- -
- 100%
- +
Now, imagine this: I have straight «A’s» in my grade book, and suddenly I’m looking at a «C» for Electrical Machines.
I asked the professor not to write anything in the official record yet and bolted out of the office. I found Zamkov, our practical lab instructor, and explained the situation. We returned to Yushkov’s office together.
— Nikolai Nikolaevich, — the lab instructor said, — Yakunin is actually a straight-A student, even if he’s a chronic truant. If anyone copied from anyone, it was Kolya from Yura, not the other way around.
Nikolai Nikolaevich, while writing an «A» in my grade book, suddenly turned to Zamkov and said, almost as an excuse:
— Well, how about that! I took one look at him — red eyes… and I thought to myself: «He’s an alcoholic!»
Of course my eyes were red and my face was puffy — that’s what happens when you write, draft, and explain three different term projects in a single night before the deadline.
3. Why Did You Come to the Exam Naked?
At our Tbilisi Polytechnic Institute, there were two professors — Nikolai Yushkov and Grigory Sisoyan. These were two titans, two mastodons who had graduated from the Imperial Saint Petersburg University! They weren’t tall men, but they knew their subjects inside out. In character, however, they were polar opposites. Yushkov was soft and polite, using old-fashioned words like «dear fellow» or «my good man»; he ate home-packed lunches and was never seen in a formal suit. He looked just like the actor Pugovkin, only without the mustache. Grigory Sisoyan was the complete opposite: always in a navy-blue suit, buttoned to the top, wearing a tie, with the stern face of a proletarian deep in thought about the bourgeoisie.
I have many stories about them, but today’s is about Sisoyan, who taught us Theoretical Foundations of Electrical Engineering.
It was June, the summer exam session. The Tbilisi heat was unbearable, so I showed up for the exam wearing a mesh tank top — they were very popular back then because of the weather. I sat at the front desk, right before the lectern, hoping to be among the first to finish and escape the stifling classroom.
In walked Sisoyan: clad in his navy-blue «armor,» wearing a red striped tie, his face shaved to a bluish tint. He said hello, scanned the room with an eagle eye, and suddenly stopped, staring at me. His gaze was like that of a state prosecutor looking at enemies of the people.
— How dare you come to an exam naked, especially in the presence of young ladies? — he thundered.
I didn’t immediately realize he was talking to me, so I turned around to see who on earth was sitting there naked.
— Yakunin, don’t turn around, I’m talking to you! — he snapped. — Have you ever seen me come to the institute in a mesh bag one uses for the grocery market? And yet, here you are!
— But it’s so hot, Grigory Stepanovich…
— And am I not hot? And you ladies, what are you looking at? A student shows up naked and you’re all pleased! It’s a good thing he didn’t come in mesh underwear!
Then, pointing toward the door with a dramatic, Leninesque gesture, he added:
— Tomorrow, same time. Suit, white shirt, tie, and your grade book — come see me.
The next day, in 100-degree heat (40° C), I arrived in full formal attire. Drenched in sweat as if I’d just stepped out of a sauna, I handed Sisoyan my grade book.
Opening it and writing an «A» in the appropriate column, he said:
— Well, now I know that in addition to knowledge, you also possess a suit and a tie. Don’t be offended by an old man. It’s just that if I hadn’t reacted to your lovely tank top, tomorrow someone else would have shown up in their swim trunks because of the heat.
4. Taking the «Electrical Machines» Exam
I’ll continue with the topic of our «titans.» As I’ve mentioned, Nikolai Nikolaevich Yushkov was a man of extraordinary delicacy. While Grigory Sisoyan kept us in the iron grip of his Saint Petersburg etiquette, Yushkov wore us down with his sheer kindness. Still, taking an exam with him was a challenge — he could see right through a student.
In our fourth year, we had to pass the «Electrical Machines» exam. It was a difficult subject with a mountain of formulas and even more diagrams. As usual, I relied on my visual memory and my ability to think on my feet.
I walked in and drew a ticket. The questions weren’t the most pleasant, but they were manageable. I sat down to prepare. Nikolai Nikolaevich was walking between the rows, softly peeking into our drafts and whispering: — Oh, my dear fellow, why did you do that?… The vector is pointing the wrong way here. Think about it, my dear, think.
Then it was my turn. I rolled out my answer and drew the diagrams — everything was sharp and clean (remember, I drafted like a pro). Yushkov listened, nodded, and smiled: — Excellent, Yuri, simply excellent. Now tell me, my friend, how will the magnetic flux change if we increase the gap right here?
I started reasoning. My logic seemed ironclad, but I could feel the professor squinting at me slyly. — Eh? — he asked. — What if you give it another thought?
That’s when I realized I was lost in the woods. Yushkov wouldn’t just give you a failing grade; he would start «conversing» with you. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen… I was sweating more than I did during Sisoyan’s exam in a full suit. Nikolai Nikolaevich shook his head regretfully: — Ah, my dear fellow… You have the knowledge, but not a penny’s worth of diligence. You calculated this exact gap yourself in your term project!
I froze. I remembered that frantic night when I did three term projects at once. — Nikolai Nikolaevich, — I said, — I didn’t just calculate it; I «lived» it three times over in one night.
