An Unwelcome Encounter In The Polished Lobby
A young man in a tailored navy suit pointed his index finger directly into the older man’s face and demanded that he walk out the front doors.
The older man stood in worn sneakers, gray dust clinging to his torn jacket and frayed pants. Underneath his arm, he pressed a scuffed leather binder against his ribs.
Behind them, marble floor tiles gleamed beneath tall glass windows, while office staff and building security turned their heads to watch the confrontation unfold.
The younger man threw his head back and laughed loudly across the open entryway when the visitor quietly stated he had come for the board meeting.
Instead of turning toward the street, the gray-haired man pulled his binder open and turned a page with his thumb. He spoke in a low, measured voice, advising the younger man to watch how he addressed people.
The applicant stepped forward, reached out, and slammed the leather covers shut with his palm. He leaned in close, gave a sharp nod, and ordered the man to leave before security guards took him by the arms.
Walking Confidently Toward The Corner Office
The visitor closed his lips, shifted the folder back into his grip, and turned toward the glass elevators without raising his voice.
A few minutes later, the applicant stood at the end of a long, sunlit corridor. He smoothed the lapels of his dark jacket, tugged his cuffs straight, and checked his wristwatch.
He walked with long, confident strides across the polished floor, flashing an easy smile at his reflection in the glass partitions.
Reaching the frosted glass double doors of the boardroom, he gripped the metal handles and pulled them both wide open in one smooth motion.
His smile vanished instantly. His eyebrows shot up, his mouth dropped open, and his feet locked against the carpet.
A Face At The Head Of The Table
Seated at the very head of the long timber conference table was the same man in the frayed shirt and torn jacket. He sat completely still with both hands resting flat against the wood, flanked on either side by company directors in matching dark suits.
The applicant swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He took a half-step back, his fingers twitching at his sides.
He tried to speak, stammering out that he had not known who the man was when they crossed paths downstairs.
The older man tilted his chin up slightly. He rested his palms on the edge of the mahogany table, leaned forward, and told the young candidate that judging someone before learning their identity was the entire issue.
He slid the applicant’s resume folder across the wood toward his chest, gripped the paper firmly between his fingers, and tore the documents down the center before shutting the binder and shoving it away.
Send this to someone who always reminds others to treat every person with respect.