William James, Principles of Psychology
Hans was interviewing Bob for an instructor's position tall, athletic. Bob thought, this man wouldn't be teaching driving; he'd be a riding instructor for the Prussian cavalry.
"My instructors pass this test," said Hans. "I designed it myself, yah? The state driving test, hah! It is so easy, it is a joke!"
"You will sit at that table, yah? You have 30 minutes." Hans set a big kitchen timer on the table. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. It didn't help. There were 100 multiple choice questions about driving procedures, regulations and rules of the road. Bob took a deep breath. He licked the pencil once for luck, and, gritting his teeth, started.
He finished just as the timer went off. Boy, I'm glad that's over, he thought, handing Hans the test and sitting back to watch him grade it. Hans raised his eyebrows. He blinked, once, twice, looked up at Bob, then back to the test paper. He picked up a red felt-tip pen and began circling things. In a few minutes, he was mumbling to himself in German. Bob fidgeted.
Scraping his chair back, Hans stood up ramrod straight and pointed a quivering finger at Bob. "Ninety-eight," he shouted, "98 of 100 wrong! Mein Gott! And you have a license? I would be afraid to put you in one of my cars! In Germany you would never get a license, never!"
"Well, I, uh, I guess I don't get the job, huh?" Bob stammered. "I guess I'd better be going."
Driving off, he saw Hans in the rearview mirror, staring out the office window. Probably making sure I don't smash up one of his school cars on the way out, he thought.
