge.

An Adventure

Adventure is often about traveling far to find treasure – or at least, that’s what books and movies teach us. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. National Treasure, with Nicolas Cage in the lead. Inspired by such stories, I wanted adventure and a chance to find treasure. In 2008, I found myself far away – in the USA, a 10-hour flight from Moscow. But where was my treasure?

I read about 16th-century Spanish ships laden with gold, resting deep off Florida’s coast. Finding one sounded thrilling but uncertain. Then, to my surprise, I discovered that treasure existed right on land, complete with an address and zip code. It was the U.S. Department of the Treasury. You didn’t need to dive deep into the ocean – you just needed a stockbroker.

Eager to learn, I visited TD Ameritrade, where a broker named Jack explained that the Department of the Treasury didn’t hold gold or diamonds. They didn’t even deal with physical paper anymore. Instead, they issued government bonds electronically, offering modest annual returns of 2—3%.

“If you want real treasure,” Jack said,” you need to try the stock market. Buy the right stocks at the opening bell. And by the closing bell, you might be a millionaire. How does that sound?”

“Money is freedom,” I replied.” Your voice sounds like the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia.”

When I asked for stock recommendations, Jack reminded me that TD Ameritrade was a discount brokerage.

“We don’t give advice,” we only take your money.

Undeterred, I searched for stocks myself. I decided to buy Lehman Brothers stocks. The name “Brothers” resonated with me. It evoked camaraderie and reliability. In my mind was the film Band of Brothers, which I had recently watched. I bought their shares at $40 each.

Two weeks later, the stock price plummeted to $2. Soon after, it became worthless. Lehman Brothers declared bankruptcy, and the Great Recession was underway. While others called it “great”. I certainly didn’t feel that way. I took a second job working the night shift at a gas station to recover my losses.

“Have a good day,” I greeted a customer during a night shift.

When I looked up, I recognized him – it was Jack from TD Ameritrade.

“How are you doing?” He asked.

“Because of you, I put my ass on the line and lost all my money,” I replied bitterly.

Jack turned pale.

“I’m so sorry about your ass situation,” he said.” This time, I’ll break TD Ameritrade rules and give you advice. You need the opposite of an ass now – you need a face.”

He pulled out a photo of a smiling, intelligent face.

“Do you like this face?” He asked.

“Of course!” I spoke.

“This is a genius. I recommend you buy his stock.”

I took his advice, bought the stocks, and, over time, recovered. Now, I’m doing well. I had my adventure, and I found my treasure. The lesson? Never give up – because with determination, the sky’s the limit.

Any mission is possible

I recalled the movie “Rambo”, where Sylvester Stallone effortlessly wielded a massive machine gun, firing hundreds of rounds per minute with remarkable precision – each bullet hitting its target.

I vividly remembered the movie “The Crossing”. There was a scene of the surprise attack on Trenton. George Washington’s soldiers, so young and courageous, faced incredible challenges. One soldier, finding himself close to the enemy, managed in mere seconds to load his musket with gunpowder and a bullet. Tragically, the gunpowder was damp, rendering his weapon useless. Yet, instead of fleeing, he stood his ground, facing the enemy with unwavering bravery.

I’m a retiree. Two weeks ago, I recalled these movies as energetic and brave. I wanted to be that way too. While sitting in a doctor’s office, I saw an attractive woman in a chair by the window. I wanted to make my presence known, and my imagination was racing.

She looked younger than me. I wondered who she was. Was she here to see the cardiologist, like me? Or perhaps the orthopedist, since this waiting area served both doctors?

If she were here to see the cardiologist, we might have more in common, and starting a conversation would be easy.

“Hi! You look nice. How was your blood pressure this morning?” I might say.

“It was good. My doctor prescribed a very effective medication. What about you? What pills are you taking?” She might reply.

After chatting, we’d get acquainted, and I’d ask her to lunch. We’d pick a cozy restaurant and enjoy one or two glasses of red wine – should it be one or two? I’d need to ask my cardiologist.

Things could get romantic. I’d take her to a hotel. Hopefully, she wouldn’t expect me to act like Rambo, firing away with endless energy. I just hoped my “gunpowder” would be dry.

