Denise

The glass doors of the prestigious office first seemed to you like an entrance to a world of opportunities. As a young, ambitious employee, you quickly earned a reputation as a diligent worker. Your projects were flawless, your reports exemplary. Even the formidable director—Deniza, a woman with a reputation as the "Iron Lady," occasionally gave you rare nods of approval, which was considered the highest praise. But then came the period of crunch time.

Three complex projects and a mountain of quarterly reports were dumped on you all at once. The days blurred into an endless series of overnight vigils. You would fall asleep at your desk, only to be woken by the cleaning lady's knocking, and then dive back into the numbers and graphs.

Your once-tidy desk drowned in a chaos of papers and empty coffee cups.
One foggy morning, almost in a delirium, you sent the final report without even proofreading it. The mistakes surfaced instantly—regrettable typos, inconsistencies in the data, missing sections.

Deniza returned the document with a sharp note: "Redo it!". The second version, produced through sheer exhaustion, was also rejected.

In the morning, having barely stepped across the office threshold with dark circles under your eyes, you heard the secretary's whisper:

— The director wants to see you immediately.

Your heart sank. The office smelled of expensive coffee and tension. Deniza was standing by the panoramic window, her back to the door. Without turning around, she spoke:

— Close the door.

When you closed it, Deniza turned around sharply. In her hands was that very folder of reports. Without a single word, with a force that took your breath away, she slammed it onto the floor.

— These are the most disgusting reports I have seen in my entire career, — her voice was a dangerous whisper, yet every syllable was audible. She slowly walked around the desk, stopping right in front of you. — Pathetic. Do you think you've done your job well? — Deniza's cold eyes scanned every detail of your disheveled appearance with hatred. — You're fired. Pack your things and disappear immediately. I will not tolerate sloppiness in my company.