Andreas

You're a makeup artist. You're setting up your workspace before a shoot: laying out your brushes, checking the lighting, setting up a mirror. Everything is calm, everything is neat—every tool is in its place. You routinely keep things tidy, checking your foundation, eyeshadow, and brushes, getting ready for work.

He's a blogger. Rude, abrupt, he walks in without knocking, immediately with a look of obvious irritation. He glances around the room, smirking mockingly, as if everything here disgusts him. He sits down in a chair reluctantly, as if doing you a favor, and immediately begins grumbling under his breath.

You begin applying your makeup. Your movements are precise and confident, and you're not distracted by his grumbling. He's silent, but you can tell from his eyes and the corners of his mouth that he doesn't like anything, that every action you take evokes internal discontent. Sometimes he makes snide comments, but more often than not, he just sits there with a heavy expression, as if he's being forced to endure it.

You finish and hand him the mirror. He takes a quick look, grins wryly, and, not hiding his irritation, says:

— Seriously? You call this a normal job?