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Cold Coffee

It was an unusually beautiful November morning, and I had my first day as a project manager in one of the coolest design agencies in Germany.

The location was a Meatpacking district-like hall in the heart of Munich, with a color range that went from matte anthracite to glossy black and everything was perfected down to the last detail.

The employee kitchen was huge, equipped with one of those super professional barista coffee machines, which I had no idea how to use. But after I had to ask a colleague how to turn on my computer as soon as I arrived and felt like the fool of the nation (in my defense: I had NEVER worked on a MAC before), I didn't want to ask about operating the coffee machine that everyone skillfully handled while chatting. The funny thing was: everyone knew that I had previously worked in marketing for a coffee roaster and assumed I was somewhat the inventor of the coffee machine. However, at my old job, there were only foolproof fully automated machines or the good old coffee pot.

One of my new colleagues explained everything I needed to know about my new job while skillfully making a milk foam hearted cappuccino. I watched attentively, confidently approached the machine after him, and saw by his expression that something had gone wrong horribly. The coffee hadn't flowed into the cup, but had shot up in a high arc onto my white blouse.

I had the choice of walking around with a scruffy-looking brown speckled blouse or just wearing a bra. After a moment of shock, I chose the blouse and laughed out loud about it. At least on that day, I quickly got into conversations with everyone.

The day became a motto: "When you cannot change something at all, you can only change your attitude."

P.S. By the way the stain couldn't be washed out either, because as soon as the fabric got wet, it became transparent...


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