The Test

The Managing Director summoned Warner to his office one day just after lunch. Warner stood with his head bowed, looking at the slight indentations made by the edges of his feet in the soft carpet. "We have a problem here," the managing director said. "I'd like you to take a look at it and come up with a solution by five o'clock. Give it to the submanager. That's all." Warner took the sheet of paper that the managing director held out to him, mumbled something and began to turn away. As he turned, he glanced at the paper and saw that it was completely blank. He stopped and tried to say something, but the managing director waved his hand at him in that brusque manner that indicated that for him there was nothing more to be said, and Warner quietly left the room.

In his own office, he wondered what to do. No doubt. there had been a mistake, but he lacked the courage to go back to the managing director in his present mood and tell him so. Then it occurred to him that perhaps it was not a mistake, after all; it might be one of the initiative tests he had heard about in other companies. Perhaps they were being introduced here, too; perhaps the blank sheet was quite deliberate and it was up to him to decide what to do about it. He had read about such things: Peop'e were not told that they were being tested, but nevertheless something arbitrary or unexpected was introduced into their daily routine. Their superiors watched how they coped with it: If they showed resourcefulness, they were promoted; if they panicked or did nothing, then their advancement was held up, they were perhaps even fired.

He wondered if anyone was watching him already. He glanced stealthily around the room, but everyone else seemed fully occupied, their heads bent over their desks, their eyes fixed straight ahead of them. The office was very quiet; there was only the clack of heels as secretaries hurried along the corridor and sometimes whispered urgently to each other. Yet he could still be being watched. Perhaps his indecision was already counting against him.

He bent over his desk and moved his pen over the blank sheet before him, as though he were writing. It must be a test, he thought. They have given me this blank paper and now they are waiting to see what I do about it. The managing director said he wanted a "solution" from me. That means he wants me to propose something, make a suggestion about company policy or how to handle a particular problem. But what problem? How am I supposed to know? That must be what the test is. I am expected to have taken enough interest in the activities of the company generally to know what problems most urgently need solution. But then, he thought, that may be taking too much on myself: Perhaps they want only to test my knowledge of my own particular area, to come up with a suggestion connected with that. But then again, he thought, that might be a trap, too. If I suggest something too trivial, too unimportant, too closely related to myself, then they will conclude that my horizons are too narrow, too limited, and they will keep me here in this job and this office forever. And what if I propose something too vast, too all-embracing? They will conclude that I am too ambitious, too hungry for power far above my station; they will think that I am dangerous and fire me.

He looked around the office again. One of the submanagers was standing at the door and Warner thought he caught his eye. He dropped his head to his desk again and glanced at his watch. It was just after 2:30. He still had over two hours before five o'clock. The main thing was not to panic, to think things out logically and come to a rational conclusion. That was all they could reasonably expect. Perhaps it was not so much the final proposal itself that mattered as the means by which he came to it. He must show himself cool and fully in control, yet able to act decisively and, if necessary, ruthless'y. That must be what they wanted. They wanted someone who showed initiative. What better initiative could there be, he suddenly thought, than to take up this blank piece of paper, walk firmly through the corridors into the managing director's office, slam it down on his desk in front of him and call his bluff? "Look," he could say, "I understand perfectly well what is going on here; I know that this is some kind of test. I accept your right to employ any methods that seem fitting to you to examine the caliber of your employees. I simply believe that I myself am above all this kind of thing. I have seen through your device and I refuse to play along with it any further. If, however, you are seriously looking for suggestions, here are a few that you might be interested in." And he could pull casually from his pocket a sheaf of papers dealing with all aspects of company business, from the most trivial to the most crucial, and place them on the managing director's desk.

And what if it isn't a test? he thought. What if the managing director wasn't thinking about what he was doing and simply gave me the wrong piece of paper by mistake? What if there is an urgent problem, a real one, that he wants me to give advice on and it is there on his desk and I can't do anything about it? What if my chances of recognition, of promotion, depend on my taking advantage of this unique opportunity that has been given to me and I sit here all afternoon and do nothing about it? At five o'clock, he sends for me and says, "Well, what about it, Warner?" and I've done nothing. Nothing! I won't just be denied promotion, I'll be dismissed as incompetent, and rightly, too.

He picked up the paper in desperation and was about to run with it to the managing director's office when another thought came to him. It is almost three o'clock now, he realized, a full hour since the managing director gave me this blank sheet of paper. What will he say when he discovers that I have sat all this time with it in front of me, when he told me that the business it contained was urgent? He can do nothing other than dismiss me.

And what, he wondered, if this were the real test, after all, that he should deliberately be given a blank piece of paper and be expected to return with it at once, to brave the managing director's no-doubt-assumed displeasure and hand it back firmly to him, saying, "I think, sir, you have made a slight mistake"? Oh, yes; that, indeed, would be a test of initiative, real initiative, and he would no doubt have smiled and put his arm around my shoulder and given me a cigar and tomorrow or in a week, perhaps, I would have been promoted. And, instead, I walked tamely out of the office and sat here for an hour wondering what to do!

