Sanity

Sanity At a interview with a well-known Greenwich based hedge fund, my corporate destiny hinged on the man across the desk from me. From pierced ears protruded tufts of wiry hair stained by yellow wax. He seemed civil enough but his ringed pinky was shy. It burrowed and hid way up his nose; I was sure it was lost. I pretended not to stare. He proceeded to speak only in rhyme. “The employers need to pick your brain; to ascertain if you are sane. The following will tell us what we need. Should we hire you? Are you rational, indeed?” Eyes opening wide, my heart raced; my very compos mentis was in doubt. “Your bathtub is filled with water to the top. You need the tub empty of every single drop. All you have are spoon, cup and pail. What would best help you prevail?” Sweating profusely, I replied, “the pail (I think), would be my choice”. Mr. Hairy Ears smiled with glee. “That’s wrong. You’re not meant to be.” “There’s the door” said he smarmy and smug. “You are insane. Why not pull the plug”?