This fun little exercise allows you to create a story from one character, and then rewrite the story from another character’s point of view.
The Scene: Everything goes wrong at a job interview
I’ve spent over a year in the unemployment line. Day after day, I received rejection e-mail after rejection e-mail. This is my last chance. There truly are no more jobs left. Unfortunately, i was running a few minute late when I entered the waiting area. The young attractive receptionist smiled when I approached. I couldn’t help notice the quick sweep over she gave me.
“Can I help you?” She asked pleasantly enough.
“I’m here to see Mr. Wilson for a ten o’clock.” I answered.
She was typing something on her computer for several moments before responding without looking back at me.
“I’m sorry, but you’re five minutes lat and Mr. Wilson doesn’t except late. The position is no longer available.” She finished.
“You mean it’s been filled?” I asked for clarification.
“No. I mean it’s no longer available. To you!”She’d lost all pleasantries in her tone, tempting me to reach over the counter and smack her. Who was this lady to talk to me this way. I need this job and she can’t possible know what I’m going through. Keeping my composure, I tried to negotiate with her. Of course she was unwilling to budge.
Finally, two tall men in black suits emerged from an office door behind the receptionist’s desk. I rushed over and shook the hand of the man I believed to be Mr. Wilson.
“Hi Mr. Wilson. I’m Tara Sanborn. Listen, I know your policy on late and I take fill responsibility for that, but please give me five minutes of your time.” I begged.
Mr. Wilson pulled his hand away and smiled, “Ms. Sanborn? It’s a pleasure meeting you. But uh, that’s…” He pointed to the other man standing beside him. “That’s Mr. Wilson.”
I could feel the heat burning through my cheeks. I’m such an idiot. I searched the room for a quick answer, but there were just three sets of eyes staring back at me in silence.
“Uh, uh… I’m sorry Mr. Wilson.” I turned to him and extended my hand. He didn’t except it. “I, uh…”
“So why should I give you my time?” His voice boomed.
“Well, uh. Mr. Wilson. No one is perfect. We can try, but it is impossible to be perfect all of the time. I am far from perfect, but that what makes me unique. Do I make mistakes? Sure, but understanding this and the nature of mankind only gives me a better insight in to the consumers mind.” I stopped and prayed this answer would work.
“Ok! You’ve got your chance back Ms. Sanborn.”
We entered a large office lined with a giant book shelf. The shelves were full top to bottom. It felt more like a lawyers office than a marketing firm. By the end of the interview, I had Mr. Wilson eating out of the palm of my hands. He was stoked about my ideas and concepts.
“Why don’t we go to lunch and sort out the details further?” He asked.
I agreed. We took a dingy elevator down to the bottom level of the parking garage.
“Do you mind driving?” Mr. Wilson asked.
“Sure.” I answered and pointed to my green Toyota Corolla decorated with a “Support the Troops” sticker.
“That’s your car, Ms. Sanborn?” He stopped walking.
I smiled. “That’s me.”
“Hey, you were the one who flipped me off this morning!”
I was speechless, but tried one last ditch effort, “No one’s perfect?”
“Hi, Mr. Wilson. I’m Tara Sanborn.” The young blonde reached out a hand to, Bob Scarlett, my accountant. Really? Who tries for a marketing career and doesn’t even research the company?
Her eyes are darting around the room. She’s clearly embarrassed and at this point I was amused.
“So why should I give you my time?” I asked.
Let’s see how she gets out of this one. Really? No one is perfect? That’s her big save? Wow, young adults these days. No respect and they refuse to take responsibility. Of course, I have the free time, so I accept her into my office.
I ask her pretty standard questions and her answers are fairly reasonable. I probably would have considered her for the position, too bad she’s already messed up her opportunity by being late. She looks really familiar though. Where have I met her?
She’s enthusiastic and gives a hand gesture, one that flashes back a memory for me. Ah ha, I laughed inside. This is going to be good.
We stepped off the dingy elevator and asked her if she would drive. She pointed at her green Toyota Corolla decorated with a “Support the Troops” sticker. This only confirmed my thoughts.