THE EXPERIENCE THEY REMEMBERED

More than 35 years ago, I became interested in a profession I had barely known existed: pharmaceutical sales.

Today, someone curious about the industry can explore job descriptions, professional networks, company websites, and career discussions within minutes. When I was in business school, the information was considerably harder to find.

I pieced together what I could through books, professors, campus recruiters, and conversations with people who knew something about the business.

Occasionally, pharmaceutical district sales managers would attend campus career events in place of recruiters. I made a point of speaking with them, learning about the work, and maintaining contact when opportunities arose.

I wasn't simply trying to find an opening. I was trying to understand what the profession required—and whether I could build a credible path into it.

That distinction would prove important.

Between my two years of MBA study, I completed a summer internship with a medical diagnostics company whose products included MRI, CAT scan, and PET scan technologies.

The experience exposed me to a different segment of the healthcare marketplace.

For one assignment, I developed a regional business impact map and analysis for a senior director. In another, I evaluated the selling cycle for medical diagnostics and compared it with the pharmaceutical selling cycle.

That comparison was particularly valuable.

Although both industries operated in healthcare, their commercial processes were not interchangeable. Understanding those differences helped me think more critically about the profession I hoped to enter.

By the time I began interviewing, I had done more than express an interest in pharmaceutical sales. I had investigated the industry, sought conversations with its professionals, and gained experience examining healthcare business decisions.

I had also received employment offers from my internship company and another healthcare company on the West Coast.

But there was another experience in my background that I would come to appreciate differently.

During college, I tutored five freshman and sophomore scholarship football players in biology, chemistry, and mathematics.

Much of the challenge involved translating classroom instruction into explanations the students could understand and apply.

We worked through subjects such as mitosis, chemical reactions, the periodic table, and algebra. Sometimes that meant finding a different way to explain a scientific process. Other times, it meant breaking a mathematical problem into steps that made sense to the individual student.

All five passed their courses. Three improved their grade trajectories.

At the time, I regarded the tutoring as worthwhile work that had produced meaningful results.

I did not necessarily think of it as one of the strongest examples I could bring into a pharmaceutical sales interview.

Yet it demonstrated something relevant: the ability to understand technical information, adapt its explanation to an audience, and help others achieve a result.

The connection became clearer as I prepared.

The pharmaceutical interview process was competitive, drawing candidates from across the country.

At one stage, I faced a panel of eight sales managers I had never met.

I had spent considerable time preparing, including studying a popular interview guide called Knock 'Em Dead. As I rehearsed, I began noticing that different interview questions often tested similar underlying capabilities.

Could I communicate complex information?

Could I demonstrate preparation rather than simply claim it?

Could I offer evidence that distinguished me from other candidates?

Instead of relying entirely on polished descriptions of my strengths, I drew on experiences where I had already demonstrated them.

The tutoring example gave me a way to discuss technical communication through something concrete.

I remember describing how I helped students understand scientific and mathematical concepts. I also remember sensing that the example connected with the panel.

But an interviewer's expression is not a hiring decision, and I had no way of knowing what they would ultimately remember.

The panel also asked about two potential territories: one several states away from where I had grown up, and another approximately an hour and a half away.

Which would I prefer? And what would it mean if I received the other?

My answer reflected my priorities at that point in my life.

I was genuinely open to either location. Entering the pharmaceutical industry mattered more to me than securing my preferred geography.

I eventually received the territory closer to home.

I would not suggest that every candidate should make the same geographic trade-off. Personal obligations and circumstances matter. But I knew which part of the opportunity was essential to me and which part was negotiable.

Approximately eight months after joining the company, I attended an annual sales meeting.

During a company breakfast, someone made a brief comment almost in passing.

My tutoring example had stood out during the interview.

So had my summer internship.

That was the extent of the feedback, but I remembered it.

I had invested considerable effort in learning about the pharmaceutical industry and preparing for the interview. I had worked to understand the capabilities the position demanded.

Yet one of the experiences that left an impression was tutoring college football players in science and mathematics.

The lesson wasn't that I had stumbled upon a clever answer.

It was that an experience outside the pharmaceutical industry had provided credible evidence of abilities relevant to the work.

I couldn't control which examples the interviewers would remember. I could control whether the examples I offered were genuine, relevant, and supported by something I had actually accomplished.

Over the course of my career, I've seen successful pharmaceutical professionals arrive from business, pharmacy, sales in other industries, nursing, data analytics, and so many other backgrounds—including those with little direct healthcare experience.

Their paths were not identical.

Neither were the capabilities they initially brought to the profession.

What matters is the ability to investigate the role seriously, identify the knowledge and skills it requires, and seek opportunities to develop and demonstrate them.

That might mean gaining relevant technical knowledge, undertaking an analytical project, building a record of customer-facing results, or learning from experienced industry professionals through ongoing conversations and mentorship.

A candidate without direct pharmaceutical experience should not pretend to have it.

But neither should that candidate overlook legitimate evidence of preparation and transferable capability.

And those evaluating talent should remember that relevant ability does not always arrive under a familiar job title.

A résumé tells an employer where you've been. A well-chosen example can help them understand what you've learned to do.

You cannot always predict which experience someone will remember.

You can make certain that the experiences you share are worth remembering.

That's the craft.