The Job Interview

"Do it, and you get the job." Mr. Fletcher pushed the cassette to the middle of the desk.

“That's it? Why?" James questioned.

“Simplicity is my preference.” With his thin frame and promising smile, he looked like a game show host about to award James a prize.

James reached for it but Mr. Fletcher grabbed his wrist and stared at him like he had just murdered his grandmother. “Not like that.”

“I knew there'd be a catch to this.” James leaned back and prepared himself for whatever was to come.

“You have to get that cassette into any computer without letting it touch your skin or any coverage you may put on your skin.”

“Can I ask what the point of all this is? I have a resume with enough experience to fill the role.”

Mr. Fletcher pushed the resume off the table and into a wastebasket. “Not quite. We're a team of researchers that analyze astronomical machines to find new ways for them to create celestial buy products our planet lacks- like fuel and metal. We need employees who can demonstrate the required level of intellect.”

“My resume that you just threw out proved that.”

“We’re not looking for experience, we’re looking for talent.” He raised his brow with expected understanding.

James returned with an incredulous expression that begged him to explain.

“Skills James- can be taught, talent cannot. You may know what to do, but does it come naturally? Or is it just an instinct programmed into you after years of repetition and schooling?”

All was quiet if only for a moment.

“Now, do what I said or leave.”

James looked at the cassette, then at the walls lined with bulky computers for data storage, hummed their dreary tune. The technical environment was busy, yet somehow so monotone it engulfed him in an avalanche of emptiness.

“Why do you want this job?” Mr. Fletcher asked abruptly.

“I-”

“No no, lemme guess. You have a wife and kids that need to be fed?”

“I’m not married nor do I have kids.”

“You need to pay whatever that thing cost you.” Mr. Fletcher referred to Jame’s right hand which had been replaced with robotic counterparts.

“Wrong, I paid that off over a decade ago.”

“Then you need to pay rent or mortgage.”

“No, my aunt recently died and-”

“You must now take care of your uncle?”

“NO,” James leaned forward with growing aggravation. “My aunt died and left me her pre-paid house.”

“Do you not have a retirement fund?”

“Wrong again. I have enough saved up for years to come.”

“How old are you Mr. Berkley?”

“Forty-five.”

“You’re middle-aged and settled. Why do you need this job and the money? What would you provide the company that we don’t already have?”

James thought of the many times he sat in the presence of no one, the urge to provide something for his dying world his only motivator to pull him out of bed. He quit his previous job when the inheritance blinded him with riches, but chose to find a new job anyway to retain his ego. “I feel useless not doing anything.” The words were pained.

Mr. Fletcher nodded. “If you want to feel that sense of worth you once had, put the cassette into the computer while following my rules, get the job, and welcome that feeling into your life once more.”

James used every available brain cell to think of a way to accomplish the task. Then it hit him. He looked at his robotic hand, grabbed the cassette, then got up- Mr. Fletcher watching him attentively.

He inserted the cassette into the computer which chimed with satisfaction, then looked at Mr. Fletcher, awaiting a response. “Did I succeed?”

“You tell me. Do you believe your answer was correct?”

He looked at his robotic fingers wiggling with life. “Yes… You said don’t touch it with my skin or coverage for skin like clothing and the sort. So I followed that. My hand is made of metal and wires, not skin or fabric.”

“Everyone answers differently, and each time I’m surprised- a good or bad surprise depends on the answer given.” Mr. Fletcher said as if Jame's words were never heard. “Some people responded by grabbing my hand and using it to put the cassette in. Others have responded by not doing the task at all- saying a test with a trick answer depends on lies rather than intuitive brainpower. They would rather answer a question based on honesty instead of being tricked into answering incorrectly.”

James listened as mesmerizing computer static danced in his vision.

“Some have completed the task but disapproved- Stating that seeing past deception doesn’t test knowledge. Instead, it stops people with the appropriate criteria from getting the job by diverting their attention to a question with no definite answer. And you know what happened to them all?”

“What?” Jame's found his words eventually.

“They got the job. You know why?” He didn’t let James answer. “Because every answer with a purpose behind it is correct. The point of this is to see what you do, not watch you succeed. What led to your decision? How desperate are you to have this job and why? Can you respond to my challenge or choose to give in to frustration?” He leaned back, hands together. “Those who give up walk away with nothing but their dwindling patience. But those who challenge my request- whether correct or not- show what they deserve.”

“So... did I get-”

“Yes.” Mr. Fletcher stood and shook his hand, a more honest smile tugging at his rosy cheeks. “I am pleased to welcome you to the team.”

Rays of sunrise traveled through the window, igniting Jame’s smile and reigniting his worth. The shadows of flying vehicles and buildings higher than the mind could comprehend blanketed them like a subtle protector as the humming of computers changed into a cheerful orchestra. “Thank you, but the pleasure is mine.”