There is a spot in our town where merchants gather to display their wares. Tools and equipment to solve every need, clothing to cover even the most challenging figure, and curios to adorn every wall are openly displayed for all to see. Within each merchant lies the hope that each person who passes by their carefully planned display will be tempted to purchase some item ostensibly filling a need or gap in their brief existence. In short, I was at the mall.

My grandfather was a milkman. From what my mother tells me, it was a tough job. Maybe not the kind of job you would see as a promising Discovery Channel series, but it had all the qualities of a good old fashion “working man’s” profession. He would wake up literally before the cows did, travel to the dairy, load up his refrigerated milk truck, and drive his route. It didn’t matter if it was raining or snowing.

Your new manager asks you for a presentation or to create a report showing production output for the year. You work on it feverishly day and night knowing that your number one goal is to impress him. You spend hours just making sure that you are using the correct form of the word “effect” (or is it affect???). You present your information and data with a smile only created by knowing it’s a complete screaming over the wall home run.

You answered the questions flawlessly. Your suit was picture perfect. Everyone seemed to like you. You didn’t get the job.

Your friend in the company said that you were not organized enough to fit their culture and you are figuring out how on earth they came to that conclusion.

“Dude” your friend says “They went into the parking lot and looked in your car!”