But then again, maybe she was here for the orthopedist. That was possible. I didn’t see any crutches nearby, which was a relief. But who knew? Maybe, the doctor would prescribe them after her visit. Would that be so bad? If she couldn’t walk on the boardwalk or attend line dance, it would suit me just fine. I don’t like those activities. We’d drive to the restaurant instead, have our wine, and – again – how many glasses? One or two? I’d have to check with my cardiologist.

Just then, the door to the cardiologist’s office opened. A man, who was roughly my age stepped out. He approached the lovely lady.

“Dear, sorry to keep you waiting so long,” he said with a smile,” but I have great news! The doctor says my heart has improved tremendously. He even allowed me to go out to a restaurant and enjoy some wine, but two glasses tops.”

The woman stood up quickly, smiling as she moved toward him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was clear – she didn’t need the attention of a cardiologist or an orthopedist. They left hand in hand, perfectly content.

A nurse appeared at the door to the cardiologist’s office and motioned for me to come in. I wondered – why was I even here? My routine weekly blood pressure check went wrong.

After the check-up, the doctor told me to spend the next few days in bed, avoiding wine or excitement. So, I followed his advice. When I felt better, I went to the library and borrowed the movie Mission Impossible. Because any mission is possible.

A Deal

It was a Friday morning in November of last year. I had the evening shift at work, which left me plenty of free time. I woke up leisurely around 9 a.m., brewed some coffee, and basked in the luxury of doing nothing. With a steaming cup and wearing my bathrobe, I settled in front of the TV and turned it on.

The cup of coffee nearly slipped from my hands. It was that Friday in November – Black Friday! How could I have forgotten?

The news was showing footage of the local Walmart from a helicopter. People were streaming out in groups, triumphantly hauling massive boxes of 60-inch TVs for half price. My heart raced. I lived with my wife in a 400-square-foot studio, but a 60-inch TV for half price. That was worth sacrificing our bed! I could always replace it with a convertible one.

I abandoned my coffee, skipped breakfast, and dashed to my car. I turned the key, and – of course – a red light flashed on the dashboard. The gas tank was nearly empty. I rushed to the nearest gas station and found a long line of cars standing at a single pump. The most of other gas station employees were at Walmart buying 60-inch TVs.

When it was finally my turn, I realized I’d left my wallet and credit cards at home. A wave of panic set in. The people in line behind me grew restless, and the attendant started glaring at me. I wished I could disappear. If my wife had been with me, I might have left her as a hostage. But I was alone and desperate.

That’s when inspiration struck. I turned to the attendant and offered to work the second pump as compensation for the gas.

“Vivat!” The crowd behind me cheered.

At that moment, my popularity soared. If I’d announced a run for the president, they probably would’ve elected me on the spot.

For the next half hour, I worked the pump like a pro. Everyone rushed off to Walmart for their discounted 60-inch TVs. Once my impromptu shift ended, I hurried home to grab my wallet.

When I arrived at Walmart at 6 p.m., the 60-inch TVs were long gone. So were the 50-inch TVs, the 40-inch TVs, and even the 30-inch TVs. The only thing left. A 20-inch TV is on sale for half price. I already had a 20-inch TV at home, but the allure of the deal was irresistible. I bought it anyway.

When I got home, I stored the new TV in the closet. From that spot, I could turn it on and watch it from the bathroom. I wouldn’t miss a single deal in the future. After all, Black Friday taught me anything, it’s that you can never be too prepared.

Good night, Moscow

On the eve of New Year’s 2021, Grace sat in her Philadelphia apartment, scrolling through the Internet pages.

“What’s your wish for next year?” Paris Hilton’s post asked her followers. Paris, Grace’s favorite model, posed in front of a Christmas tree, dressed as though it were a hot summer day.

Grace sighed and glanced out her window. At 8 p.m., the streets of Philadelphia were quiet and empty, as usual.

“Oh, Paris! What do I want? Not to be in Paris,” Grace thought with a wry smile.

“To be back in Moscow, singing Christmas carols with my a cappella group. Like in May 2019, during the A Cappella Festival,” she said aloud, her voice tinged with longing.

“Paris, Paris! You couldn’t imagine how deeply Moscow lives in my heart,” Grace whispered to herself with a deep sigh.

Her mind wandered to that unforgettable spring in Moscow. Their stage was a quaint square opposite the Bolshoi Theatre. Dressed in costumes from the early 19th century, they stood behind the Karl Marx monument, preparing to perform.

Their first song was We Wish You a Merry Christmas.

“Oh, bring us some figgy pudding,” they sang, just as the wind carried the tantalizing aroma of food from a nearby café.

