Pounding Pavements

Pic from here

So, time has crawled by since my last interview debacle and I am beginning to realize that this job situation is really critical. I’ve spent the last few months sending applications from the comfort of my living-room couch, supporting the laptop on the chair arm, sipping ice-tea in one hand, while keeping an eye on Oprah and repeat episodes of “The Good Wife” (I’m such a cliché!). Moreover, I feel a piece of my brain die each time I listen to Kim Kardashian.

I decided to hit the streets so to speak, since ‘pounding’ the internet has brought naught responses. I chose a Friday assuming that prospective employers would be more forgiving if I wore jeans. I had to save my good cloths for really important interviews! Anyway, the weather was not so forgiving. The sun’s glare was brutally blinding and sweat formed an ugly, wet patch around my armpits and my back.

So much for appearances.

I’m at the gate of the first office I mapped out. The street is under construction and there appears to be no visible way to get in. The security guard must have observed my consternation at the sight of the huge gutter I will have to jump so he opens the side-gate and gestures to the walk-board I could use to get across. Do these people not have cars? I move towards the board and loose my balance as my foot sinks into the bank of sand. There goes my best shoe. The security guard is actually nice enough to let me empty the shoe of sand and dust myself up before going into the office.

Now, this is where it gets scary. Having encountered numerous front office personnel and having been one myself, I know what to expect. Sassy, nice, bitter, bored, smiling, condescending or downright rude, I have met many. I plant a smile on my face, brace myself and open the door to greet… the empty office.

I am beginning to wonder if the office is still in business when a diminutive young man walks in and greets me. I close the space between us quickly so I can tower over him and have a height advantage- hehehe.

“Hello, my name is Bridget. I have a document for the Head of Client Services”

“Alright bring it.”

I wasn’t going to risk telling him I was hoping to secure employment. I had worked in Front Office remember? I had a good idea of what happened to unsolicited applications. I’d also worked in HR. There you find the In-tray, Out-Tray and Dustbin- sorry, no Pending tray. So my best bet was to deliver my services directly to the necessary department.

Unexpectedly, he asks me, “Is that all?” while proceeding to open the envelope.

NOOOO! It is on the tip of my tongue to ask if he is the Head of Client Services that he should want to open my envelope, but being the coward I am, I thank him chirpily and beat a hasty retreat to the door.

“Excuse me?” Apparently I am not fast enough. I turn around with what I hope is an innocent expression so I can deny that I am the author of the cover letter in his hand. “Here, you can have this.”

In his hand is a page-marker branded with the face of the CEO and the schedules of his radio programme. I let out a sigh as I glimpsed that he has not succeeded in opening my package.

“Oh, thank you.” I almost snatch it out of his hand as I flee.

Back in sunshine, I am quickly dehydrated. I can not stop for a drink as I have, hopefully, 3 more stops before I am done. The second office has moved so there’s no need to go into details about the very unpleasant security guard who gave me this information. After dodging okada from hell and nearly going deaf from blaring horns, I finally make it to the next office panting and perspiring and I quickly decide this is where my journey ends for the day. I smoothen and adjust myself appropriately as I approach the glass doors – Thank God there are no sand banks to jump!

The Front Office lady is pleasant enough in her greeting as I tell my tale again. She doesn’t ensue to open my secrets thankfully but she does ask,

“Sorry, what’s in it?” What is it with people and questions this hot afternoon?

“Um…” before I can stumble out an answer, my phone rings mercifully. I am so grateful for the interruption that I wonder if it will be wrong to take my phone outside and proceed to leave without giving her an answer, but I do not want to make a scene.

My brief conversation with DD buys me an excuse but I have to hang up now as she keeps looking at me pointedly.

“Hold on- yes? Sorry what did you say?”

“I said, what’s inside please?”

“Oh right, um, it’s a Cover Letter.”

“Alright.”

Hm? “Ok thank you, have a good day.”

Was that all she wanted to know? I assume she imagines that I am from some company or the other, but seriously, shouldn’t she have asked for my company’s name?

