The Pickle Jar

　　He was the president of a major advertising1 firm and I was a very young management consultant2. I had been recommended to him by one of his employees who had seen my work and thought I had something to offer. I was nervous. At that stage in my career, it wasn’t very often that I got to talk to the president of a company.

　　The appointment was at 10:00 a.m., for one hour. I arrived early.

　　Promptly3 at 10, I was ushered4 into a large and airy room, with furniture upholstered in bright yellow.

　　He had his shirtsleeves rolled up and a mean look on his face.

　　“You’ve only got 20 minutes,” he barked.

　　I sat there, not saying a word.

　　“I said, you’ve only got 20 minutes.”

　　Again, not a word.

　　“Your time’s ticking away. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

　　“They’re my 20 minutes,” I replied. “I can do whatever I want with them.”

　　He burst into laughter.

　　We then spoke5 for an hour and a half. I got the job.