An Innocent Deposit and the First Step into the Unknown
Some projects start calmly. This one didn’t.
It all began exactly at 9:45 AM, when a deposit appeared in my account.
Moments later — as if someone had triggered a mysterious “Drop Everything at Once” protocol — a real avalanche began.
First, an email from the company owner.
In the body of the message, not the attachments, a few images compressed so much they looked like vacation memories from two decades ago.
A minute later, WhatsApp started ringing like a market bell: a series of fifteen product photos, each file smaller than an average meme.
I stared, wondering if I was building a website about shoes or failed webcam tests.
Communication Channels: the More, the… Funnier?
Then came an SMS:
“Our mission: reliability trust innovation”.
No Polish characters, no commas.
Raw content — like a haiku written on the run.
Meanwhile, a PDF popped in — presenting the company… from 2007.
A business description of services they no longer offered, an address that no longer existed, and a business owner who “still helps out somehow.”
Shortly after, Messenger:
“Here are the photos from our session” — wrote Kasia from marketing, sending three files named “me1.jpg”, “me2.jpg”, and “new”.
Resolution? I would have had to hire a detective to reconstruct the original image.
To complete the set — a Google Drive link from the photographer.
Without permission to view.
Their response to my access request: “It works for me.”
Of course it does. Just like everything that “works for me.”
Extreme Cases: When Technology Cries
I thought I had seen it all — until the owner’s cousin appeared.
Proudly, he sent me a picture of the logo, taken with his phone, against the sun, with a parking lot and a piece of cloud in the background.
It seemed like there was also a satellite shadow flickering somewhere in the corner.
And finally — the real gem of the day: The Price List.
Handwritten on a piece of paper, photographed with a phone, sent via WhatsApp in such quality that even the oldest manuscripts would look like premium prints by comparison.
I stared at those numbers like Indiana Jones at the scrolls of an ancient civilization.
The Day’s Climax: The Fight for Survival
By 2 PM, my inbox looked like a rescue station during a hurricane.
Emails, WhatsApp messages, Messenger chats, SMS, Word files, PDFs, images embedded in messages, screenshots, documents in fifteen different formats — each with different character encodings.
By 4 PM, I had nineteen windows open, fourteen temporary folders scattered across my desktop, and my mouse — I swear — started slipping strangely, as if it were trying to escape the desk.
In the evening, I sat surrounded by files, sipping cold coffee, and wondering whether someone might still send me materials… by carrier pigeon.
And in the End…
Was the project completed?
Yes.
Did I survive?
I’m still not entirely sure.