He sat at his desk, close to tears, aimlessly crumpling the sheet of paper into a ball and smoothing it out again. He could no longer think about the various possibilities that chased each other endlessly in his mind, as though a pack of dogs had caught hold of a ball of wool and were unraveling it and tearing at it viciously with their jaws. He wondered if he should just say he was ill and ask to go home; but that would surely be fatal to whatever test it was he was supposed to be undergoing. Perhaps he should just go to the managing director's office and hand in his resignation. Admit his incompetence and his cowardice, fall on his knees on the carpet before him and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps the managing director would raise him up kindly with his own hand, dry his tears and tell him not to worry. Send him home to rest and recover himself. But more likely, his face would take on that dark aspect of rage that he knew so well. His voice would crack and twist with fury.

Warner shook his head despairingly and brushed away a tear from his cheek. He put both hands on the desk, pushed himself abruptly away and stood up. He made his way through the desks to the only person in the office whom he knew well and fully trusted. "Lewis," he whispered, bending over him and glancing uneasily around, "what should I do about this? Tell me."

Lewis unscrewed the twisted-up ball of paper and looked at it. "What do you mean, 'do about it'?" he asked. "It's a blank sheet of paper. What can you do about it?"

"It's a test," Warner whispered urgently. "They're testing us all out for promotion and that's what they're using. Surely, I'm not the first one. You must know something about it. Tell me what to do."

Lewis handed the paper back to him and pushed him away with his left hand. "I'm busy now," he said. "And the submanager's watching us. You'd better get back to your desk."

Warner looked at his watch. It was ten to four and there was probably nothing he could do now except surrender. He went back to his desk and sat with his face in his hands for some time. Then he picked up his pen and began (concluded on page 174)The Test (continued from page 170) to write. He drafted a memorandum for the better organization of the office. He had felt for too long that there was not enough space, the desks were placed far too closely together, the whole thing was quite claustrophobic and it was impossible to work without distraction. He himself disliked touching others, their breathing and coughing and muttering round him when he was trying to work; but this, he explained, was not the sole reason for his suggestion. When he wanted, for example, to consult Lewis about a matter of urgent importance (and this, he pointed out, was likely to happen several times a day), he had to thread his way through a literal maze of desks, all set closely together and sometimes with passageways so blocked that he had to retrace his steps and often even search for several minutes to find a clear way through. There was no need to point out how time-consuming this could be, but there were other, more subtle disadvantages that perhaps the management had not taken into account when drawing up their plans for office space. Secretaries, for instance, trying to find their way from one desk to another often snagged and tore their stockings on the edges as they passed. They would stop and examine the damage, sometimes pulling their skirts right up to do so. Naturally, the men round them would be distracted from their work and it would sometimes be several minutes before things settled down again. This, he hardly needed to indicate, was bad for office morale. Moreover, the average secretary probably destroyed two pairs of stockings a week in this way; he had no idea how much it cost to replace them, but could it be a mere coincidence that the secretaries were now demanding a substantial wage increase?

It seemed clear, he concluded, that a thorough reorganization of office space could solve many problems of efficiency and productivity on the level of his own department; but if the general principles he had outlined were taken into consideration whenever matters concerning the company as a whole were concerned, he felt he could almost guarantee the resulting financial and interpersonal benefits. This memorandum was respectfully and spontaneously submitted by Fred W. Warner on this 24th day of May.

He stopped writing at ten to five, straightened the bundle of papers before him and stood up. He began to weave his way through the desks toward the exit. Looking up, he became aware that the submanager was standing in the doorway, beckoning to him impatiently. He began to speed up his movements but found that the passageway was blocked by a girl who had bent over to adjust her stockings. He tried to squeeze past her, but the desks were too close together. She seemed oblivious of his presence and he could not nerve himself to touch her, to draw attention to himself.

He retreated a few steps and tried another exit. The submanager had stopped waving at him but was tapping his right foot gently on the floor in a manner that Warner found very ominous. He nodded his head to indicate that he understood, he was coming, and found suddenly that the corridor he was moving through came to an abrupt end with a new row of desks set diagonally across it. Lewis was sitting near him. "How do I get out of here?" Warner whispered, but Lewis shook his head and went on studying the sheet of paper before him.

The clock struck five and the submanager turned to go. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Warner shouted after him. He decided on a desperate expedient; he scrambled up onto the nearest desk and made his way across the room, scattering files and papers to the floor, ignoring the protests of his fellow workers.

He caught up with the submanager halfway down the corridor. "Here it is," he panted, holding the memorandum out to him.

The submanager patted him jovially on the shoulder. "Well done, well done," he said.

They came to the managing director's office and the submanager stood aside to let him pass. The managing director was clearly preoccupied; he hardly even noticed Warner. "I've got something here I'd like you to take a look at," he said. "Work on it overnight and come and see me first thing in the morning." Warner turned automatically and left the room, clutching the blank sheet of paper in his hand.