Sachin Jain, President and CEO, Board Director at SCAN Health Plan, shared a post on LinkedIn:
“Years ago, I took a 5am train from Boston to New York for a set of exploratory interviews with the leadership of a major hospital system (at their invitation).
Somewhere mid-journey, the train screeched to a halt. Thirty minutes passed. It became obvious I’d be late. I emailed ahead, apologizing and explaining the situation. The kind assistant replied graciously, assuring me they’d reshuffle the schedule.
I rushed off the train, grabbed a cab, took a deep breath, straightened my tie, and walked into the office of a senior executive—my first interview of the day.
He didn’t greet me. He didn’t smile. He didn’t stand up.
He simply looked at me and opened with a cold, clipped line:
‘How can I help you?’
The thought bubble above my head could have been seen from space:
‘You invited me… for a job interview… and you’re asking how you can help me???’
But I played along: ‘I’m interested in exploring a role here.’
His expression stayed stone-cold. ‘Unwelcoming’ is the most generous word I can find.
His next question came like a pop quiz:
‘Where do you see yourself in 10–15 years?’
I began answering honestly—talking about wanting to make an impact in healthcare, maybe government, maybe leading a hospital—
He cut me off mid-sentence.
‘The right answer,’ he said, ‘is: you don’t know.’
He repeated it. Slowly. Like he was correcting a child.
In that moment it was crystal clear:
He wasn’t curious about me.
He wasn’t open to who I was or what I aspired to.
He wasn’t even interviewing me.
He was policing my ambition.
Maybe he didn’t like my confidence.
Maybe he disliked my delayed arrival.
Maybe he had already decided I didn’t ‘fit.’
Whatever the reason, he made me feel small and utterly unwelcome.
The rest of the day was fine. Others were warm. But that first interaction cast a shadow.
I walked out of the building at the end of the day with one dominant question:
‘Why did they invite me here at all?’
I’ll probably never know.
But here’s what I do know:
I have never forgotten the name of that executive.
I have never forgotten the smug, dismissive ‘How can I help you?’
And I have never forgotten the hollow, shrinking feeling he left me with.
And the older I get, the more I realize:
Moments like that become leadership vows.
They remind you how you never want someone else to feel in your presence.
How a single sentence can expand someone’s sense of possibility—or crush it.
How a few seconds of indifference can undo hours or days of preparation.
It’s now 15 years since that uncomfortable interaction. Today, when someone takes a train, plane, Uber, or walks across the street to meet with me, I remember that morning.
I remember how much it cost—emotionally, mentally, financially—for them to show up.
Because time is the most valuable thing we have.
And respect is the currency of leadership.
And fail as I sometimes might, I would rather make someone feel seen than making them feel small.”
More posts featuring Sachin H. Jain.