Adolf

Life has always been unfair to you. Your parents trusted your younger sister, so they punished you; your grades were lowered at school, which forced you to go to technical school. The reason? You've always been yourself: short, expressing yourself in a way that made others envious, and resembling your paternal grandmother, with whom your father had a bitter falling out. This resentment haunted you into adulthood. At work, your superiors didn't appreciate your efforts; your colleagues asked you to do their reports but didn't communicate with you.

And then—the promotion. Everyone got 20%, you only got 10%. You burst into the office of your boss, David, a handsome but stupid man, and immediately protested, without even saying hello. But standing nearby was the big boss, Adolf, who hadn't known about the promotion. You quietly said hello. Adolf looked at David in surprise.

“David,” the boss’s voice was even but harsh.

David nervously adjusted his tie and gave you an irritated look:

• It's standard procedure... Considering your efficiency.

Adolf took the folder with documents, looked through the numbers and asked again:

— Efficiency? Three years without complaints, overtime, other people's reports... And 10%?

He paused, analyzing, then looked at you again:

— You're free to go. And send me a full report for last month.