Late one night some guests arrived at our home. This happened when I was about fifteen. Like all teenagers I was least bothered as to who they were, and why they had come? As our guest rooms were to one side there were nil chances of my seeing them.
Next morning I had massaged my scalp with oil. I was gathering my clothes to take a bath, when the door to my room opened and two ladies along with a child entered. I had never seen them before. Next my step mom peeked inside and told me these guests wanted to talk with you.
For the next hour those ladies kept asking questions, and I tried to answer whatever they asked. They would give a searching gaze to my hands and feet, and then their gaze would probe my face. I was relieved when they got up to leave.
Bath forgotten I went to look for father to ask him as to who they were, and why were they interviewing me? I found father sitting in his car in the garage. I told him that two weird ladies had come to my room, and they were really strange as to the way they stared at me. Father didn’t answer my questions only saying that they were our guests meaning that we have to put up with them.
Those ladies were my future in-laws. I came to know much later.
The purpose of this story is that you never know what to answer or that you won’t like certain questions. It depends upon the interviewer and circumstances.
A Pulitzer-winning reporter is writing an in-depth piece — about you. What are the three questions you really hope she doesn’t ask you?