The Interview
Whitney sat in front of the panel, hands glued to her lap. The head interviewer, Mr Baldilocks, had a deep and raspy voice that couldn’t have sounded pleasant if he tried. Whitney answered his questions with the utmost poise as she had practiced. It was the most important interview of Whitney’s life. But, being only three years old, it was also the first interview of Whitney’s life.
Whitney’s answers made it obvious she’d prepared for the interview. But that was good. That was what they liked to see. Mr Baldilocks nodded after every answer while his two sidekicks did the same and made their notes.
‘So, I see here in your application that you like to read.’ Mr Baldilocks said. ‘Can you recite your favourite poem?’
Whitney recited William Wordsworth’s ‘Daffodils’. She liked the poem but she wouldn’t have said it was her favourite. Her favourite anything was the Baby Shark song. She was three. But this was an important interview and she had to prove that she didn’t come to play around.
‘Thank you Whitney, that was very good. Now, what colour is a daffodil?’
Whitney saw images of daffodils in the poetry book she owned. They were all yellow. But the young girl had seen images of daffodils sporting different colours while she memorised the poem with an internet video a few nights ago.
‘Daffodils are commonly yellow but they have been known to come in other colours such as white and even pink.’
That real world application got a barrage of nods and quiet note jotting. Very good.
‘Finally, Whitney, what do you want to be when you grow up?’
‘I want to dance.’
‘You want to be a dancer? But you’re very smart, here on your application, it says you want to be a doctor. You wrote: “I could write medical books that help people from underrepresented groups.”’
‘I could do that too.’ Whitney shrugged.
It wasn’t the answer Mr Baldilocks wanted. Even his goonies stopped taking notes.
‘So what do you want to be?’
‘I’m human.’ Whitney said. ‘I don’t want to be anything else. I want to do… I can write stuff like that but I also want to dance. And I want to draw.’
‘You have to be something to do any of those jobs. So pick one to be…’
‘They won’t be jobs for me. And I’m something already. I’m me.’
Whitney had messed up. She’d lost the game.
‘You won’t succeed with that mindset, dear.’ Mr Baldilocks said.
Whitney knew he was right. But she also knew he was wrong. She “wouldn’t succeed…”. That was just brevity to avoid the pleonasm in saying she “wouldn’t succeed in academics”. At least she thought it was avoiding pleonasm. She was three. She wasn’t even sure pleonasm was the right word. Either way, she’d succeed in life by her own terms. If they didn’t accept her, the nursery would be one missing out. Whitney left the room, thanking the panel for their time and consideration.
