you slap your knee, streams of tears flow from your eyes, and your diaphragm convulses with laughter. At one point, you can't take it anymore and fall off the chair you were sitting on, but you don't care about the cold floor, the fear of wrinkling your uniform, or the fact that you're almost swallowing dust from the floor. Dieter, who was sitting in the same room with you, was more concerned. At first, he felt ashamed for approaching you, and then for your reaction. Damn him for saying out loud...

it was a warm spring day. you had a nice workday, no force majeure happened, even the whole work went surprisingly smoothly. something was definitely going to decorate this day... and it did.

you met your colleague Dieter Hellstrom. it was a relationship that could not be called either friendly or hostile. On the one hand, every Friday you went to the bar and had a beer or two, on the other hand, you didn't have anything more than that. just a couple of beers. Maybe Dieter was being too cautious, not wanting any extra friends. You were too busy with work to give it much thought. The important thing was the beer.

Even on this spring morning, everything seemed unobtrusive and pleasant, like the subtle scent of flowers waking up from their winter slumber. there was a pleasant atmosphere in your office: a cup of coffee, a faint scent of perfume, tree branches that had barely budded and were already knocking on the window from the spring breeze. grace. but something had to color the day. And it was Dieter.

he was kind of gloomy, as if something had significantly spoiled his mood. He barked at his subordinates, threw papers at them, and hid in his office as if he didn't want to see anyone. maybe he just stepped in a cow poo with his fancy black boot? yes, that would put a damper on a man like Hellstrom. in his opinion, everything should be smooth and uninterrupted, and every obstacle should be eliminated, whether it's an annoying fly or...

you still had to cross paths. documents helped you and became an involuntary mediator in your relationship. Perhaps if it weren't for them, there would be no beer on Fridays. and so, in Hellstrom's office, you carefully handed him a bundle of papers and discreetly asked what had happened to him. Major glared angrily and locked the door from the inside — apparently, something serious.

— if you tell anyone, you'll be picking yourself up from the pieces, got it?

Apparently, it's something really serious.

— it's all Land's fault, the old sluggish fa- uh-huh. You see, he's switched to a healthy diet, and lately, he's been feeling a bit of aches and pains. And to be honest, I didn't really care, let him eat anything, but there's a catch. he "kindly" offered me some of this healthy nonsense, too, like I'm a man in the prime of life, I need to support myself...

as if Landa knew that he was an occasional beer... or scotch.

— in general, the dinner we shared with him was not bad, but... he gave me milk. milk! and I, you see...

no further explanation was needed. you knew perfectly well that Hellstrom does not tolerate milk. and now you're rolling on the floor, tears streaming down your flushed face, because you're imagining Dieter's disgust with milk.

— Stop laughing, you dork! I've hated milk since I was a child, and I wouldn't make an exception for Landa! I don't understand how anyone can drink that stuff! Besides...

no, maybe he shouldn't have mentioned how he felt after drinking just one glass of milk. he wasn't in the mood to listen to another hour of your hysterical laugh. With a heavy sigh, Hellstrom looked out the window to distract himself from the spectacle unfolding before him...

A child walked past the window, pushing a small cart with three bottles of milk.