Grace’s focus wavered when loud voices came from another stage across the small park. A group of men was performing. They wore traditional cherkeska coats, sheepskin caps, and daggers on their belts. One of the men stood out. His striking black eyes sparkled with intensity as he sang with extraordinary passion.

The next carol was Deck the Hall.

“Fa la la la la, la la la la,” the group sang.

The lively tune energized the audience around their stage.

“La La Land!” The crowd began to chant, cheering the performance with a famous line from Oscar’s winning movie.

The applause was gratifying, but Grace’s gaze stayed fixed on the young man in the cherkeska. He exuded a rugged charm, more compelling than any macho Mexican construction worker she’d seen back home.

Later, they met. The name of the young man was Sulaiman. He was from North Ossetia. They walked to Red Square as evening fell. The darkening sky allowed the stars to shine brighter. They went to GUM (the State Department Store) and tested Moscow’s famous ice cream. It was sweet, but the touch of Sulaiman’s hand on her waist was sweeter.

Their next stop was Zaryadye Park, where the view from the hill was breathtaking. To their left lay the Moscow River, and to the right, the golden domes of the Kremlin cathedrals gleamed in the distance. Before them stood a massive screen – set into a replica of the Vienna Opera House. Muscovites watched a free live-streamed performance of the opera Andrea Chénier from Austria. The voices were magnificent. During intermissions, the singing of night birds filled the air. Grace had fallen in love.

Her reverie was interrupted by the cry of her baby. She rushed to pick up her seven-month-old daughter, cradling the tiny, precious bundle in her arms.

“Please go to sleep, my love. Good night, my baby. Good night, Moscow,” Grace whispered.

Hunting Memories

In Kipling’s The Jungle Book, there’s a chilling scene where the giant python Kaa hunts the Bandar-log. Paralyzed with fear, Bandear-log is unable to move to escape. That image stayed with me as it reminded me of a moment from my childhood. I, too, was frozen, unable to run or cry. Like the Bandar log, I was motionless, gripped by fear. That memory has haunted me ever since.

I was six years old. I stayed with my grandmother in a small village near Moscow. It was mid-July, the hottest time of the year. The air was sweltering, and the river water was warm. Like any children at the beach today, we spent our days in the water, splashing and playing. We couldn’t swim, but that didn’t stop us from spending hours wading in the shallows.

The day when it happened, I ventured out to the middle of the river. It was thrilling to feel the current pushing against me. The river was shallow, and the water only reached my shoulders. I felt safe. Letting the current carry me downstream was pure joy. Then, suddenly, my feet slipped off the riverbed. I reached down with my legs, desperately trying to find solid ground. The current dragged me forward, but I managed to touch the bottom again. I stood on my toes, my nose barely above the waterline. I was petrified.

I knew that any movement could make me lose the bottom again, and I would drown. I could see people just a few meters away. But I couldn’t call out for help. Fear had me frozen.

The moment lasted only a minute or two. But it felt like an eternity. Finally, the current pushed me forward again, and my shoulders emerged above the waterline. I rushed out of the river, gasping and trembling. That was the last day I went into the water that summer.

The following year, I learned how to swim. Today, I can swim confidently in lakes, rivers, and oceans. I can swim for over an hour without stopping. But sometimes, I feel the same fear creep in. I stop swimming, head for the shore, and rush out of the water.The memory of that moment – those hunting memories from my childhood – still lingers, vivid and alive.

I Am a conscious Man

I am a conscious man and don’t like surprises. It was time for a routine colonoscopy. For the entire year leading up to it, I read every article that contained the word “colon.” I wanted to know everything. The evening before the procedure, I decided to avoid any mistakes and used two bottles of Fleet instead of the recommended one.

The next day, my colon was crystal clear. But my mood was dark. My wife woke up with a fever. It was clear – she wouldn’t accompany me to the doctor’s office. The procedure required sedatives, and my rational mind told me to reschedule. But my subconscious chimed in: “Let’s take a chance!” Ignoring my better judgment, I drove to the doctor’s office alone.

After the procedure, groggy but eager to leave, I headed for the exit. A nurse stopped me.

“Do you have someone coming to drive you home?” She asked.

“Yes, of course,” I lied.

Half an hour later, nobody had shown up. The nurse asked again. Then again, fifteen minutes after that. Finally, five minutes later, she crossed her arms.

