On Saturday we had dinner at the Saw Mill Grill in Oxford with a young man who's working hard to gain his certification in a highly technical healthcare field. He already has passed two written exams, and the final step involves taking an oral exam this spring with not just one inquisitor but six of them, who each grill you for 30 minutes. The exam has a fearsome reputation -- the pass rate is only 50 percent, and the examiners are authorities in the field.
He told us a horror story about a hapless examinee who recognized his questioner's name and politely said that he'd studied the man's textbook.
The author pulled out a copy of the textbook from his briefcase and opened it to a random page.
"In that case," he said, "perhaps you'll be so good as to summarize this chapter for me."
I tried to reassure the poor fellow, pointing out how articulate and knowledgeable he was and how well he was able to explain the field to laypeople like ourselves.
He looked highly skeptical, pointing out that we were chatting over a relaxed dinner, not in the pressure cooker of pivotal oral exam.
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