Going to work without any sense of direction was what I hated most about my job. So, I was determined to find an alternative.
As a freelance writer and graphic designer, I was used to remote jobs. I love the internet; all my resources and information are there. However, I was in my broke stage, so I had to seek multiple sources of income. I got an offer on LinkedIn as a writer for an Ibadan online news publication company. The pay was 50k monthly.
Ah, that one is not hard now. I would just keep myself updated with breaking news from the big media companies, do little research, and make up my version of the stories. I was very good at that – getting information and presenting it in a unique adaptation. That was why academic writing was my thing.
But when my job started, my employer didn’t want generic stories, so he demanded that I go into the crannies of Ibadan and get at least two local stories per day. I knew what to do but I couldn’t do it. What do you mean I have to walk up to strangers and open discussions with them? During this hard time, when the average Ibadan local is looking for who to transfer aggression to? Lmao.
But as omo ope, I took it up regardless and did as much as I could; I held vague conversations with people which I secretly recorded (I even took pictures the few times that I could). I also tried to look for symposiums, conferences, or inaugural lectures to attend; anything that was newsworthy. And it was as I was covering such an occasion that a meeting of the National Bureau of Statisticians when my phone rang.
“Hello, is that Mr Faruk?”
“Yes.”
“Do you see our message that you have an interview with us at 9 a.m. tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, don’t forget to bring your CV.”
I ended the call and focused back on my laptop. I had seen an email a day before congratulating me for passing an online primary test and inviting me for a premises secondary test for a role I applied for, weeks back. I applied for many different roles every day I didn’t know which role they were inviting me for. But I kept it at the fore of my mind that I would attend. I didn’t know the place, but Google Maps, another thing I love about the internet, was and is still always there to my rescue.
After I finished the article, I was working on, I hung around, waiting for lunch break, so I could eat before I went. I thought about the call. In the email I got, they demanded that I bring a calculator, a charged and network-enabled smartphone, and writing materials. But the caller asked me to bring a CV. Also, she mentioned “a message” as opposed to “an email”, and “an interview” instead of “a test”.
I opened my SMS application and saw the message in question. I checked the venue for the interview, went back to Gmail, and saw that it was different from the venue in the mail. Ah.
Naturally, as an introvert, I prefer texting to calling. I don’t do SMS. It was why I didn’t know I had a message before the call. I had my SMS app muted because of the incessant notifications that I received from my network provider’s messages. I confirmed that the line was WhatsApp registered and texted.
Ma, you called me earlier, and I assumed that you were from so-so company I got an email from yesterday. The location in your message and that of so-so group is different. Can I know the organization you are contacting me from, please?
Double tick. Thank God. I waited for a reply, and for the lunch break because my mouth (not I) was already salivating from the aroma of the food that galvanized the hall.
She replied with a voice note. No, I’m not from so-so group. From Crystal Firm. You applied for customer service, and you sent me your CV. So, when you are coming tomorrow, come with your CV.
Ah. Who did I send my CV? I had never even heard of Crystal Firm. But because I submitted multiple online applications per day, it was impossible to remember all the names of the firms. And why is she asking me to bring a CV she claimed I already sent? Well, maybe they needed a hard copy.
However, I had a problem. Both fixtures were scheduled for 9 a.m. on the same day. I sent my papa a WhatsApp text that night, explaining everything and seeking advice on which I should pick. But when I woke up the second day, I was relieved that he had not checked the messages and quickly deleted them. I don’t like giving my parents false hopes, so I guarantee the certainty of anything before I inform them.
My mind was made up. So-so Group, apart from the fact that they seemed to be more legit, were holding a test. Common sense told me it would be a one-time event for a few candidates, maybe many. It was more plausible to finish my test, walk into Crystal Firm, and apologize for my lateness. I prayed to God and set out.
I got to the Group’s office before 8 a.m. A few candidates were already there. People dey find job o. One lady even claimed to have come down from Lagos. She said it was her second time going through the process; according to her she didn’t meet the required cut-off for the exact role (Management Role) she wanted the first time. She explained that anyone who didn’t get 80% would be offered a warehouse role if they got 60%. Oya now.
Small time, 8 a.m. became 9 a.m., 9 a.m. became 9.30 a.m. I was already in a frenzy. Wetin be this? At this point, all candidates had arrived. I think we were about twenty. The organizers were already around too, but they said they were doing a programme upstairs and assured us that they would soon be done.
10 o’clock. I was already having regrets. Had I known, I would have just gone to the interview first. How many minutes would it even take me? Thirty minutes tops. I would not have even missed anything.
