Guy Wadsworth,
During National Industrial Conference Board, 1941 ; Adam, wore comfortable consultant traditions. Walking down to Manhattan, had business shoes to put on when he arrived.
Well, during a long dry spell between assignments, with no cash at all coming in, Adam decided to give up consulting and find "a real job," as he told his friends. He contacted a recruiter.
"I'm biting the bullet," he told her, a thirty-something woman named Midge. "Living from job to job is too uncertain. I need a salaried position." "Your creditors will bless you for that," Midge said.
Within a couple of weeks, she got him an interview with a multibillion dollar company in Westchester County, about 50 miles north of the city. On the day of the interview he overslept, waking with barely enough time to gulp down a cup of coffee, struggle into his suit and sneakers, grab his briefcase and catch the train at Grand Central Station.
This commute could be a drag, he thought, watching the landscape rattle by the windows of the Metro North car. The trip took about an hour, and then another 15 minutes to walk from the station to the company's headquarters. In the lobby he asked for the men's room to exchange sneakers for shoes.
Opening the briefcase, he found six resumes and a pen, a calculator, an address book, a pair of black socks...but no shoes. You blew it, buddy, he told the reflection in the mirror; Midge won't be proud.
Looking down at his feet, he knew nobody could mistake those old Adidas for anything but old Adidas. He sighed. Okay, he thought, closing the briefcase with a snap, what's done is done. I came here to interview, so that's what I'll do. And he left the lavatory with a determined, self-confident stride. If the subject of shoes comes up, he told himself, make a clever remark, explain what happened and carry on as best you can.
He signed in at the front desk, got his visitor's badge and settled down to wait for the personnel associate he was to see.
On the dot of 10, a small, impeccably dressed man appeared. He had rimless glasses, short hair brushed close to his head and almost no chin. Very uptight, Adam thought.
"Mr. Prescott?" Adam asked. "Good morning, I'm..."
"Yes," said Mr. Prescott in a nasal voice. He shook Adam's hand for a brief, limp moment. "Adam Hunt, isn't it? Welcome to..." He glanced down, and his lips compressed into a thin line.
Adam winced internally. "Oh, the sneakers," he said. "I hope they won't get me off on the wrong foot, will they? He, he."
The line of Mr. Prescott's lips became thinner.
"Really, though, I walked to the train in New York and up here from the station," Adam explained. "And I was in such a hurry to get here this morning that I forgot my shoes."
"I see," said Mr. Prescott with a stony stare. "You walked rather than take a cab."
"That's right," Adam said. "I like to walk."
The idea of anyone preferring to walk seemed totally alien to Mr. Prescott.
"Well, let's go inside."
The interview lasted about a half-hour, and Adam knew he had no chance when Mr. Prescott said, "We'll be in touch with you, Mr. Hunt." Midge confirmed his opinion the next day. "Your Mr. Prescott called me," she told him. "He dressed me down something fierce for sending him someone in sneakers. Said he didn't want to see any more hippies."
"Hippies!" Adam said, hurt.
"Yes, hippies, that's what he said. He told me his boss looked in and you embarrassed him in your sneakers. Pack your bag the night before, Adam."
"Yeah. And make sure my wing-tips are in there, right?"
"Right," Midge said, laughing. "Then you'll be a shoe-in!"
Lifestyle mismatches can make for a horrible working relationship; don't sweat all the Jobs you lose.