Whatever. I care less. I hightail it out of there and into the nearest eatery to reward myself with some Ice Tea. As I queue up to place my order, I look up at the TV suspended on the wall and ah, Oprah comes on...

APPLY HERE II

“What’s up?” DD said.

“Um, hi, I found the place yeah?”

“And?” He was impatient.

“Well? It looks funny, somehow.” Funny does a lot of injustice to this place.

“How?”                                

“Kind of run-down. But I can’t decide if it’s a front for a better place. Maybe they are just trying to eliminate people this way.”

“So, why don’t you wait it out and see what they have.”

“I will. I’m here aren’t I?”

“Good, call me when you’re done. LASTMA just collected 5000 from me so I’m slightly pissed at the moment.”

“What did they say you did?” I was alarmed

“Rubbish. Later. Just face your stuff. Bye.”

People were still coming up the stairs. I resigned myself to a very long day and found a comfortable spot on the wall to lean on. I noticed one of the latecomers strut in. He was tall, orange-skinned and looked quite good in his well-cut suit. The only thing bigger than his apparent confidence, was his oversized orange head. He said hello, I nodded my response. Not long after, I noticed someone was explaining herself to the man behind the desk. I decided to brave the humidity and step back into the office. On closer investigation, I realized that the young lady was addressing one of the three sweaty people I had earlier ignored, and the man behind the desk was handling her CV. The interview was underway! Right there in the stuffy, overcrowded office, and 2 of the sweaty people I had ignored were interviewers!

I perched by the door still trying to keep my nose outside the rancid office. Big-orange head walked up to me and asked if I had written my name down on a list. I couldn’t explain that I almost left when I discovered this was my destination so I took out my pen and wrote down my name. Then he leaned in and with a cheeky smile, mumbled, “Aren’t you a little too pretty for this job?” I couldn’t even muster a response so I ignored him. Smart person he was, he moved on rather than push it. I was the 11th person on the list and they were interviewing the second person. I took the opportunity to observe the man behind the desk. 

Greasy. Where the others were sweaty, he could be described as greasy. Skinny with a pinched face, he bobbed his head around a lot when he talked, used a lot of hand gestures and squinted at the responses to his questions. 

Someone was suffering from high self-esteem.

Each interview was a succession of Greasy saying “Hang arand” at the end, then “Nest!” signaling the next person. I was going to be interviewed by someone who could barely speak English and I would have to endure watching him feed his self-importance. A man walked into the office. He must have been the boss because one of the Sweaty men broke away from the interview he was conducting to prostrate partially and collect the man’s beat-up leather bag.

At this point my eyes must have been as large as saucers because I couldn’t believe this was the person running this, well, establishment. The Boss was positively even more hungry-looking than all the other “interviewers”. The jacket hanging from his bony shoulders could be mistaken for a cape. He was incredibly lean so his belt probably went round twice because his trousers were bunched up around his waist. He cast his jaundiced looking eyes about the room and took to calling names from the list I had written my name in. He got to my name and asked what time I was given for my interview. 12, I said. What time did I get there? 11.50, I replied. He went on to sort through the files of the interviewed people. Sweaty-person-who-collected-the-Boss’-bag then called out the names of the chosen people who were to wait some more, while the others were told to return on Thursday by 10.

I was too intrigued by the bony boss to notice that my turn had come. I took my seat and waited for the first question. Sweaty-person number 2 asked for my CV. I drew it out from my file. He asked me to describe myself in 1 minute. Was this a joke? I described my age, qualification blah-blah-blah. Greasy decided to wade in and ask if I was married.

Um, if the rings didn’t clue you in, it’s boldly stated on my CV which is in your hand! I said I was married.

“Since when?” he asked with his pinched face.

“Last month.”

He humphed and bobbed his head back and forth as he took his seat.

“Work interests; Marketing Communications. So you want to work in MTN?”

No, I didn’t just hear that. “Marketing communications is not telecommunications. It really cuts across all industries.”

“I don’t even know where to start with you. All this your freh-freh-freh.”

Are you kidding me?! I kept my face straight.

“Hm, ok. You say you are how old?” He squinted at me.

