Several years ago we hired Tiffany as our summer intern and it became the longest summer of my life. Tiffany was book-smart, friendly and ambitious, but lacked even a shred of common sense. She was also dangerously stupid; Thanks to Tiffany I will never hire a summer intern ever again.
When Tiffany’s assignment was over I fervently hoped I would never hear from her again, but not long ago I answered the phone and heard a vaguely familiar voice. “It’s Tiff,” said the voice, “Remember me?” In a flash I remembered everything, like the day when she decided to speed up my computer by erasing my hard drive, or the time that I asked her to shred some old documents and she confused “2013” with “2003.”
“I remember,” I said grimly.
Tiffany told me she had applied to graduate school and that she had listed me as her professional reference. “Grad school?” I said, stunned. “Really?”
“Really!” said Tiffany.
Thinking quickly, I said, “I’m so sorry but we don’t give out references on past employees.” This was true: We only verify dates of employment and job title.
“No worries,” said Tiff, “I signed a release form allowing you to say whatever you like about me.” She thought for a moment. “You’re the only one I ever worked for who was nice to me,” she said a little wistfully. She sighed. “So will you do this for me?” she asked.
I was immediately conflicted; Tiffany was not malicious, she was just dumb, and I didn’t want to jeopardize her future, but I was certainly not going to lie about her abilities. I paused and all was lost. “Thanks!” she said.
Two days later I got a call from a man who identified himself as Dr. Harry Roman, and, caught off guard, I laughed.
“Did I say something funny?” said the voice.
I composed myself. “Your said your name is Harry Roman?” I said.
“Is that amusing?” he asked, and I denied it, but I was thinking that “Hairy Roman” was the best name I’d heard since my friend Sally married Bob Mander and became “Sally Mander.”
“Tiffany Carpenter applied to our graduate school and listed you as a professional reference,” said Dr. Roman. “What can you tell me about her?”
I paused, unsure of how to proceed. Then I took a deep breath. “Tiffany is a jewel,” I said, and added, “truly one of a kind,” which was certainly no lie.
“Is she an independent thinker?” asked Dr. Roman.
I paused, thinking quickly. “I’ve never known anyone whose mind works quite like Tiffany’s.” I said. Then, remembering my hard drive, I added, “And she tends to think outside the box.”
‘How are her communication skills?” asked Dr. Roman, and I stifled another laugh, remembering a sign Tiffany posted on the refrigerator in the break room: “Leftovers will be thrown away nightly unless they are spoiled.”
“When it comes to communication,” I said, “she has no equal.”
“Excellent!” said the doctor. “Anything else you can say?”
I was confounded for compliments. “She has good personal hygiene and excellent teeth,” was the best I could do.
Dr. Roman had one final question. “If this were your decision,” he said, “what would you do?”
“I would not waste a single minute thinking about it,” I said, pleased that we were done and I had not uttered a single lie.
Three weeks later, I got an email from Tiffany.
“I got in!” she wrote, “thanks to you.” She poured out her gratitude and I was truly happy for her until I read her last line: “…and after I graduate I’m going to come back and work for you!”