Noa's interview for a job as operations coordinator at Northline Delivery was at ten o'clock. She arrived at half past nine and found a man in a suit in the car park, kneeling beside a silver car with a flat tire. He was holding the jack upside down. "I am hopeless with cars," he said.
Noa's father had taught her to change a wheel when she was fifteen. "I have an interview at ten, so I'll be quick," she said. But the wheel nuts were stuck, and she had to stand on the wrench. It took half an hour. The man asked her nothing. He only said, "Good luck."
She scrubbed her hands, but the black stayed, and at 10:05 she walked into reception five minutes late. The receptionist raised an eyebrow. In the room three people sat at a long table, and a fourth chair was empty. Noa answered the first questions with her hands hidden under the table.
Five minutes later the door opened, and the man from the car park came in. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "I had a flat tire, and a stranger helped me." He looked at Noa. "I have been interviewing you for half an hour already." He was Mr. Kessler, the director, and he said that her hands had impressed him more than her CV.
She got the offer, and the next morning a box arrived with a spare-tire kit and a card: "Welcome to Northline. For your next stranger."
