Coffee Mustache

A while back, I had a Zoom interview that felt less like a professional meeting and more like a live taping of a workplace comedy pilot that somehow never got picked up.

From the moment I logged on, I knew it was going to be a wild ride. First, my camera refused to turn on, and I spent the first 45 seconds staring at my own frozen face while frantically clicking buttons like I was defusing a bomb. By the time my video finally worked, my hair looked like I had just come in from a wind tunnel, and I was already sweating like I’d run a marathon in August.

Then came Karen. Sweet, earnest, possibly over-caffeinated Karen. She popped onto the screen with a giant mug that looked more like a soup bowl than a coffee cup. Mid-introduction, she took an enthusiastic sip and immediately gifted us all with a glorious, foamy coffee mustache.

She had no idea. Zero awareness. She continued explaining the company’s “innovative synergies” and “disruptive core values” with such passion that I almost believed they weren’t just corporate buzzwords strung together at a last-minute strategy retreat. Meanwhile, her coffee foam mustache looked like a tiny, frothy caterpillar perched on her upper lip.

I tried to maintain eye contact, but it was impossible. My eyes kept drifting to her latte-lip masterpiece like it was the Mona Lisa of caffeine accidents. I wanted to say something — really, I did. But how do you interrupt someone explaining “cross-functional value streams” to say, “Hey, you’ve got a dairy beard situation going on”?

Then, as if things weren’t already spiraling into sitcom territory, Karen’s cat jumped onto her keyboard. Not just a casual stroll either. This cat went full WWE, stepping on keys, headbutting her microphone, and at one point, turning her camera off entirely.

Suddenly, the screen went black. I sat there alone, unsure if I should stay, leave, or start playing elevator music for myself. A full minute passed before her video returned. When she finally popped back on, her coffee mustache had somehow become even more majestic. It was now joined by a bit of cat hair, forming a kind of avant-garde art piece.

Through it all, she powered on, blissfully unaware. At one point, she asked me a question, and I completely blanked. My brain had been hijacked by the coffee-caterpillar saga. I’m pretty sure I responded with something about “team-oriented innovative disruption synergy frameworks,” which, in corporate speak, is basically saying, “I have no idea what I’m talking about, but please continue.”

Eventually, we wrapped up. She thanked me for my time (still sporting the mustache), and I closed my laptop, equal parts horrified and wildly entertained.

When people say, “Be your authentic self,” I don’t think they mean “accidentally audition for a milk-stache meme.” But honestly, that was the most authentic interview I’ve ever had.

In a weird way, Karen gave me a gift. She reminded me that no matter how polished we try to appear, we’re all just human. We spill, we sweat, our cats ruin our big moments, and sometimes we end up with foam mustaches during critical career conversations.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay. Maybe that’s what makes us memorable — not the perfect answers, but the perfectly imperfect moments that prove we’re alive and real.

Legend status: coffee-mustache approved.