Flash Tale - "Good Question"

Stan nods at the interviewer. “Yeah, good question. Trying to get back on my feet. Made some mistakes, got into some trouble.” He glances around the room – how many nondescript offices has he sat in, just like this one? - and nods at his own story. “Chance for me to turn over a new leaf, you know?”

Not true. But it sounds true. How does Stan manage to sound convincing? By repeating the phrases his mother says to him, trying to get him up in the morning, desperate for her son to clean up his act.

“It’s an entry-level position,” the interviewer says, “but there’s lots of room for development.” She beams at him. “You can make what you want of it, really.”

“Just what I’m looking for.” Stan won’t get the job. He doesn’t want the job. But he needs to make what looks like an effort, so he can keep his unemployment benefits. He has to show up in an ironed shirt, he has to talk about his good intentions.

Stan looks the woman in the eye. “A chance to realize my potential.”

She must like the sound of that; she beams at him again. What’s her name? Jan?

Jenny. She looks like a Jenny, too. All prim and pretty, showing off just that little bit of cleavage. A way to say, ‘Look what you can’t have.’ The moment they met, Stan knew she wouldn’t be worth the effort.

She flashes her teeth. “I think you’re in the right place.”

Right. And that soft, syrupy tone of hers. Everything she says sounds like she’s in a TV show for little kids or daytime dirge for old people.

But it’s okay. Stan won’t have to put up with Jan…sorry, Jennyfor much longer.

“We just need you to take a test.”

Yeah. There it is.

“Oh yeah?” Stan replies, as if this has never happened before.

“It’s a verbal reasoning test, to measure your logic, comprehension, and reasoning.”

“Great,” Stan says. He sits forward in his chair. If there’s something Stan has mastered since leaving school, it’s the ability to come up short. He won’t fail spectacularly, but he won’t be good enough. And then he can go home, give his mother a glimmer of hope – they said they’d let me know – and she’d order a pizza, watch Coronation Street with Eric the cat on her lap while Stan makes his way through a Margherita or pepperoni deep dish from Pizza Pilgrim, and then he’s off to The Rose & Crown for a few jars.

Jenny passes him a sheet of paper that is crisp and warm; Stan imagines it arriving fresh from the printer.

“Take your time,” she says gently.

“Great.” Stan looks at the boxy text on the paper.

Instituted in 1979 as a temporary measure to limit population grown, China’s one child policy remains in force today and is likely to continue for another decade. China’s population control policy has attracted…

Stan blinks at the words. Far too many, the story goes on forever. And the paper is shiny; he glances up at the overhead lights. The room is too bright, he’s not sure he could read the text even if he wanted to.

He looks over at Jenny. She smiles encouragingly. “The more questions you get right, the more you demonstrate those skills.” She nods. “Logic, comprehension, reasoning.”

Amazing, to think they’re probably the same age. But Jenny’s on that side of the interview, she’s got the position, and a little bit of power. Because she’s put the hours in. She’s worked hard.

And abruptly, irretrievably, Stan feels exhausted. He put hands on the paper, runs his fingers over the shiny, smooth surface.

It’s so smooth. It’s slippery. Almost greasy, like when he’s eating pizza on the settee, and Mum reminds him to use a napkin.

Honestly, Stan. What are you like? Such a messy boy!

He brings his fingers to his nose, expects to sniff pepperoni, and comes away disappointed. He closes his eyes, and wishes he were at home, tucked up in bed, in his jim-jams. Who knows, maybe Eric the cat will join him, give him a scratchy miaow and a slow blink. Silly old cat.

Stan frowns. Jim-jams? He hasn’t worn pyjamas in years. And he’s pretty sure he’s allergic to the stupid cat.

“All right?” asks Jenny.

Stan opens his eyes and finds the woman next to him, looking concerned.

He shakes his head. “I’m a bit shagged, to be honest.”

Jenny gives him a sympathetic smile and squeezes his arm. “Is it the test?” she asks sweetly. “Is it too hard?”

Stan hesitates. “Well, a bit.” He waves the paper at her. “I can’t really read it. It’s too…slippery.”

A ridiculous thing to say. He sounds whiny, he sounds over-tired.

No deep-dish pizza tonight. No tenner from Mum’s handbag so he can buy a round at the Rose & Crown. Because he’s not trying hard enough, he’s not-

“You’re right!” Jenny murmurs, peering at the paper. “It isall slippery.”

And there’s something funny about the way Jenny says that.

Stan watches the woman as she taps her chin, seemingly deep in thought. And when she smiles, Stan finds himself smiling as well.

Jenny grins. “Bit silly, really. Making the paper all slippery.” She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think?”

He nods gratefully. Glad it’s not his fault, for once.

