Commencement

  *****

  Martin Ravitch, a tall, well-built, middle aged white man with brown thinning hair, leaped out of the chair in his office and headed past a maze of cubicles toward another office in the corner. He stuck his head in and motioned to his associate, Greald Harris, who was neck deep behind a stack of papers. Harris was on the phone trying to wrap up a conference call. Mr. Harris was an older man who was much rounder. He had more hair on his face than he had on his head, most of which was gray and shaggy looking. He nodded at Ravitch’s signal, and began to wrap up his call.

  “Look, come in on Thursday, and we’ll get the paperwork done”, said Mr. Harris to the person on the other end of the line as he tried to end the call. “Yes, 9:00 would be great. I’ll see you then.” Harris wiped his face with his hands before turning his attention to Ravitch who was anxiously waiting in the doorway.

  “That Sharpe kid is here. Did you go over his resume?” asked Ravitch.

  “Oh, yes. I got it yesterday in your e-mail. Just let me print it out.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “Well, he looks good on paper, but I don’t know. Let’s see what happens.”

  “I think this guy is just what we need. I almost proposed to Gertrude for setting up the interview.”

  “Did you check out his address?”

  “He lives up on 127th and St. Nicholas. So?”

  “So, what type of people do you think live there?”

  “C’mon. I know a lot of people from around that way. It’s where all these trendy hipsters live. The neighborhood is changing”, said Ravitch nonchalantly. He then checked his watch. “Hey, let’s head down, Sofia’s gonna send him back soon.”

  Harris grabbed the printout from the printer and headed down with Ravitch towards the conference room. As they walked in, an admin was busy making last minute arrangements to the room for the interview. She moved some of the chairs behind the conference table, and one chair in front. Harris promptly took a seat and continued to look over the resume, while the admin finished up and left. Ravitch took the seat next to him.

  “He’s a Harvard guy, but I wish he had a little more experience. He’s only had a few internships. He seems a little raw, but I think we could work with him.”

  “I know you think all interns do is make coffee, but according to his creds, he’s been doing a lot more than that. I think he’d be great.”

  “We’ll see. That address still worries me though.”

  A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Ravitch rushed behind the desk and took a seat next to Harris.

  “Come in”, Ravitch sang, his voice full of expectation.

  Allen opened the door slowly, and stepped in. The men at the conference table looked up, and an uneasiness washed over them, which Allen could read all over their faces. It made him a little tense. For a moment, Allen thought he had the wrong room.

  “Good Morning.”

  “Yes?” asked Ravitch with a little trepidation.

  “I’m Allen Sharpe”, announced Allen walking in further and extending his hand for a shake. This made the younger of the men break out of his daze.

  “Oh, yes. How do you do?” said Ravitch as he stood up, trying to cover his shock, and forcing a smile as he shook Allen’s hand. “Martin Ravitch. I’m the human resources specialist, and this is Mr. Greald Harris. He’s the one of the senior consultants, here at the company.”

  “How do you do?” grunted Harris perfunctorily, who remained seated. He then gave Ravtich a wary look.

  “Have a seat”, breathed Ravitch, pointing Allen towards a chair. All three men were sitting down and there was a tense moment of dead air between them. Allen noticed that Ravitch’s smile seemed pasted on. He sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward as if he wanted to bolt from the room. He tried staring at the resume as a way to avoid looking at Allen. Meanwhile his associate, Mr. Harris, sat leaning back with his arms folded across his chest. His stare was as cold as his ice blue eyes. The moment lasted only five seconds, but for Allen it seemed like five hours. Finally, Ravitch broke the silence with the first question.

  “So, Allen, why do you want to work for Hartland Financial Consulting?”

  “I understand that your company works with small and mid-sized businesses to develop long-term fiscal planning solutions. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have always had an interest in working with smaller businesses in consulting. In fact, I have had some experience conducting data analysis and evaluating financial plans for such firms as a part of my internship experience. At McFarland Tracy, I assisted consultants in creating a financial restructuring plan for a client that saved the company over 20% in infrastructure costs. This money was then put into investments that increased overall revenues by 30%.”

  “Do you have any documentation or proof of this?” sneered Harris.

  “Yes, of course”, said Allen handing him the case study from his portfolio. Ravitch took the portfolio first and looked it over.

  “Impressive”, he remarked.

  “Do you think you could handle a case study on the spot?” asked Harris.

  “It would be a challenge, but I’d welcome the opportunity. How much time would I have to make an analysis?”

