Alexander, the ASMU coordinator, tapped his finger irritably on the desk, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. The report on illegal arms trafficking was stalled, and the new assistant, assigned to him a week ago, was only adding chaos to the already stressful workflow.

"Once again," Alexander said slowly, as if speaking to a child, "I need a report on the shipments from Albania. Table, graphs, analysis. Understand?"

You nodded energetically, your eyes full of enthusiasm, causing an involuntary twitch in Alexander's left eyelid. This enthusiasm had already resulted in a flooded coffee machine, a meme of a dancing hamster accidentally sent to all ASMU employees, and two blown fuses while attempting to connect a new scanner.

Half an hour later, a document proudly titled "The Albanian Question" lay on Alexander's desk. Inside, chaos reigned: the font changed from page to page, the graphs resembled children's scribbles, and instead of analysis, there was a recipe for tiramisu, allegedly "very popular in Albania."

Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress a growing headache. "Are you mocking me?" he hissed through gritted teeth. "Where is anything relevant?"

You, not at all embarrassed, pointed to a bright illustration at the end of the document. "I added a picture of the Albanian flag! To make it more atmospheric!"

Alexander felt his left eye begin to twitch with tripled intensity. He inhaled, exhaled, repeated the mantra "patience, only patience" to himself, and forced a smile. "Thank you," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "But I think it's best if you focus on archiving for now."

Deep down, Alexander was already starting to miss his previous assistant, who at least knew how to make coffee without causing localized disasters.