CLUB OF CAR FANS
How does an ordinary Russian car mechanic feel among his colleagues in Spain? Here is what Dmitry Danshov told about this, the story of which I bring here almost without cuts.
Spain … Valencia … On the Mediterranean coast is the wonderful town of Alicante. A dream come true! Bullfighting, fiesta, castanets, palm trees with free coconuts, what else … Yes! If you're lucky, see Ronaldo himself. Relax!
A serene vacation on a wild beach was interrupted by the advent of jeeps. Fathers! Familiar to the pain "Niva"! Where from? The locksmith’s heart could not stand it.
The pilot-captain of the team of amateur racing drivers, Spaniard Eduardo Amancio, who unwisely introduced himself as Edik, was delighted to learn that I was a car mechanic. Not listening to objections, Edik pushed me into the Niva and instantly rumbled to his house. And at the same time to the car service, the owner of which he turned out to be (here, by the way, VAZ cars are being repaired).
The station is small, clean. Like a toy. Several people in a match with impeccably ironed overalls thoughtfully examine the inside of cars. Idyll. And suddenly a loud phrase: “Lie down! Right now the springs will shoot! ”Plus a few savory expressions. The Spanish people, who quickly understood the essence of what was said, scaredly hid behind the workbenches … And in the center of the hall of impressive size, the man slowly took off the rear springs from the Niva hanging on the lift. Which were not going to shoot anywhere. However, “Senior Vladimir” has jokes (with emphasis on the last syllable) …
… Vladimir Faedo, who moved to Spain a year ago, turned out to be a charming man. His father, a Spanish communist, came to the USSR after Franco's victory in 1939. So by blood Vladimir is a real Spaniard. But by nature - a typical Rusak. Muscovite, mechanic, minder - that's how life went. And then either the blood ached, or tired of the stupid Russian eternal … rushed to Madrid as - into space. To nowhere, randomly, headlong … Not forgetting, however, the description from the place of the last job - the Automechanical Center "Mechanics", where the entire work biography is set out step by step. In Spanish, of course. It turns out that this is important there.
He was brought to a car company repairing VAZs by a Russian emigrant. Presented: “Here is a man who knows how to fix the Lada. He is from Russia". As if penetrated. The main impressions, however, were further. Because it was on this day that the compressor broke down at the station. In honor of which the staff received a forced day off. Or two. Waiting for the master from the company. As usual, in Spanish. Vladimir only grunted with annoyance and rolled up his sleeves. Thirty minutes later, the compressor - a simple thing, by the way, was in perfect order. Spaniards, naturally, in shock. Thirty minutes later (be proud, compatriots!), He easily solved another, absolutely insoluble, in Spanish terms, problem - where to put a can with an unknown liquid and a peeled off label. Whether there is acid, or something else … Do not understand … Well, there is no label! Volodya acted brilliantly simply: he opened the lid, sniffed, put a finger inside, and tasted for the purity of the experiment. Then he solemnly announced: “Guys, this is distilled water! Still fresh. ” The answer was immoderate - according to southern temperament - standing ovations and a wise decision by bosses: we take. For a full salary. No trial period.
For superhuman ability (by Spanish standards, of course) to determine, distinguish by smell and even taste, oil from antifreeze or tormozuhi it was given the nickname "Chernobyl". And for the ability to translate inches into millimeters and vice versa - by the “professor” and respect, turning into reverence.
… Volodya told me and amused himself: “Do you know how they work here? From 9 to 8 in the evening. With two breaks for “coffee” for 40 minutes. They drink a vinyl, not coffee. And another four-hour lunch break. With a dream! Siesta called. Relax … Who in this mode can work for real? Can you imagine getting into this paradise? Yes, and they do not work, I tell you …. They do not know how. Everything is according to a thick book. Have you heard that in Russia they changed the clutch on the G8 with the removal of the engine - 4 hours ?! Tell someone they won’t believe it. They will laugh.
Children, by God! Around pneumatics, coasters, hands are always clean. Yes, they are as hell incense afraid of a self-locking nut twist on the "Niva" levers. Hiding in the corners from the chef. Well, not a laugh? Learned to change the filter, belt and brake pads. And they change, scum, at every opportunity! It is necessary or not - it does not matter! They are not even “in the know” that the gearbox is disassembled or that the clearance in the distributor can be adjusted! Imagine a little something - running to the warehouse for a new one! And - the funny thing is - we are firmly convinced that the problem is solved with replacement! Dig into the carburetor? Not on your nelly! Is that a "quality" tighten up. Or move the "quantity". And - that's it! Replace the shrunked gasket, or diaphragm, or, say, rub the plane - but it won’t occur to you! The beaten track - to the warehouse! For a new one! Yes, I'm here for the replacement of valve stem seals (spectacular pause) 50 bucks are paid! And - the turn. Well, poor fellow, they remove their heads for this! And for all the work they take so much that you can easily buy a new engine! You should have seen what eyes they looked when I cracked the valves with a hammer and a candle key! The boss almost fainted! Well, they’ve seen nothing worse than bullfighting in life …
… And you, man, when will you go home to Russia? Would you send me something from there, huh? I will give you money. So, this: a micrometer, caliper, a pair of bars … Compressometer. Russian! You won’t find any good ones or three skins will be torn off! And more faucets for the “stove”. Samovar. And gaskets. And sedatives … Yes, I'll write you a list. Will you send? And then come on yourself here. BUT? And you don’t need to learn the language, they already understand our way. Think countryman … "
The conversation smoothly flowed into the mainstream “for life”, but here the gong rang weakly, and the break ended. Volodya moved into the service building - I followed him. Curiosity overcame. Yes … "Professor" was just like hot cakes! Bursting! Stunningly popular!
The Spaniards, however, are already accustomed to being surprised and anyway, no, no, yes, someone will snap their fingers, pricket their tongue.
And so - until the evening. In a good way, I envied the Russian peasant Volodya. Respect. Appreciate. And in general, 50 bucks for replacing the caps … hmm … I'll think about it. Maybe I'll leave too. Where the oranges are. Black olives. Carmencites. And all the horses as one - Rocinante. And the owner is calling, Eddie. Only now I’ll miss the birch trees.