We will hire someone with less experience, less education, and

Host: The evening hung heavy over the airport terminal, filled with the smell of coffee, jet fuel, and the faint hum of departures echoing through the corridors. Fluorescent lights flickered above, painting the faces of travelers in shades of fatigue and anticipation. Jack sat by the window, his hands clasped, his eyes fixed on the runway where planes cut through the twilight like silver blades. Jeeny arrived quietly, her steps soft, her expression calm but resolute.

The air between them was thick with memory — two former colleagues, two different souls, once bound by ambition, now divided by belief.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? To sit here, surrounded by people leaving for somewhere new… and realize how much of what we build depends not on skills, but on spirit.”

Jack: “Spirit doesn’t fly the plane, Jeeny. Competence does. Experience does. The world doesn’t move because people feel good — it moves because someone knows what they’re doing.”

Host: A pause lingered. Jeeny’s eyes followed a flight attendant helping an elderly man find his gate. The woman smiled — a small, genuine smile that softened the noise of the world for a moment.

Jeeny: “That’s not true, Jack. Herb Kelleher built Southwest Airlines by hiring for attitude, not résumés. He said, ‘We can teach people how to lead, but we can’t change their DNA.’ He understood that character is the foundation of everything.”

Jack: “I’ve heard the quote. It’s a nice line — poetic, even. But try telling that to a hospital when you hire a doctor who has a great attitude but can’t perform a surgery.”

Jeeny: “You’re taking it too literally. Of course expertise matters. But attitude shapes how we use it. A brilliant surgeon with a rotten attitude can destroy a team faster than an amateur ever could. Skill is taught; humanity is lived.”

Host: The lights dimmed briefly as another flight boarded. The PA system called out destinations — Dallas, Denver, San Diego — like faint echoes of choices made and paths taken.

Jack: “I get your sentiment, Jeeny. But the world rewards results, not good intentions. You can’t ‘train’ someone into competence. The market doesn’t care if you’re kind — it cares if you deliver.”

Jeeny: “And yet, the market falls apart when people lose trust, Jack. When empathy disappears, systems collapse. Think of Enron, or the banking crisis — brilliant people with all the right credentials and not an ounce of integrity.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. The flicker of anger crossed his face, but beneath it — a shadow of agreement. His voice lowered.

Jack: “You think I don’t know that? I’ve worked with people who’d sell their soul for a quarterly report. But it’s not that simple. You can’t build an airline, or a business, on smiles and sincerity. You need standards, precision, discipline.”

Jeeny: “And what drives discipline, Jack? Fear or purpose? The right attitude doesn’t replace skill — it fuels it. It makes learning possible, leadership sustainable, and service meaningful. Herb knew that. He made it his philosophy.”

Host: The rain began to fall outside, streaking the glass in slanting lines. The runway lights blurred into halos of gold and blue. Jack leaned forward, his voice cutting through the gentle rhythm of the rain.

Jack: “You talk like attitude is magic. But people don’t change just because they smile more. You think you can spot someone’s DNA in an interview? People fake kindness. They perform empathy. And when the pressure hits — when the company’s on the line — what matters is competence, not charm.”

Jeeny: “Charm isn’t what I mean. I’m talking about character — that quiet core that doesn’t shift when pressure hits. The kind of grit you can’t teach. You can train a person to lead a meeting, but you can’t train them to care.”

Host: A jet engine roared nearby, drowning the conversation for a moment. Jack turned his gaze toward the window, his reflection caught in the glass — a man of reason watching the sky he could never quite control.

Jack: “So you’d hire someone green over someone seasoned? Just because they ‘care’? That’s not how the world works.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s how a better world works. A world where leadership isn’t built on fear or ego, but on trust. Where companies aren’t just factories of profit, but communities of purpose.”

Jack: “Purpose doesn’t pay the bills.”

Jeeny: “Neither does burnout.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, sharp as glass. Jack looked at her — really looked — and the defensiveness in his eyes softened. The terminal had quieted now; the last flights of the night were preparing to depart. The world outside was a black sea of runways and lights.

Jack: “You know, when I started managing my first team, I hired the best on paper. The smartest, the most experienced. It worked… for a while. Then one day, one of them told a junior analyst — ‘Don’t bother caring so much, nobody notices.’ And something about that… it just stuck with me. The rot started there.”

Jeeny: “And did you ever find someone who made it right again?”

Jack: (after a long silence) “Yeah. A girl named Amira. Barely out of college, didn’t know half the tools we used. But she asked questions — real ones. She stayed late to help others. When I saw her leading, it wasn’t about authority; it was about connection. The team changed around her.”

Jeeny: “That’s what I’m saying, Jack. You didn’t just hire her — you trusted her DNA. That’s the thing you can’t measure, but you can feel.”

Host: Jack exhaled, his breath fogging the window. The rain had eased, and the runway glowed faintly beneath a clearing sky. A single plane began to taxi, its lights like beacons slicing through the night.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right, Jeeny. Maybe attitude isn’t everything… but it’s the seed. Without it, everything else dies.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Skills are wings, Jack. But attitude is the wind beneath them.”

Host: They both fell silent, watching the plane lift into the darkness, its engines a low hum of persistence and hope. The light from the terminal reflected softly in their eyes — one of logic, one of faith, both shimmering with a quiet recognition that they had reached the same horizon.

Jack: “You know… maybe Herb was right. You can teach someone to fly a plane. But you can’t teach them to love the sky.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And that’s the kind of DNA no company can afford to lose.”

Host: The plane disappeared into the clouds, leaving behind a faint trail of light. The rain had stopped, the night grew still, and the two sat side by side — no longer debating, but understanding. Beyond the glass, the world kept moving — not because of its machines, but because of the hearts that believed in them.