UNPUBLISHED FOREWORD TO THE MANAGER'S BOOK OF QUESTIONS

I blew my first job interview because of a question.

Oh, I nailed all the questions they asked me. I rehearsed well. I listened carefully and kept my answers short and to the point. No, I lost what would have been my first real job because I did not have a questioning attitude.

It was in my senior year at Duke. I had impressed Dow Chemical's campus recruiter sufficiently to be invited for an on-site interview in Wilmington, Delaware. Everything went well. I met with the human resources team. Good chemistry. I met with my colleagues. They were impressed with my portfolio. I met with my supervisor. We were simpatico. There seemed to be no obstacles to me joining the company's in-house advertising agency as a copywriter.

There was just one little formality left. My boss's boss wanted to meet me over lunch.

Inwardly, I celebrated. All that stood between unemployment and unlimited potential in the corporate communications department of a Fortune 500 organization was an interview over lunch with the director of corporate communications.

I couldn't have been more wrong. The only interview that really counted had just begun and I thought we were just having a meal.

I thought the lunch went flawlessly, so I was flabbergasted to receive a letter from Dow Chemical a few days later saying "thanks, but no thanks."

I was confused and hurt. I thought I had done everything by the book. Putting my pride aside, I resolved to find out exactly why I wasn't given the nod. What could I lose by asking?

I called the director of corporate communications.

"You would be doing me a great service if you could be brutally honest with me" I told him on the telephone. "Why, specifically, did you decide not to offer me the job?"

His answer, like the answer to most good questions, was brutal.

I was, he decided, too closed minded to be an outstanding advertising copywriter.

"Too closed minded?" I asked. "What did I say to give you that idea?" I persisted. I furiously tried to recall the questions he asked me to see where I may have displayed closed mindedness.

He quickly rescued me from that exercise. "It's not about how you answered my questions," he replied. "It's about you not asking a question that you needed to ask."

By now I was totally confused. "What question did I need to ask?"

"You needed to ask, 'Does the meal need salt and pepper?'"

"You mean . . .?"

"That's right, John," he said. "You salted and peppered your meal before first tasting it. To me, that's a sign of someone who has his mind made up, someone closed to the evidence. I am looking for zero-based thinkers: writers who start with no assumptions, writers who reject preconceived assumptions."

The information stunned me.

I lost the job because I didn't ask myself a simple question: "Is my meal seasoned to my preference?

This conversation has had a profound impact on my life. Maybe he was pulling my leg or maybe he was genuine. Ever since this conversation, I have tried to be attentive to the questions-stated and unstated-that reality puts before me. In short, I have tried to maintain a questioning attitude.

This book is another manifestation of my belief that success in life always means asking the right questions.