Stroop For A Group

Eliza Hansen’s assistant handed her the cappuccino and waited for her to take her first sip. The business mogul subscribed to the classic dictum about no conversation before caffeination. As such, the first drink marked the true start of their day.

“Let’s talk schedule,” Eliza said, settling in behind her desk.

Her assistant remained standing. “Today’s the day, ma’am. We’re wall-to-wall with meetings, all with the express purpose of making inroads into the European market for Hansen Brands.”

“Wonderful,” Eliza said, shutting her eyes. She felt she could focus better this way.

“First thing, we’re doing a Zoom with Heinrich Clep, the German influencer who goes by RattleZnake on TikTok,” her assistant said, looking at her tablet. “He’s willing to do a partnership. After that, you’re having a sit-down with three French Hedge Fund managers. Then a quick huddle with your VP of marketing, who’s currently on the ground in Oslo. After that, it’s downtown to judge the Dutch Junior Orchestra Competition Finale, followed by a virtual meet-and-greet with members of the Spanish Business Ethics Committee, and lunch with–”

Eliza opened her eyes. “Wait, sorry. Could we go back a few?”

“Oh, I assure you you’ll have plenty of time to get into the city following the chat with your VP of marketing,” her assistant said. “It’s just a quick check-in. We could even do it in the car to the concert hall.”

“No, that’s actually the one I’m confused about,” Eliza said. “Why exactly am I judging a junior orchestra competition?”

“Just a public image boost, ma’am,” her assistant said. “A great photo-op, really. You there, surrounded by two-hundred smiling Dutch children. It could go viral.”

“But don’t you see the potential downside?” Eliza sat up straight. “Far from breakfast but not quite lunch. The children will be hungry. They’ll start crying. I can just see the headlines now: ‘Eliza Hansen makes two-hundred children sob.’”

“Nothing to worry about, ma’am,” her assistant said. “I have secured, at a very reasonable price, two hundred miniature cookies. Not so small as to be bite-sized, nor so big as to be potentially meal-ruining. And individually wrapped. We’ll hand those out.”

Eliza smiled and relaxed, closing her eyes once more. “You think of everything, don’t you? But I’m curious, what kind of cookies did you get?”

“Stroopwafels, ma’am,” her assistant said. “I assure you they are culturally appropriate.”

“I’m not familiar with those,” Eliza said.

“They’re the mini version of the complimentary kind you get on an airplane, ma’am,” said her assistant.

“Cookies on an airplane?” Eliza laughed. “How silly! Doesn’t everyone eat duck confit and drink Negronis in the air?”

“It’s been a while since you’ve flown commercial, hasn’t it, ma’am?” her assistant said.