How fear, bullish interviewers made me lose a 500k per month job (II)

By Uthman Salami

The last member of the panel with a crook glasses asked. He looked up for the first time, grit my teeth and silently offered a prayer. He hoped the spirit that had had him tongue-tied since walked into the Devil’s Claw would cut him some slacks.

Someone had to be responsible for his present predicaments. Certainly not him. He thought his demons were responsible. He thought because he had failed to pray prior to showing before these hawkishly looking panel. He suddenly  raised his eyes to heaven only to be met with three pairs of ceiling fans running as if the end had come.

As he lowered his gaze, it was met by the probing eyes of members of the panel. Then the answers to his furore came to him like a revelation. He was responsible for the uneasiness that had chewed off his old self. It was the Devil. It had cast a spell on him. A spell to succumb to bullies. A spell of fear. A deadly fear. He clenched his teeth; his fist. He tried to make a silent prayer but his attempts went sour. So, he attempted to use his mind which he had thought was powerful enough to pummel this unfortunate spirit that had him engulfed.

He soon realized that was far from working. Then he rescinded to fate. After all, if the job was his, he would get it. No one could change this. Not even the hawkish, mauvaise, triffled and cavalier looking faces could change that. In the middle of this thought of fate, he understood they could change his fate.

He understood they had his fate in their hands. He hoped they provided him some space. Dele was certain this paryer would not be answered. He knew no help was coming. Hence, he did what he had been doing since he set his feet in the room; Face down.

The Director became impatient and furious with Dele. His irresponsiveness had riled up the Director’s angst. Dele was patiently awaiting a bombshell and missiles, from the panel members, like a condemned man waiting for his execution.

And for the first time after such a long year, he mirrored himself through the Director’s sun shade. What he saw was real fear. Fear for himself. Fear for his life. And fear for failure. “Criteria sir, not criterias,” Dele remarked swiftly. “I mean it is not very correct and grammatical to say criterias. The singular is criterion, and plural is criteria. So, it is improper and mostly in appropriate to infuse ‘s’ at the end of Criteria.” Dele quipped.

After this outburst, silence rented the room for several seconds. The member with a crook glasses fixated his gaze on Dele, “Mr. Dele, let’s not travel too far afield. You have wasted our time enough. We have other germain business that demands our our attention. Kindly answer the questions with no further ado,” he concluded. “Referring a letter as composition is as saying a polygamy and polyandry are the same. Of course they bare semblance, they remain apart still.” Even though he knew he was bluffing, he saw something new on the faces of the panel. But he could not nail it. Could it be some hope or admiration? It was difficult to tell.

“If the decision were left to me, I would not have allowed you to enter in the first place. I’m beginning to doubt the papers you are certificate around. I doubt the authenticity of these papers you called credentials. Did you really graduate from the prestigious University you claimed? How did you manage to graduate with this grade? What on earth has become of the education system in this country?” the Director blurted out.

In his mind, Dele had anticipated this. All his life, his handwriting has been his Achilles Heels. He had tried coutless times to straighten his handwriting.

Dele lost hope when his handwriting refused to change. His failure has brought him another failure, Dele thought. Perhaps if he had succeded, his success would have beckoned another success. Rather his failure had brought yet another failure.

A day ago, when he received a text informing him of the interview, Dele had thought it was going to be a stroll in the park. He had assumed he knew it all. Even in the morning when other applicants were hauled down the hall where they eagerly awaited the commencement of the session, everyone was jostling through their phones, surfing the internet. Exactly things they were checking was bereft of Dele. He was so sure of nailing the job.

And also the night before, his brother had prevailed on him to prepare for the day by recommending him some books on interviews when he boastfully told his brother “what’s there to prepare for?” Then he soon remembered that a man with little expectations had less to fall. He had ego. But was not sure how big it was until now. Dele felt he should not have expected much from the interview. He now understood why many were reading from Google, only that he believed it was approble.

“Mr. Dele have you anything to say?” The Director’s question broke his long reverie. Each word reverberated in Dele’s ear like bell hung on earlobe. After all had been said, the question appeared rather startling. He knew such question was meant to truddle off unwanted guests. Deep down, he knew he had become an unwanted since he took his first step into the room.

He looked straight into the Director’s face and smiled for the first since he entered the mauvaise hall. “I’ve nothing to say, sir!” Dele blurted out. The man who had requested his credentials when they were ordered for, thrusted them out and asked him to wait downstairs for him.

Dele had never been abashed in his life. “Thank you sir” he said. He hurriedly shoved everything in his bag as he strolled down the hall. At his age, he was yet to understand himself fully. “why did I smile after such a bashful session?.”

He had seen people wept after such a disgraceful display. But smiling was odd in itself. Maybe he would cry when he got back home, he thought to himself. As he sauntered down the stairs, he hustled out of the way of a lady who was busy with her mobile device.