He Drew Three Trees — And Outsmarted Everyone

 

The old man stood at the edge of the construction site, hands rough from decades of work, eyes calm but determined. He wasn’t asking for charity. He was asking for a job. The foreman looked him up and down and smirked. Too old, he thought. Too slow. Still, instead of turning him away outright, the foreman decided to have a little fun. He told the man he’d only be hired if he passed a simple math test. The workers nearby chuckled, already convinced the outcome was decided.

“Here’s your first question,” the foreman said, tapping his clipboard. “Without using numbers, represent the number nine.” The old man didn’t hesitate. He bent down, picked up a stick, and drew three trees in the dirt. Tall trunks. Full branches. Neatly spaced. The laughter grew louder. The foreman frowned. This wasn’t what he expected. He pointed at the drawing and asked, “What is this supposed to be?” The old man looked up, completely serious.

“Three trees,” he said simply. The foreman shook his head. “That doesn’t answer the question,” he snapped. “I said represent nine.” The old man nodded, patient as ever. “Exactly,” he replied. “Three trees.” The workers went quiet. The foreman crossed his arms. “Explain,” he demanded, clearly irritated now. The old man straightened his back and spoke calmly, as if teaching a child.

“Three trees,” he said, “each tree has three branches. Three times three makes nine.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. The foreman’s smirk vanished. He hadn’t expected logic. He hadn’t expected creativity. And he definitely hadn’t expected to be proven wrong by someone he’d already dismissed. Still, he wasn’t done. He cleared his throat and flipped the page on his clipboard. “Fine,” he said. “Next question.”

“Without using numbers,” the foreman continued, “represent the number twelve.” The old man didn’t even bend down this time. He picked up the stick again and added one more tree to the drawing. Four trees now stood in the dirt. The foreman stared at it, then laughed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, confident he’d finally caught him. The old man smiled, just slightly.

“Same logic,” he said. “Four trees. Three branches each. Four times three.” Silence followed. No laughter. No whispers. Just the sound of wind moving through the real trees beyond the fence. The foreman looked around and realized every worker was watching him now, waiting. He closed his clipboard slowly, cleared his throat, and held out his hand. “You start Monday,” he said.