Forty Pages of Answers
Greta had wanted the job at the pottery studio for months, so when the owner finally offered her an interview, she decided she would prepare for absolutely everything.
By the morning of the appointment, she had read three books on the history of ceramics. She had memorized the melting point of clay. She had prepared answers to forty possible questions, including “Where do you see yourself in ten years?” and “If you were a glaze, which glaze would you be?” She had even practiced shaking hands with a mug, in case the owner offered one.
She arrived twenty minutes early and sat in the waiting area, going over her notes. When the owner came out, Greta stood up so fast that she knocked her own folder onto the floor. Forty pages of answers slid across the room.
“You must be Greta,” the owner said, watching the paper settle. “That’s a lot of paper for a pottery job.”
“I like to be ready,” Greta admitted, gathering the pages.
The owner sat down across from her and folded his hands. “Okay. One question, then. Have you ever made a pot?”
Greta froze. In all her reading, in all her practice, she had never actually touched a wheel. “No,” she said. “But I’ve read a great deal about it.”
The owner smiled and stood up. “Come with me. We’ll fix that in ten minutes.”
He paused at the door. “And leave the folder. Clay doesn’t care how much you’ve read. It only cares whether you’ll get your hands dirty.”
If Greta had spent one afternoon at a wheel instead of forty in the library, she’d have known that already. But she followed him in anyway, and for the first time all week, she wasn’t annoyed at herself. She was excited.