After a few minutes, the door from the main room opened and a tall, weather-beaten character emerged closely followed by a young woman. My heart sank. He had the gimlet eyes of someone who'd spent years squinting into desert sunsets. How could I measure up to someone like him? The woman was shaking his hand.

"Well goodbye, er, Dingo, we'll let you know very soon," she said, then smiled at me, frowned at my feet, and told me they'd be ready for me in a few minutes.

My competitor sat down and lit a cigarette, ignoring the 'No Smoking' sticker on the back of the door. I jealously eyed his shoes, wondering if he would lend them to a rival for an hour. They were the size of canoes. I realized I'd look like a clown and dismissed the idea.

"Is your name really Dingo?" I asked him instead.

"Dingus," he answered with an Australian accent. "Me old fella was a bit of a culture vulture. Named me after the bloke in the song, Dirty Dingus Magee."

"What are they like?" I nodded towards the door.

"Typical Swiss. No sense of humour," he said, blowing an impeccable smoke ring.

"They're red hot on commitment though. I was doing fine until the end when they asked me to demonstrate my commitment to the job. I told them I was fully committed but the doctors said I was safe to be let out. That went down like the proverbial lead balloon."

He shook his head slowly then stood up and made for the door.

"That's why the interviews are at these barmy times. They're making it tricky to get here on time to weed out the no-hopers. Well, good luck mate, and don't forget to put your shoes on."

The interview panel consisted of two older men and the young woman I'd already met. They all smiled and nodded, indicating the single chair facing them. One of the men looked at his watch and I cringed, expecting 'Justin time' to spring from his lips. I wondered if I would be able to control my urge to throttle him.

"Punctual," he remarked, "and you've come all the way from, where is it, Edinburgh in Scotland?"

I almost gasped with relief and took an instant liking to him. After that, I relaxed and the interview went well.

They explained that, although I lacked experience, there'd be a three-month training period alongside a senior employee and they preferred someone single with no strong family ties. Families couldn't take the hardship and separation. They'd already studied copies of my documents and licences and my qualifications were perfect for the job. I was just beginning to feel confident when the woman asked me why I was barefoot. I hesitated for a moment and then inspiration struck and I pulled my masterstroke.

"Ah ... well, you see, I decided that I would show my commitment to you, and to the people I would be helping, by travelling from Scotland without shoes. I know that those poor people sometimes have to walk hundreds of miles barefoot so it was the least I could do to show empathy for their misfortune."

I decided to stop before I drowned in a flood of self-righteousness. Anyway, it wasn't an outright lie. I had taken my shoes off before the train left Scotland. I sat back and looked at each one of them in turn. My friend who'd called me punctual was beaming at me, but the woman was more cynical.

"How do we know you haven't left your shoes in the restroom down the hall?" she asked. I thought for a moment and nodded at the telephone.

"The Commissionaire saw me arrive. You could call him."

"Good idea," she agreed, still unconvinced. "I will."

The Commissionaire must have carried a cell phone because she was put through immediately. I listened intently to her side of the conversation.

"Filthy, you say, in a terrible state ... yes ... no. You were right to let him in. You made him clean his feet first? Very good, thank you." She put the phone down and the three of them jabbered animatedly in French for several minutes. Then my friend addressed me.

"Justin, we all agree that we couldn't hope to find a level of commitment to match yours and we'd like to offer you a position here and now. We have a contract ready if you're prepared to sign?"

I signed on the dotted line and instantly became a Bush Pilot for International Refugee Relief. All the scrimping, saving and years of spare-time jobs while I built up my flying hours had been worthwhile. From now on I would be paid to do the one thing I loved. We concluded the minor details and I shook hands with each of them in turn.

"One other thing ... I almost forgot," my friend told me. "We need to reimburse you for your travelling expenses."

Leaving the hotel I checked the time. It was after nine. The airport shopping mall would be open and I now had more than enough cash to buy some shoes. I'll spend the rest of the money on a nice gift for my father, I decided. His advice had been invaluable. Interviewees certainly are judged on their footwear ... or the lack of it.