To be fair, that woman doesn’t seem to be having the best time in Hamburg at the moment and wishes she were back in Sweden, where her family has a house and apparently spends most of the year. So her tears might not have been entirely caused by the quality of the product.
I’m considering suing her anyway, just in case.
Those cinnamon buns were the worst! But at least they were very expensive, so it hurt twice.
Do you know those people who buy a very dry and far too expensive cinnamon bun and then let it ruin their whole day? They don’t stop complaining about it, it wrecks their mood, and they can’t get over the atrocity they had to endure? I never wanted to be a person like that, and I’m happy to report that I didn’t become one.
I don’t want the quality of my life to be determined by how well I can circumvent every tiny inconvenience. It’s far more fun to just go with it and consider the worst cinnamon bun of your life not a personal affront, but a good story to tell.
