I remember it like it was yesterday, though it happened way back in 2002. I was a fresh graduate, bubbling with dreams, carrying my folder of certificates like it was a key to the gates of fortune. An interview in Abuja came calling, and I answered with excitement. My heart danced to the drumbeat of hope as I journeyed to the Federal Capital, rehearsing answers in my head, mentally dressing myself in confidence and composure.
When it was my turn, I walked into the office, nerves and hope sitting side by side in my chest. In front of the panel, I saw a row of chairs. Three, to be precise. One directly in front of the interviewer, and two others beside it. I wasn’t told to sit, but I assumed, like many would, that the seat in front was meant for me. After all, would they be interviewing me while I stood? So, I gently eased myself into the chair.
Then came the thunderbolt.
“I didn’t ask you to sit,” the man said, sharply, his eyes piercing through me like a hot blade through butter. “Why did you sit down without permission?”
Ah! My breath caught mid-air. My heart stumbled. I had made a mistake, one I didn’t even realize was a mistake. I stood up immediately, apologizing, my mind spinning. But the damage was done.
I continued with the interview, trying to redeem myself, answering questions with the calmness of a dove, but deep down, I knew I had lost something. At the end, the interviewer looked at me squarely and said:
“You’re smart. You did well. But I can’t hire you.”
“Why?” I managed to ask, my voice barely audible.
“Because someone like you will take decisions without waiting for instructions. You’ll believe an apology can fix every error. You’ll likely bypass protocol because you think you know what’s best. You sat down without being told to—that tells me all I need to know.”
My ears were ringing. Mo daran. And in Sidi’s voice from a Yoruba movie titled The Pregnancy Journey, mo tún daran lẹ́ẹ̀kan si. I was dumbfounded. Just because I sat on a chair? Ki ló dé? Was I supposed to hover like a ghost while they interviewed me ni nítorí Ọlọhun? Ah! Omokehinde, o fumble!!!!
But as I walked out of the building, my eyes welled up. Not just from disappointment, but from realization. That day, I learned that in life, perception can be stronger than intention. That a small action, however innocent, can speak volumes to someone else. I learned that emotional intelligence, situational awareness, and the humility to wait even when you think it’s obvious can make or break opportunities.
Dear reader, yes, the director’s response may have felt harsh, perhaps even exaggerated. But there was a lesson buried in that painful experience, a lesson I had to learn the hard way. In life, especially in professional settings, never assume. Always wait. Observe. Let your respect announce you before your words do. There’s a time to sit and a time to stand, and wisdom lies in knowing which is which.
Today, I share this story not from a place of bitterness, but from a heart that has grown. That chair taught me more than any classroom ever did. And to the man who denied me that job, thank you. You were a hard teacher, but a teacher nonetheless.
To every job seeker out there—ẹ máa ṣọ́ra. Little things speak louder than résumés. And sometimes, standing up may just be your ticket to rising higher.
Experience, they say, is the best teacher. Turn the dodger different.
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