  “I’ll give you 45 minutes. There’s paper inside the folder for you to jot down your ideas. When we come back you can let us know what your take on it is”, said Harris coldly.

  Harris took out a folder and handed it to Allen. The folder contained several reports on a mock client’s earnings and outlook. It also contained the company’s plan and targets for growth and accumulation of capital. Allen carefully perused the sheets, taking notes along the way. Then he made a quick summary of the strengths and weaknesses of the plan, and provided his own preliminary analysis of how the company could reach its growth targets. He had just finished when Harris and Ravitch re-entered the room.

  “Are we all done?” asked Ravitch.

  “He is done. Time’s up”, blared Harris snatching the papers from Allen. Harris looked them over. Ravitch had to look over Harris’ shoulder to get a glance. Both men studied the papers thoughtfully for some time.

  “Hmph, this is impressive”, remarked Ravitch out loud in spite of himself, rubbing his chin as he examined the papers. Harris merely rolled his eyes, before chucking them toward Allen.

  “There’s more to financial consulting than just analysis, research, and planning. There’s also a lot of legal work involved. You don’t seem to have a lot of experience on that end.”

  “I may not have a lot of experience, but I do have some experience in the areas you’ve referred to. At Briers and Lang, I assisted consultants in conducting legal research involving transferring of holdings, liquidations and escrow accounts. McFarland Tracy, I assisted consultants in researching bankruptcy laws as well as mergers and acquisitions.”

  Another five second silence. Ravitch had taken up the papers Harris had so scornfully cast aside and was now back into the case study analysis, nodding his head up and down like a bobble doll. Harris rubbed his chin thinking of some cunning question to volley at Allen. His next line of attack would be to investigate the validity of Allen’s experience. Asking for concrete examples of the people, projects, and customers that he worked with in minute detail. Then Harris interrogated Allen about his plans for the future. Was he working on his MBA? Why or Why not? When did he expect to pursue it? Where did he see himself going on the job? Allen had to think fast on his feet, but he was somewhat used to this as he encountered it before, but not with such ferocity. It was as if Harris was trying purposefully to trip him up. The next 15 minutes was like a verbal tennis match. Harris would serve out an ace of a question that Allen would have to think fast on his feet to return. Ravitch served as the commentator, and made remarks about the cleverness of the question or the shrewdness of the answer. By the end of the interview more than an hour had passed. Allen had managed to maintain a pleasant demeanor through it all,
despite the caustic effrontery of Harris’ questioning, and the nonchalant disregard of Ravitch.

  “Thank you for coming in Mr. Sharpe” managed Ravtich, who still seemed a little uneasy. “We are still in the process of conducting interviews, so we will call you when we make a final decision”, he added, extending his hand for a farewell handshake. Harris stood with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Thank you”, replied Allen. “It was a pleasure meeting both of you. I look forward to hearing from you.” Allen extended his hand to Harris despite the fact that the older man’s face shot him a look that said, “Don’t count on it”. However, Harris managed to give him one of the weakest shakes he had ever had.

  Allen left the conference room and headed back down the hall toward the reception area, trying to sort out everything that happened in the last hour or so. He sensed that something went wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. He was polite. He was articulate. He answered their (or rather Harris’s) questions directly, and didn’t engage in unnecessary circumlocutions. Ravitch seemed to be impressed with his ideas at times, despite his overall indifference. Could there have been something that he missed?

  “Have a nice day”, a voice sang behind him. As Allen turned around, he noticed that he had passed the reception desk. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he was almost sleepwalking.

  “I’m sorry. You have a nice day, too.” He replied absentmindedly. Allen struggled to regain his composure before leaving the office. He would have to think about it again, later. After all, he had another interview in a few days, and he had to go over what went wrong today to keep it from happening again. Allen tried to push the thoughts back as he waited for the elevator to take him to the lobby, but they would not be kept at bay. “Maybe it was something that had to do with the way I was dressed”, he thought anxiously “Maybe I seemed too eager.”

  “Ping!”

  The ring of the elevator brought Allen’s mind back to the present moment. As he got on, he noticed several people who were dressed in expensive business clothes, looking very sure of themselves as they stared at the row of numbers above the elevator exit or at their watches or at the floor. Allen felt very small and insignificant. When the elevator opened to the lobby, Allen rushed out past the tinted exit doors into the late morning sun. He walked until he saw one of the green benches that the city provides for its denizens to rest. Before Allen sat down, he took off his jacket to cool down. When he did, he noticed the enormous rings of sweat under the arms of his shirt.

  Three