There's a kind of interview that isn't really about the job.

In 2012, I was working at Driscoll's, deep in spreadsheets, running P&Ls for berry growers. It was a good job—but I wanted sharper edges. I wanted to know if I could hang with real operators, the kind that worked in management consulting. So when a college friend helped me land an interview at the Alexander Group—a small but intense firm in San Francisco—I took the shot.

The job was known for chewing people up: long hours, tight deadlines, constant travel. But I didn't care. I wanted the challenge. I wanted in.

The Setup

Phone screen. A few rapid-fire Zooms. Then came the final round: a live case study.

They handed me a printed packet and a laptop with no internet. Blank Excel. Blank PowerPoint. Forty-five minutes on the clock. No distractions. Just solve the thing.

I cranked through the case, built a rough model, threw together some slides. Then the office manager walked me into the largest conference room in the building. She loaded up my deck on a big screen and said, "We're just waiting on a few more."

A couple analysts wandered in. Then a few more. Then more.

Eventually, a dozen people were in the room. The entire office. All waiting and watching.

That's when I realized: this wasn't about the case. This was the test behind the test.

Could I hold the room?

Could I stand there, solo, and walk a group of skeptical consultants through a half-baked strategy—without flinching?

They asked if I wanted to sit. My adrenaline was pumping. I remember thinking:

No chance. Don't back down an inch. Stay standing. Get wider. Lean into it.

The Presentation

They asked questions. Good ones.

"Why this recommendation?" "What assumption are you making here?" "What happens if this part's wrong?"

They didn't care if I had all the answers. They wanted to see how I handled pressure. If I could think on my feet. If I could take a hit, reframe, and move forward.

I don't remember every word I said. But I remember how it felt. My legs were locked. My mind was racing. But I stayed standing. Stayed engaged. And got through it.

A few days later, I got the offer.

What Stuck

That night I told my roommate—Luke, a Ford dealership sales guy with a thick skin and a heavy quota. He said, "If that had been me, I would've opened the window and jumped."

He meant it.

Some people thrive in the sales pit. Some can command a room full of skeptics. Most people don't get to practice both. That interview pushed me to a new edge—and showed me that sometimes, just standing there and breathing is the work.

I didn't ace the case. But I didn't shrink either. That mattered more.

Years later, I still think about that moment. Half the battle is showing up and taking the hits.

Doing stuff that makes your stomach turn is usually the part that sticks with you.