Being Myself at Work – From Top Gun to the Kitchen Table

People like to imagine the military as something loud and hard. Orders, shouting, macho men, fighting all the time.
Maybe sometimes that is true.
But that was not my everyday life.

For twelve years and two months, I worked as what you can call a naval air soldier. That sounds already a bit confused — and it was. The technical side was Air Force, the military side was Marines. A flying boat, you could say. Or a plane with a lot of responsibility and many hands on it.

People later joked and called me Top Gun. Or Maverick. I am definitely not Tom Cruise — maybe a little taller, but less handsome. And no, I did not have the same effect on women. But I had something else: a strong feeling of who I was at work.

And that was never a killer.
Never a macho soldier.

Work is teamwork, not rank

An airplane is not a hero story.
An airplane is a system.

There are electricians. Instrument people. Mechanics. People who know the fuselage, people who know the engine, people who know the codes and the paperwork. Without one of them, nothing flies.

When we were outside our home base, on European air stations — Italy, France, England, Germany — something special happened. After you finished your own work, you went to the others and asked:

“Can I help you?”
“Do you need tools?”
“Oil?”
“Just hands?”

Rank was there, yes. But it was not the most important thing. The airplane was.

The toilet story (yes, this one)

One day, I asked if there was anything I could help with.
The answer was: yes — but not a job for my rank.

It was the chemical toilet of the airplane.

I said: no problem. Show me.

So there I was, with a big container, climbing down the ladder at the back of the plane. Three steps. Ground. And then — I slipped.

The whole thing came over me.

People shouted:
“Action! Don’t open your eyes! Don’t open your eyes!”

They put me on a truck, drove me to a shower, washed me with my clothes on, two people, soap everywhere, still shouting:
“Don’t open your eyes!”

I never emptied a toilet again after that.
And that day I learned the perfect English sentence for life:

Sometimes, shit really happens.

You can be Top Gun — and still fall very deep.

Italy, generators, and hands that speak

Another moment I never forget was in Sardinia.

We had a problem with one generator. Coal briquettes were empty. Germany had no plane to bring spare parts. So they said: go to the Italians.

I went.
No German. No English. Only Italian.

So we spoke with hands, feet, eyes, metal, noise.

At first, he wanted to give me the whole generator. I said no — forbidden, paperwork, serial numbers, lifetime documents. German rules.

Finally, he understood. He opened his generator, took out the coal briquettes, and gave them to me.

I said: you cannot fly now.

He smiled like it was nothing.

Later, when Germany sent our spare parts, we gave everything back.
That man gave me his heart, not just parts.

That island taught me something:
Europe is many languages, but one soul.

On duty and off duty — still myself

People ask: could you laugh? Could you be yourself?

Yes.
Absolutely yes.

When you were off duty, everyone was the same. Pilot, officer, technician, doctor. We sat together, drank a little, sang with guitars. No “sir”. Only you.

On duty, of course, you followed orders. That is the army.
But outside the work — you were a private person again.

And I was always Ralf Brandt.
Not a soldier uniform.

Why I left

At the end, the army changed.

Quality went down. Respect went down. Some officers were like children with toys. Old soldiers said: this is not the army we knew.

I felt it in my body. I couldn’t sleep. I woke up at three in the morning, thinking.

That is always my sign.

So I left. I became civilian. I learned a new profession. I chose health over system.

One door closed.
Another opened.

Civilian life and saying “no”

Later, in sales, I learned something else:
You must be able to say no.

I had a sales manager who destroyed people. Six colleagues complained. Nothing happened. I got sick again. Same sign.

So I left. And yes — that was one of my biggest mistakes and also one of my biggest lessons.

When quality, honesty, and respect are gone, your body knows first.

Today: closing the door

Now I work from home.

At five o’clock, I shut down the laptop. Phone on standby. Coffee in the winter garden with my wife. On Friday evening, everything is off until Monday morning.

Work stays in the room.

Life stays in the kitchen.

What the army taught me — and why it still matters

Loyalty.
Camaraderie.
Leadership.

When someone cannot march anymore, you take his backpack. You carry him. Together.

That lesson is missing today.

Children are driven everywhere. Guided everywhere. Protected from everything. But sometimes, they need to carry a little weight — and feel someone else helping them.

In the end

Being yourself at work is not about freedom without rules.

It is about respect.
For people.
For quality.
For yourself.

Whether you work on an airplane, sell grinding tools, or make coffee in the morning.

And yes — even Top Gun has to clean the toilet sometimes.

That’s life.