“I will be 25 in June.” I squinted back.

“When?” He squinted harder.

I gave up. “25th.”

“No, your full date of birth.”

I obliged him.

“Where did you serve?”

“I started in Kano, I finished in Lagos.”

“Why did you relocate?” At this point he leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together, dramatically. I almost bent over trying not to laugh. This man obviously saw too many home-videos.

“Uh,” I was truly tickled. “Health problems and, of course, marital reasons.”

“Ehen, you women,” he shook his head.  

Your mama .

“Is this your first job interview since after youth service?”

“Yes.”

“It is not indicated,” he tapped my CV with his pen.

Yes, it is, you bat! “It’s right here,” I pointed while looking at his oily face.

 “Ok, ok, that’s alright. All this ones, nko?” He was referring to my pre-NYSC experience.

“If you check the years indicated on each employment detail, you will see that I was a student for the duration.” I was getting impatient. After a moment I’m sure he spent pondering how to phrase his question in English, he said,

“I want to give you a position as a Credit Officer.”

What do you mean you want to give me a position? Aren’t you recruiting for someone else? 

“Oh, what’s that?” I was a bit slower as I realized the urban legend was indeed a legend.

“Marketing. What will you say if I paid you 20,000 to raise 2million in 2 weeks?”

I would have started laughing by this time if I wasn’t too dazed, realizing how much of my life I had wasted in this hell hole in the hope that this was a front for a better establishment. Whoever originated that story is a liar from the pit of hell and he must be judged accordingly. Why I didn’t immediately grab my file and leave still beats my imagination. Instead, my interview skills kicked in automatically and I told him,

“I have to know more about the product I’m selling and the people I work for before I can give you an answer.”

“That’s good,” he bobbed his head repeatedly. I hoped it would roll off. “We are Harvest MFB, this is our centre of operations-” reconfirming my worst nightmare. “We started operation in 2007 and our products include savings account, daily-collecting-” He should have just said ajo, the skinny cow! “-current account and fixed deposit account. Which of these will be easier for you to sell?”

Damn those interview skills and my good manners, I couldn’t for the life of me, just storm out of there.

“I’ll say the fixed deposit because most people have a savings account already. How competitive are your rates with the rest of the market?” I could have kicked myself for still being there.

“Yes, well, you know there are different kinds. Our own is a minimum of 3 months, at the end you get 20%”

No kidding! Are you into money-doubling too?! “Wow, that’s impressive,” it was my turn to bob my head now for want of what to say. “I can definitely sell that.”

“What does your husband do?”

What has that got to do with you? “He runs his own business.”

“Ah, the money is complete already. You can just collect it from him, I don’t mind.”

Come again?! I should collect my husband’s hard-earned money and put it in your dead business so you can pay me 20,000 after 2 weeks! I was at a loss for words. I didn’t know how to end this joke so I could go home. Damn those manners again.

“I am actually employing you for Centre Manager, don’t mind me.” He broke into a smile. Oh, believe me, I’m not minding you. I’m not minding you at all. “I just wanted to test you, to see how you will react to it. You see we are expanding, so we need to open a new branch in that your area. You will be in charge of hiring people who will market with you. You will find a meeting place where you will plan and do your market segmentation-” where did he learn that? “-then you will separate to the different segments-” oh, he doesn’t know what it means. “I’m sure it is something you can do. The money for this job is 40,000.” I could see how that must have sounded mouth-watering to him.

“Eh, yes but I still have to think about it.”

“No problem, you will come back on Thursday by 10 am for a full briefing.”

“Yes, yes, I will. Do you need the extra CV?”

“No just this one. How about your passport?”

“You know what? I don’t think this one is good enough, why don’t I bring a better one on Thursday.”

“Ok, ok, if you like. See you… NEST!”

APPLY HERE!

What will one not see as an applicant in this country? Me?! A centre manager for a microfinance bank! I am a graduate of Human Kinetics for the love of Moses! I see I am getting ahead of myself here. I’ll begin where it is always best.

