With a final twist, my navy-blue tie poises gracefully over my impeccable white shirt. I slide on my black suit jacket. It fit perfectly. 'This would be the cutting edge,' I amuse myself in the mirror.
Quickly, I scramble through the room for my shoe-brush. Papers are strewn across my floor: Several application letter drafts, various resume formats, including rejection letters! I do not get a job, they say, because some other millions of Nigerian youths can't get either. This job interview is a great consolation for my prolific applications. There it is - I grab the brush and gave my black shoe a sparkling touch.
Monday morning in Lagos wore its usual no-nonsense rush. I hurry to be at the venue on time. As I snake my way through the milling crowd, I hit my right foot across the pavement. 'Bad omen,' my people will say. I simply hiss.
A taxi stops. 'Victoria Island, please.' I request, sitting comfortably behind the quasi-posh automobile. 'Oga, na 1, 000 naira,' the cabbie; an elderly man with unkempt whiskers, retorts in pidgin with a coarse voice. 'I'll pay 800,' I reply calmly. The cabbie drives on gleefully, sure he had made a wise bargain.
This interview had better pay-off; unemployment had eaten up my savings like a canker-worm. I had borrowed the suit and shoes from an uncle. A generous friend had given me his white shirt and navy-blue tie, since I often returned to borrow them.
The taxi waits shortly, and a pleasant woman in her early middle age enters. She cut quite a dash in her corporate outfit. 'I would have acted naughty, only if...' I whisper to myself as we move on silently.
I have three minutes left to my destination when the woman's phone rings. "Hello," she says, flipping her phone open. "Oh goodness," she panics at her caller's response, "quickly take a bike," she cuts in,"...we would be waiting. Bring it right away." She barks.
Her mechanic just notified her about her office keys. She had hurriedly left them behind in her car, which broke down some minutes back. I brew with anger as she persuasively explains her plight.
"So?" I snap back, at the cabbie parks by the roadside.
"I assure you, my mechanic would be here in five minutes. You won't get late to your office. Please be patient." She pleads softly.
"Excuse me, kindly alight from this taxi and wait for your mechanic." I bellow, as 'swear words raced across my mind.
"Oga, abeg, make we wait small for Madam," the cabbie cuts in, trying to douse the livid atmosphere in the taxi.
"Arrant nonsense!" I throw my hands in protest, "Oh, I see..." I stare at the two with disgust. Seeing that I wouldn't bulge, the woman gently drops from the taxi, giving some money to the cabbie before we moved on.
My conscience was clear, 'a hungry man is an angry man.' Definitely, the cabbie didn't know that my transport fare itself was a goodwill gesture from my co-unemployed girlfriend. At this interview; the devil would surely be defeated!
I heave a sigh of relief as I sink into the Reception sofa. The grandiose wall clock assures me am thirty minutes early. That surely was another selling point. With great optimism, I anticipate what the interviewer(s) could ask.
At the scheduled time, the Secretary leads me towards the Board room. With a euphoric mood, I turn the knob. The door creaks open and I am enthralled by a beautifully furnished office. A large, polished table surrounded by a set of swivel chairs, at the center of the room, catches my fancy. But only one of the chairs is occupied - by a female interviewer, who stares at me blankly.
"So?" The woman in the taxi, protests.
Ayo Oyeku is a young Nigerian author. You can read more of his stories on http://www.onegist.com/
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