We try not
to make a habit of destroying job-seekers. We’re a panty-waist company. Quite
literally, we make panty-waists, and other elasticized liners (you just can’t
imagine the utility value of a good panty-waist in countless industrial
tasks!).
Take the
last guy who came in here – complete fiasco. This was clearly not the new VP –
Business Development of our panty-waist company.
Pity. His
profile had looked so promising.
Phil
Natters, the VP – Human Resources of our panty-waist company, had showed us his
LinkedIn page. There he was in black and white.
Timothy
Nutz-Rockefeller III
Gartner
Group – Commerce Facilitator – 2007 to present
MacKenzie
& Co. – Interaction Initiator – 2006-2007
Deloitte Consulting
LLP – Outlier Stimulation Services – 2005-2006
His
professional and educational pedigrees bore all the kinds of gold-plating we’re
used to see from executive candidates here at the panty-waist company. His
recommendations came exclusively from CEOs, COOs, CTOs, VPs, CFOs, CIOs and
C3Os. In other words, he gleamed.
The little
vessel that was Timothy Nutz-Rockefeller III fared boldly on the electronic
seas. Yet, we needed to know if he had the right stuff to be VP – Business
Development of our panty-waist company, or if he was simply another crystal
ship.
Not
surprisingly, he had arrived on time. Our receptionist (yes, she’s the one who
gets to say ”Welcome to the Panty-Waist company” dozens of times a day) had
started the test, as usual, by giving him “The Topic” and instructing him to
keep it with him at all times.
There’s no
mystery around “The Topic”. It’s simply a half-litre bottle that we’ve filled
with warm yeast extract. The bottle has been cracked every so slightly at its
base, so that it oozes imperceptibly. The symbolism for a modern business
leader is, of course, obvious.
Unfortunately,
Timothy had smilingly accepted “The Topic”.
Then Will
Hand fetched him. Hand’s not just one of the marketing managers in our
panty-waist company; she’s also very confused – that is, in terms of her sexual
identity. She looks and sounds like a man, she has the name of a man and she
describes herself as a man, a la “what kind of guy do you take me for?” and
that kind of thing.
Halfway
down the corridor, Will stopped up. “I’m sorry. I need to grab something at my
desk. Just take a seat for one second, OK?”
There are
no seats in the hall, so Timothy stood, and – registering that “The Topic” was
leaky – held his arm out to one side.
Johnny
Rickles, one of our brokers, walked straight up to Timothy and asked him if he
was waiting. Johnny pointed at the door next to Timothy. It was marked with the
profile of a man.
“Oh no, I’m
waiting for Will Hand.”
“She’s
making you wait, huh?” Johnny shrugged and went through the door.
Will Hand
returned shortly thereafter, just as we had planned, and pointed at the door
with the profile of a man. “After you.”
Granted,
the “meeting in the men’s room”-gag was a bad one. Our CEO dreamed it up: Put
the profile on the door of our panty-waisted meeting room. All in all, it’s
probably the weakest part of our process.
Timothy
entered the room boldly, in any event, and he deserves credit for that. The
room had a thin stripe of windows high on one wall (they afford no real view),
a long conference table and four chairs.
We had
arranged the chairs so that all four were on the same side of the oblong table.
Will took the seat farthest left, Johnny took the seat farthest right and I
stood in front of the chair centre-right. Timothy greeted me and Johnny,
hesitated for a moment and then took the chair to my left.
We settled
ourselves. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Timothy was reaching out
to put “The Topic” somewhere mid-table. I stopped shuffling my papers and
locked my gaze on the bottle.
“Did the
receptionist give you any instructions?”
“Yes, she
did. I’m sorry.” Timothy reached out for the bottle again.
My cell
phone rang (it was our receptionist calling), and I asked, sternly, who had
forgotten to turn off his or her cell phone. “Johnny?”
“No. I
don’t even have mine.”
“Will?”
“Me
neither.”
Here I
cleared my throat demonstratively, and turned back to my papers. Timothy
reached for his jacket pocket.
“I’m quite
sure it’s not mine. Mine is turned off.” Before he could produce his phone,
however, the ringing ceased.
I cleared
my throat again.
“Shall we
begin?”
“Yes,
please do,” answered Timothy.
“Has Miss
Hand updated you on the figures?”
“I haven’t
received any figures from Will here, if that’s who you mean.”
“Well, how
many Hand’s are in the room?”
Johnny
clapped his hands. “There’s at least eight, Dick!” And guffawed.
I had to
restrain a smile. “We’ll just have to jump over them then.”
“Excuse me,
is this some kind of joke?” And before I could answer, “because I find all of
this very irregular. Is this supposed to
be some kind of exercise in lateral thinking? Or a situational contingency?”
To be continued...
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