In my crazed search for employment, I came across an advertisement for Business Development Executives, and anyone in the job market knows that that is the latest euphemism for Marketers, right? It was posted on one of the numerous online jobsites I subscribe to so I figured there was no harm in trying. The specified qualifications included a good first degree (check!), good communication skills (check again!) and of course, marketing skills. Last but not least, 5 years experience in a similar position. Oh, and you must not be more than 26 years of age. 

Were they serious? Where in Nigeria did they think they’d find 26-year-old graduates with 5 years work experience? Should the applicants have been working while in school? Of course I don’t have 5 years experience but I am definitely below 26. Following the format for applying, I sent in my details- name, age, sex, qualification and as for years of experience I indicated 2. The worst that could happen was that I wouldn’t get called, right? 

Wrong.

                                          

I got called and the worst was yet to come. Actually, I was sent a text message to come for an interview at so-so address by that-that bus stop, beside ding-dong plaza. The company name was “Harvest MFB” and I was required to be there by 12 noon with triplicate copies of my CV and supporting documents, 2 passport photographs and a file.

Monday dawned too quickly. I brushed out my best black jacket, and my favourite black pants. I meticulously applied my make-up, said my prayers with DD and we took off for the other side of town. At 11:50, he let me out across the road from the landmark plaza stated in the address. This is where the bad began.

There were rows of shops just about everywhere you could turn and no office signage in sight. I figured the office was around back or something. I started asking for directions, 

Is this number 18? 

I’m looking for Harvest Microfinance Bank, is it here? 

No one had heard of such a bank. 

Suspecting a scam, I began to boil in my suit. 47 minutes of make-up began to disappear in the blistering Lagos heat. I noticed a sign adjacent to the plaza indicating that the building on that side was also number 18a.

I went across to more row of shops. I was about to ask a couple of rug sellers sitting outside their shop if I was in the right place but before I could utter a word, about 3 of them barked, “Go like this!” while pointing in a uniform direction.

Sorry? I’m looking for Harvest Micro-

“Go this way!”

Oh! I said thanks as one of them mumbled something about the office getting some sort of security to direct people.

Moving on, I saw a flight of dirty, old, rickety steps. I said to myself, no, it can’t be possible. I will get to the top of these stairs and find a beautifully furnished, finished and air-conditioned office or at least be told that I had the wrong entrance. I reached for the railing, then thought better of it when I remembered the one described in The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born. At the top, all my hopes were dashed as I walked into an open door (No air-conditioning, no power whatsoever!). If you think that was bad wait till you hear the rest. The “office” was about the size of my sink!

Crammed into the space were about 20-odd people, 3 females and the rest, males. There were no seats let alone standing room so I wondered whose bright idea it was to build a closed-off wooden partition to the side, further reducing the space in the room. Hopefully, it led to where I was going to. I managed to maneuver my way to what appeared to be a front desk. I saw 3 sweaty people seated across from a man. I pointedly ignored them and addressed him. 

“Good afternoon sir,” I always bring my manners. “I am here for an interview with Harvest MFB”

“That’s ok. You can wait.” 

Say what?! Did I hear right? Was this it? This? Dirty walls, wooden bench squealing under the weight of the 6 jobseekers fighting for balance on it, the overflowing waste bin to the side, the other jobseekers taking up all the space by the stained, open windows, all straining to catch a breath of exhaust-filled air from the streets. Not to mention the shelves which held tile samples? As I took all this in, I instinctively reached for my cellphone. Come and get me! I nearly screamed into the mouthpiece but DD was not answering. 

Midway through my second attempt I cut the call as my mind went back to some urban legend about recruitment agencies operating from dingy offices that placed jobbers in good name companies. I call it an urban legend because I personally do not know anyone (Or anyone who knows anyone for that matter) who got employed in a big name company through such operations. Then again, there’s a first time for everything. I had also heard of the “agencies” that demanded “processing fee” for your application. A part of me prayed this was one of those so I could bail early and put this down to a very bad encounter with scam-artists!

The loudness of my ring tone jarred me alert. I stepped out to the verandah and took my call...

To Be Continued...