He suddenly burst out laughing, likely remembering the «alcoholic» incident and my bloodshot eyes. — Very well, very well. I see you haven’t forgotten. Give me your grade book. But next time, my dear boy, come well-rested — the magnetic field does not appreciate haste.
Another «A» appeared in my grade book. That’s the kind of men they were — they could kick you out for a tank top or take pity on your red eyes, but they always made sure you respected the subject.
5. The Key
There was an instructor at our Polytechnic Institute named Vakhtang Alexandrovich. He was a brilliant specialist and a decent man, but he was an incredible pedant — a trait that sometimes bordered on the bizarre. For instance, he insisted that students sit strictly in alphabetical order but forbade anyone from taking the seats of those who were absent. By looking at the «gaps» in the rows, he could instantly spot the truants. If this rule was broken, he would politely ask you not to make that mistake again, but his gaze made it clear there would be no second warning. He never raised his voice, usually saying:
— If you find it unbearable to sit through my lecture, let me know and I will simply let you go without any consequences. But if you force me to raise my voice, you can expect «payback» at the end of the semester.
When he entered the classroom, he never called for silence. He would simply take out his heavy horn-rimmed glasses and buff the lenses with a yellow suede cloth until the room fell into complete silence. Yet, he wasn’t a «dry» man; he had a good sense of humor.
His strangest quirk was how he handled exam tickets. He shuffled them like a deck of cards and kept them in his desk. On the morning of the exam, he’d pull out the deck and force every student to take the top card. Picking from the bottom or the middle was strictly forbidden, as he believed this eliminated any chance of guessing the ticket. However, he forgot the old saying: for every clever nut, there is a bolt with a special thread.
Some students from the Georgian-language department had either found or made a key to his office. Before an exam, they would sneak into the empty room and write down the exact order of the tickets in the deck. Then they distributed the tickets among themselves: each student studied exactly one ticket. The key was to enter the exam room one after another, strictly following the list. If someone failed to show up, it caused a total breakdown of the system. This key was passed down to the next class like a relay baton. Its existence was a state secret, but some people knew — and I was one of them.
One day, I was walking down the hall and saw a group of Georgian students nervously discussing something. I was a bit of a «celebrity» at the institute; there were constant «skirmishes» in the dean’s office over whether a straight-A student could be expelled for chronic truancy. The dean was waiting for me to slip up, but I never did, proudly maintaining my title as the «straight-A truant.»
The guys rushed over to me: — Help us out!
How could I help the Georgian department? My Georgian was non-existent. But they asked me to go into Vakhtang’s office right then and… take the exam. Specifically, ticket number seven. I chuckled: — Are you guys practicing for a comedy show? Do I look like an idiot?
That’s when they told me the story of the key and explained that the student who studied ticket number seven hadn’t shown up, and the whole plan had ground to a halt. My own exam was scheduled for the next day, so I was prepared. They promised me beer and khinkali, so I went in.
I told Vakhtang Alexandrovich: — A friend of mine is getting married tomorrow and I’m the best man. I urgently need to take the exam today.
I took the top ticket from the deck — number seven — and gave a perfect answer. Vakhtang looked at me, smiled, and said: — Since you came to take the exam early for the sake of a friend, I value your loyalty and will bump up your grade a bit.
I got an «A.»
6. Chocolate Joe
Somewhere in my third or fourth year, right after the semester had already started, a new subject was added out of the blue — «Thermal Power Plants.» If they had added it to the «Power Supply for Cities» group, it might have made sense, but for us — future high-voltage line engineers — it was as useful as skis in a sauna. It was immediately clear that the professor was someone’s «son-in-law.» That’s exactly what the students called him from then on — «Son-in-Law.»
The professor was short but quite portly. When he drew on the board, his belly would brush against the chalk tray, leaving a white streak across his stomach. When he noticed the smudge, he would stick his rear out in an unnatural way to avoid touching the board, which looked incredibly comical. Since the subject had been crammed into the schedule late, there were no large lecture halls left for us. We were stuck in tiny rooms meant for 10—15 people, where the first row of desks was practically pressed against the blackboard.
One rainy, miserable day, about twenty of us packed into one of these tiny rooms. I happened to be sitting in the very front row. As «Son-in-Law» enthusiastically drew steam boilers, his plump backside would pass mere centimeters from my desk. We would place a book on the edge, betting on whether his rear would knock it off or not.
In my group, there was a charming girl who clearly had a soft spot for me, though her personality was unbearable. Smart, sarcastic, and a total contrarian, she would bet me a bar of chocolate on any occasion. She almost never won, but every time she brought me my «winnings,» she seemed to take grim pleasure in imagining me developing diabetes. That day, she handed me a bar of «Gvardeysky» chocolate. In the seventies, the foil they used was only slightly thinner than roofing metal — when you unwrapped it, the crunch was loud enough to wake the dead.
Imagine throwing meat into a tiger’s cage and telling it to wait an hour. Twenty pairs of eyes were fixed on that chocolate bar. I started breaking it into pieces, but the treacherous foil crunched through the entire room. «Son-in-Law» kept turning around nervously, but I would quickly put on an angelic face. Eventually, I managed to share the pieces with my starving comrades. Just as I was about to pop my own piece into my mouth, the professor turned around. I froze — mouth open, chocolate in hand. Not knowing what to do, I looked at the chocolate, blew on it as if dusting it off, and… swallowed it.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «Литрес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на Литрес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.