“I’ve got another test you can take. It’s not slippery. It’s actually pretty easy.” She winks at him. “I mean, it’s going to soundhard.” She goes over to a cabinet and takes out a blue box. Her tone changes drastically when she reads the label on the box, suddenly so proper, so posh, “A test of semantic skills for making inferences.” And then she returns to sit on the corner of her desk. “But really, it’s just picture cards.” She opens the box and pulls out the deck of flashcards. “See?”

Stan looks at the top of the deck and frowns. They look as though they’re meant for young children.

Jenny sighs. “I mean, I know you don’t want to get them allright. I know you don’t really want the job. You want things to just go on as usual. Your mum said as much when she called.”

Stan’s frown deepens. Why did his mother call? The job interview was arranged by the benefits office. At least, that’s what Mum said. Before she ironed his shirt, gave him the address, and promised him Margherita for dinner.

“But you can get some right, can’t you. To show you’re not silly.”

Silly?

Stan nods. Silly. Like the shiny paper.

The first card has a picture of a little boy in school uniform.

“Can you read it?” asks Jenny. “Or is it too slippery?”

Good question. Stan frowns at the lettering below the picture. It’s not shiny, but letters won’t stand still, dancing around in front of his eyes.

Jenny doesn’t wait for his answer. She pats his arm, a pat that is more of a gentle stroke, and she reads, “Stan missed school yesterday because he was healthy.” She laughs softly. “Huh. That’s your name. Isn’t that funny!”

Stan nods. Pretty weird, actually. But the picture on the card, the boy could be him. If he squints at it, if he imagines himself back in his primary school uniform, which really wasn’t that long-

“Is it silly?” Jenny asks. She runs her finger along the jumbling letters and reads slowly, “Stan missed school yesterday…because he was healthy.” She frowns, her face a mask of theatrical confusion. “Is that right?” She tilts her head at Stan.

Stan laughs. She’s just teasing him. The mistake is obvious. “You miss school if you’re ill, not healthy.”

Jenny nods enthusiastically. “Exactly right!” She winks at him. “See, not so hard, is it.”

“Easy,” Stan agrees. He watches calmly as Jenny selects the next card.

“What do you see, Stan?”

“Well, there’s a girl. She’s washing her hands.”

“Good.” Jenny reads the phrase, “You should wash your hands…with butter and water.” She blinks in seeming astonishment. “Eh?”

Just like that, Stan bursts out laughing. “You don’t wash your hands with butter! You got to use soap!”

Jenny claps her hands. “Right again!” She puts an arm around Stan and says, “Clever boy!”

Stan blushes, but the praise is okay. Because he deserves it, he got the answer right, no bother.

“Such a clever boy,” says Jenny again, looking at him. “Aren’t you.”

Stan nods. He beams. “Yeah.” He points at the deck of flashcards. “Do it again?”

Jenny smiles indulgently. “Okay,” she says. “One more. Because you’ve been such a good boy. After all, I bet you don’t wash your hands with butter, do you.”

Stan shakes his head and laughs. “No way!”

“And you go to school when you’re healthy, don’t you. I bet you look so smart in your uniform, just like Stan in the picture.”

Stan nods. Of course he does. He’s such a smart, clever boy.

She looks at him appraisingly. “What class are you in, Stan?”

Stan blinks. Good question. He looks down at his hands. Big hands, grown-up hands. And yet, the stuff between his ears is so slippery. “I’m…it’s just…I’m in…”

“One more,” Jenny says softly. She pats his shoulder. “That should do the trick.” She looks at the next card and it’s her turn to laugh out loud, a musical tinkle that pleases Stan’s ears. “Oh! That’s too good!”

“What?” Stan asks. “What’s it say?”

“Look,” says Jenny, putting the card down on Stan’s lap. “Is that your cat? Is that Eric?”

Stan’s eyes widen at the image in front of him. He nods, because this is just a game, just a ridiculous joke. “Eric,” he whispers, like the card is magic, like it is the best of tricks.

“It says,” Jenny begins, “’My cat barks when he is hungry.’” She produces another of her tinkling laughs.

And Stan can feel his brow furrow, because there’s a moment of slippery, sticky slowness in his mind, before he understands what’s wrong. As soon as he does, he can’t help blurting out the answer.

“Cat’s don’t bark!” he shouts, pointing accusingly at the flashcard. “They go miaow-miaow-miaow!”

Jenny gives Stan the sweetest of hugs. “What a clever boy you are!”

Stan beams and blushes with pride. He’s such a clever boy. And when Jenny suggests calling his mother to give her the good news, so she can come pick him up, so they can go home and have pizza and watch Coronation Street together, Stan is happy to agree.

THE END

"Tim takes a verbal reasoning test as part of a job interview - but the boss lady is asking some very silly questions." – Sebtomato