“You’re lying. No one’s coming to pick you up,” she said,

I tried begging.

“Fine,” she relented, “but I will test your consciousness. If you pass, I’ll let you drive home. If not, I’m calling the police to drive your home.”

“My consciousness is my strongest weapon,” I assured her.

“What day of the week is it?” she asked.

“Every week has seven days. Yesterday was Sunday or Saturday…” I began to panic. My rational side kicked in just in time.

“Tuesday,” I blurted out.

“Correct! And what month is it?”

I froze. My mind betrayed me. Then, I noticed a calendar hanging on the wall behind the nurse.

“October,” I answered confidently.

“Correct again!” she said, surprised by my quick and accurate responses.

Thanks to a bit of luck, the nurse let me go. Relieved and triumphant, I drove home.

That excitement was short-lived. On the way, the police stopped me.

“You’re driving under the influence,” the officer said.

“How can, you be sure? I haven’t made any mistakes!” I protested.

“You’re right – your driving is perfect,” he admitted. “But only someone under the influence would drive with their hazard lights and all other lights on… on a sunny day.”

Since then, I’ve learned to ignore my subconscious. I’m a conscious man.

Keeping distance

COVID-19 is an invisible enemy. The government urged people to go shopping as little as possible. I followed the guidelines diligently – until my refrigerator was empty, forcing me to visit the grocery store. Fortunately, there were guidelines for that, too: maintain social distancing.

I felt prepared. Every three years, I take a Defensive Driving Course to get a discount on my car insurance. One of the basic rules of safe driving is to keep a sufficient distance from other cars on the road. I could apply the same principle in the grocery store.

I went to the “Stop & Shop” after 9 p.m. to avoid crowds. But when I arrived, I discovered the store was closed at 8 p.m. due to the pandemic.

The next day, I returned earlier, only to be greeted by a large crowd at the entrance. It felt like approaching an enemy line. I donned my mask, gloves, and glasses, looking like a Formula 1 driver gearing up for a race. Once inside, I found the store surprisingly spacious. Navigating the aisles felt like ballroom dancing. With my shopping cart as my partner, I waltzed carefully, keeping the mandated six feet of distance from others.

Eventually, I reached the aisle I needed. Each aisle was like a two-lane road. I managed to keep my distance from shoppers behind me, but to avoid people coming toward me was tricky. The only solution was to wait until the aisle was empty before entering. And so, I did.

Usually, I take my time reading labels to ensure I’m buying healthy products. But under the circumstances, there was no time for that. I had to sacrifice my usual standards for the sake of safety. I grabbed crackers, water, meat, and coffee as quickly as possible and left.

When I got home and looked at the labels, I realized my haste had led to unusual purchases. The crackers were with salt, the water was sparkling, the meat was excessively fatty, and the coffee was decaf. These were all items I’d never buy under normal circumstances.

But I didn’t catch COVID-19. That was the real victory. Trying these unfamiliar products was a strange but surprisingly refreshing experience. Each cloud, after all, has its silver lining.

Good morning, London!

The time was fifteen minutes after 10 p.m. I stood near Victoria train station, unsure of what to do next. Somehow, I had gotten lost in the maze of London’s streets. Worst of all, she was standing right next to me. I could see the doubt on her face.

“Where did you bring me?” Helen asked.

“Helen, what a pleasant evening. Tomorrow, we can visit the Sky Garden at 20 Fenchurch Street and look at the stars in the sky!” I said and smiled broadly.

Then I explained that the Sky Garden is a three-story glass dome with observation decks and an open-air terrace. But inside, I felt foolish and confused.

“Yes, but right now, I can’t see any stars!” She replied.

Helen was right. Rain could start at any moment. How had I let this happen? Two days ago, in Moscow, before my flight to London, I had studied a map of the district where I had made a hotel reservation. According to the plan, it should have been a pleasant 15-minute walk from Hyde Park Corner Underground Station to the hotel. Five hours earlier, I had sat in a plane flying from Moscow to London, feeling intelligent, venturesome, and adaptable. A young woman had been sitting next to me by the window. Behind the window were clouds that looked like the towers of a fairytale castle. I struck up a conversation. She responded with a smile. Encouraged, I couldn’t stop talking. To my surprise, we used the same website to buy a ticket and, unbelievably, the same site to reserve a hotel. Twice, oh God, we had booked rooms in the same hotel!

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