Ellie's "unique touch" was, as it turned out, not limited to cleaning. President Sterling had taken her up on her offer to bring him his morning Danish, and soon, it expanded to his morning coffee. Ellie took pride in remembering exactly how he liked it – strong, two sugars, a tiny splash of cream, and always in his favorite "World's Best President" mug (a gift from his granddaughter, apparently).
One crisp autumn morning, a delegation from a notoriously rigid Eastern European nation was visiting for a high-stakes summit. The White House was buzzing with activity, Secret Service presence was doubled, and the air was thick with tension. President Sterling was due to give a crucial opening speech in the East Room, and he needed his coffee.
Ellie, carrying the sacred mug on a silver tray, navigated the bustling corridors, feeling a surge of pride. She was an important cog in the presidential machine! She was delivering the fuel for diplomacy!
Just as she reached the door to the East Room, a flurry of suited figures emerged, surrounding a stern-faced foreign dignitary. One of them, a rather pompous-looking aide, gestured wildly, his hand sweeping through the air.
WHAM!
His hand connected squarely with Ellie's tray. The "World's Best President" mug flew through the air in a slow-motion arc, spilling its contents in a steaming, brown cascade. And it landed, with unerring accuracy, directly onto the pristine white shirt and highly decorated chest of the Eastern European dignitary.
A collective gasp echoed through the corridor. Coffee bloomed on his shirt like a bizarre, dark stain. The dignitary, previously impassive, now looked like a horrified mannequin.
Ellie froze, the empty tray clattering to the floor. "Oh no! Oh my goodness! I am so, so sorry! It's hot! Is it hot? Oh, your shirt! Your medals! I am so, so, so sorry!" She flapped her hands uselessly.
President Sterling, who had just emerged from the East Room, stopped dead. He took in the scene: the spluttering dignitary, the aghast aides, and Ellie, looking as if she'd just committed an act of war, with remnants of coffee splashed on her uniform.
The dignitary's face, usually the epitome of diplomatic composure, began to turn a shade of furious crimson. He started to bellow in his native tongue, pointing an accusing finger at Ellie. His translator, looking terrified, quickly translated: "He says... he says you have committed a grave insult! An act of disrespect! This is an outrage!"
Ellie felt a fresh wave of panic. An international incident. Over coffee. She was going to single-handedly destroy US foreign relations.