Frankfurt, with its shimmering skyline and buzzing commerce, was always in motion. Everyone was in some frantic hustle—concluding deals, mishandling deals, and most crucially, misbehaving in every imaginable way. And that meant one thing—apologies were always in high demand.

  My sanctuary of solace and sorrow—that is, my office—was nestled in the Westend district. It boasted dark wood panels, soft carpets, and an imposing oak desk that had borne witness to more heartfelt confessions than a church confessional. Svetlana, my assistant and the office’s iron gatekeeper, would curate my appointments with an efficiency that rivaled a Swiss watch. Beyond scheduling, she was exquisitely managing the flow of visitors and filtering calls with unmatched precision. She once noted, with her characteristic sharp wit, that I had more appointments than the city’s most sought-after therapist. If the office was my sanctuary, Svetlana was its guardian angel.

  One crisp morning, as the delicious smell of freshly baked pretzels filled the air, Lukas, a familiar face and frequent client, burst into my sanctum.

  “I need your help, Frederik!” His voice trembled, mirroring his sweaty brow and shaky demeanor.

  “What misadventure brings you today?”.

  In between heavy breaths, Lukas began recounting his latest fiasco. “To win over a potential investor, a bird enthusiast, I ordered an exotic parrot—an African Grey. Little did I realize it had a past… a rather foul-mouthed past!”

  I sighed. A swearing parrot in the hands of a dignitary was as discreet as fireworks at a library.

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  “So now, my would-be benefactor is in possession of a parrot that, let’s just say, needs to wash its beak out with soap.” Lukas cried.

  Gravely nodding, I said, “This calls for a dramatic gesture, Lukas!”

  Several hours later, armed with my customary crafted apology, gourmet birdseed, and an additional prop—a small vial labeled ‘Tears of Deep Regret,’ we stood before the luxurious abode of the offended investor.

  Our every breath echoed through the cavernous drawing room. The infamous African Grey sat perched on a golden cage, eyeing us with an almost mocking glint. The investor, Herr Müller, looking as offended as I imagined, awaiting the apology.

  Before anyone said anything, dramatically dropping to the ground, I slid forward in a deep, exaggerated bow, my forehead touching the floor. The most profound Japanese apology. “Sir, we are deeply, profoundly, emphatically, and absolutely remorseful for the bird-brained oversight,” I cried, eyes downcast, in complete submission.

  Gently pushing the vial of ‘Tears of Deep Regret,’ towards him, I said, “I have collected my strongest tears—each drop symbolizing my profound sorrow.”

  Lukas, catching onto the theatrics, collapsed furiously next to me, mirroring my pose. “Every word Frederik speaks deeply vibrates with my heart’s deepest lament!!” He exclaimed.

  The room was thick with tension... before the parrot shattered it by repeating one of its ‘choice’ phrases.

  A moment of stunned silence was abruptly broken by the investor’s loud laughter. “By the heavens! This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever witnessed!”

  I rose gracefully, nodding. “We aim to please... and apologize.”

  As we left, with the echoing laughter of Herr Müller behind us and the parrot throwing in its two cents’ worth, it was clear—in the world of dramatic apologies; I was unmatched.