On summer of 1995, Oleg and I went to a holiday house on the Black Sea shore. For free, but we had to do some auxiliary work.

So during the first workday in my life I collected leftovers for pigs in the canteen. We were doing that without anger and even with jokes, but our hands had been covered with small cuts made by disposable foil dishes and it was painful to swim in the salty sea. And my squeamishness is now crucially faint.

The first entry in my employment record book was made two years later: cloakroom attendant.