Marcel Winatschek

Don’t Touch the Mustard

The lesson, apparently, is never steal the mustard from the agency fridge. What followed was a Post-It note war of escalating emotional intensity—passive-aggressive at first, then surprisingly vulnerable, then almost novelistic. Someone out there had feelings about that mustard that I was completely unprepared to encounter on a Sunday morning. I caused heartbreak. I caused drama. I caused a minor office correspondence crisis. And I would do it again for the right sandwich.