Blushing furiously, Willem-Jan entered the little offi ce. Five minutes late; he was already getting off on the wrong foot. A grey man looked at him glumly from behind his desk.
‘Mr Wijnberg I presume? Please sit down.’ As he sat down, Willem-Jan’s smart trousers pinched him uncomfortably. The man straightened his glasses.
‘So you would like to be our new offi ce manager. Can you tell me why you are applying for this position?’ Willem-Jan detested working, especially when he stood nothing to gain from it. But now he seriously needed money to pay for the damage to the drainpipe
. ‘I’m keen to gain experience of working life before I graduate.’
‘Hmm I see. Talking of your degree, how long have you been studying?’
Willem-Jan recalled his AID in 2008. ‘A little more than four years.’ He tried to adopt a light-hearted tone. He thought back to countless student society evenings, debating society parties, year-group club drinks and evenings simply idled away in the pub. ‘I have been working hard on my social development. Done a lot of networking and the like.’ The man muttered and his fingers clattered over his keyboard.
‘Are you solution-driven?’
‘Er…’ Willem-Jan tried to come up with something quickly. Once he had come home late from the pub and realized he had forgotten his keys. To get indoors he had climbed up via the drainpipe, managing to destroy both the pipe and the balcony door in the process. Coincidentally, that was the reason he was sitting here now. He grinned. ‘Ah, I’m certainly creative. I always achieve my goal, come what may.’
‘Hmm, for this position we need someone who works proactively. Does that describe you?’
Willem-Jan recalled the disastrous track record of his thesis. He just couldn’t seem to get the research off the ground. His first supervisor had since changed jobs. ‘I like to take on new projects,’ he said.
Eventually, the man stood up and shook Willem-Jan’s hand. ‘Good. That’s the interview over. We will let you know in about half an hour whether you’ve been selected.’
‘And?’ Vera look enquiringly at a beaming Willem-Jan as he entered the living room.
‘You are looking at the brand new office manager of Bon Berger International.’ He proudly straightened his collar.
Derk rolled his eyes, and then something occurred to him. ‘Bon Berger… I know that name.’ He started to laugh. ‘Man, that’s voluntary work!’