10.30 a.m. they asked us to start coming upstairs. We got there and they sent us back and asked that we should wait for five more minutes; that they were sorry. Okay. The Lagos lady advised me to send a message to Crystal Firm to reschedule. But I didn’t want to. I still hoped to go there and apologize as humbly as possible for my lateness. I was cooking up the lies I would tell.
10.45 a.m. 11 a.m. 11.30 a.m. How far? Five minutes has become one hour o. We are sorry; you can start coming upstairs now.
They put us in one room and asked us to bring out our phones, calculators, and writing materials. They said the secondary test was also an online test, and that the link for it would be sent to our respective mails. It took another thirty minutes before they sent the link. I was already sure that I wouldn’t be going for the interview that day because I still had to go and find local stories for my employer.
The test was timed 40 minutes – different questions, and it was only after the last person was through that they addressed us again. When I finally left the place, it was already a few minutes to two.
I sent a long formal WhatsApp message to the Crystal Firm lady. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was unable to be present at our appointment today… I deeply regret and I take responsibility… I would appreciate it if we could reschedule at your earliest convenience…blah blah blah… She said that I could come by Monday. Thank God. I ate my cake and still had it.
On Monday, I went to the venue, thanks to Google Maps. It was a business complex. There was a beauty spa, a pharmacy, and a computer centre, but I could not find any traces of Crystal Firm. I tried to hang around but the security man sent me away. I texted the lady again and she asked me to go upstairs. So I went back to the security man and told him I had an interview scheduled for today. He requested for the message sent to me before finally allowing me to go upstairs.
The receptionist demanded to see the message as well. She then asked me to write my name down on an attendance list.
“You can have your seat.”
After about 10 minutes, another lady walked in, obviously for the interview as well. I immediately started to feel self-conscious. I was donning a T-shirt, jeans, and half-shoes. She, on the other hand, was dressed very formally – suit, packing shirt, heels, and all.
The receptionist asked her to sit as well and asked me to go inside one room, much to my relief because I couldn’t stand the contrast in our appearance. The room was a sort of meeting room, with well-arranged plastic chairs facing a large TV. There were two people inside: A chap, also, to my utter dismay, suited up, who looked like he was in his twenties as well; and stone-faced man who, seemingly, was a staff there. He pointed me to a seat far away from the chap.
I pay attention well to details; I could tell that they were trying to reduce communication between the applicants to the bare minimum. Protocols, maybe.
It wasn’t long before they took the guy outside, and soon it was my turn. I was directed to an office where a man was picking something off a side table. I hurriedly took my seat in front of his desk before he could notice the shoes I was wearing.
His speech was short. He welcomed me, introduced himself as Mr Dayo, and told me that they had reached out to various job agencies to find a few graduates for their firm. Surprisingly for them, the agencies sent more than two hundred applicants to them, and now they had to randomly pick for a meeting with their C.E.O, who would then determine if the applicant could be selected for a pre-induction training. He asked me to drop my CV and just pray to be amongst the lucky selections, all of whom they would be sending a message to latest 4 p.m. of the same day.
I left there dejected. Due to past experiences, I knew I was an unlucky person. So it came as a bolt from the blue to me when, the next day, on my way to find local stories, I received a call, asking me if I was still interested in meeting the C.E.O. according to the message sent to me yesterday. Message? Which message? I told the caller I was already on the way – this was technically not a lie because the venue was on the way to the Local Government Council in Agodi where I intended to cover that day. I opened my SMS application and saw that I got the invitation message, which I missed because I wasn’t expecting it and because my SMS application was muted.
I was already late! I alighted from the Napep, bolted into the building, and clambered upstairs, where Mr Dayo was waiting for me at the reception. He told me the session had started thirty minutes earlier and directed me into the room I waited at the previous day. Inside, I met about fifteen people, who looked like they were there for the C.E.O. meeting as well. There were a few empty seats, but before I could exercise my liberty to pick one to sit on, the stone-faced man, sitting next to the door, directed me to a particular one at the front row.
The “session” was the applicants listening to a recorded sermon on the TV. I saw that everyone was jotting, so I brought out my pen and notepad as well. The pretty girl on my left offered me her jottings to catch up; I took a picture and returned her note to her.
After thirty minutes of listening to a church program about Vision, thirty minutes of wondering how I ended up here, and speculating on the relevance of the sermon to the job offer, Mr. Dayo came in, paused the video, and took his seat in front of the room.
“Good morning everyone.”
