A Black Friday

The soft air breeze that blew at his face smelled so much like uncertainty. The really friendly nature of the cab driver, the high-rise buildings of Victoria Island or the beautiful early- sunrise view of the Lekki-Ikoyi road meant nothing to him. The only thing that mattered to him was making it out of the traffic jam early enough for his interview. 

As cars kissed each other's bumpers and his world seemed to be at a standstill, Fred’s heart was racing at a speed that only anxiety can sponsor. Fred had always heard of Black Friday and the craziness that comes with it but it had never been his reality as he was from a small town.

This was his 12th interview in 2 months. Though his first one in Lagos, it did not feel any different. He had spent a lot of hours on Jobberman, applying to just about any video editing or graphics design job he could find. But with every interviewer he got a rejection email from, his enthusiasm to attend the next one dwindled like an overused battery.

Though this interview was for 10am, Tolu, his friend who accommodated him for the night, advised him to leave the house at 8:00am to avoid the usual 3rd Lagos Island traffic. However, it seemed like Tolu’s advice wasn’t good enough after all as this was already 9:00am and Google Maps was saying he was 1hr 5mins away.

He picked his phone to call his prospective employers but what nobody told him was that mobile phone network reception gets awful in normal Lagos traffic. How much more in a special Black Friday traffic jam like the one he was experiencing.

The tone from his phone when he unsuccessfully tried to the office sounded like hopelessness. 

As if it was not bad enough, the taxi started to overheat and emit smoke from the bonnet. So, the driver had to find a place to park. He just knew it was over. It was already 9:30am and he was at least 45mins away. He was ready to just forget about the interview.

It was at that time the taxi driver stopped a motorcycle rider and asked, “oga, shey you go like take this okada to your interview?”

Commercial motorcycles were illegal in Lagos, however, he was more willing to fall on the wrong side of the law than miss this interview. So he answered, “yes please, let’s go.”

The motorcycle was obviously a Godsend, as it moved so fast, it felt like he was acting in a scene of Fast and Furious. Within the 2 shakes of a dog's tale, they were at the interview location. 

Lifting his wrist towards his face, “wow 9:45am!” He exclaimed.

How the motorcyclist compressed time to get him to his destination that fast was a question he wasn’t even trying to ask. All he wanted was to get inside for the interview.

As the motorcyclist sped off, he thought his feelings of uncertainty were going to ride off with him. However, it was like the feelings just changed colours. 

It was a different type of uncertainty he was feeling at this time.

“What would the company people think of me?”

“Am I going to appear desperate in this suit and tie?”

“Are they going to be impressed by me?”

He in front of the building, wondering if this was going to be his job or just another interview. 

Like a tennis ball in between 2 professionals, the thoughts bounced up and down his head. He almost didn’t return the handshake of the young man who was greeting him.

“Hello, my name is Ben and I am the MD of Gold Rise Advertising.”

“Are you here to interview for the video editor/graphics designer position?”

“Yes sir.”

“Actually, we have 4 slots but you’re already 50% hired.”

“I like having people who resume early, work closely with me.”

“All you need to do is see the HR, pass the test and you’re in.”

“You’ll most likely be working directly with me, as my personal creative.”

“I’m sure you’ll pass the practical assessment.” He said as he walked away.

Wondering what kind of man this MD was, that he didn’t even give him a chance to introduce himself, let alone wait to hear him reply, he said “I’m sure I will too”.

By this time, a good dose of relief had infiltrated his mind; he could now notice Ben’s Adidas sneakers as he walked away. Fred had always been an Adidas fan since he could remember but he just never owned any proper ones, save for the “Aba made” ones mama used to buy when he was younger.

It was about 10:50am already and so he figured it would be a good time to call mama to ask if she slept well and was ready to take her medication. Mama had been sick for about a year now. 

Though it remained an uphill task trying to take care of her, get a good job and at the same time make ends meet, she remained the prime motivation behind all his hustle. He just wanted enough money to take care of her. It hurt deeply to see the person who sacrificed all she had to raise him now almost incapacitated by the nasty hands of sickness.

In the middle of the call, he heard someone call his name. So, Fred immediately told mama who he was already on the call with he was going to call her later. Then he ended the call.

“Are you Fred?” A man who just walked out asked him.

“Yes, I am.” He answered.

“Then, come with me.”

Though masculine and baritone, the voice had so much false confidence and authority, like one who had been handed a sudden dash of power that he really wanted to use it to the fullest, while he could. It was very obvious; he wasn’t smart enough to hold that kind of authority.

Refusing to be fazed by this man’s arrogance, Fred entertained his eyes with the beautiful pieces of art that littered on the walls of the walkway. 

As he walked in, he raised his clenched fists to his heart and said a silent prayer. He asked God to let this be his last interview.

As though she was hearing him and just waiting for him to finish, and with a voice calm and soothing enough to put a baby to sleep, this lady met him on the walkway and said

“Hello, my name is Ifeoma but you can call me Ify.”

“Fred”, he said with the cutest grin he had given anyone since he got to Lagos.

“Please come to my office.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

“Black or with milk?”

“Black please.”

“Sandwich or cupcakes?” She asked as she carefully placed the door handle in between her fist to press it down. She seemed to be exerting more strength than is normally required to open a door.

Then as though everything else depended on this, she threw all her weight on the door, to force it open.

“Cute ladies shouldn’t be going through that much stress, you know?” He said this, not really sure of how she would take it.

“What do you mean?” She asked with that fake surprise ladies put up when they want to be sure of what the guy is really implying.

“I’ll love to come help you open the door every morning when I get here.”

“Awwwwwn, that’s so sweet.” She said in a way that made one unsure whether she meant it or felt the offer was cheesy.

“I’ve spoken to facility management about it over and over, to no avail,”

“I’m just tired.”

“Oh wow”

“Sorry about that.” He said, obviously trying to make her feel better.

“Your shirt is really nice.” She said as she picked up the phone to order his coffee and sandwich.

However, for him, it was more than just another complement, it was an affirmation; it was an encouragement. He had worn that shirt to his last 12 interviews. It was his best shirt. So, he always felt the need to use it to make the best possible first impression. However, he was beginning to think the shirt was bringing him more bad luck than good.

Talking on the phone, she remembered she hadn’t offered him a seat yet. She pointed to the visitor’s chair by signaling to him to sit.

Immediately she was done, she got on her seat to ask those normal interview questions. Those ones that usually sound like they were extracted from some interview bible. The questions usually sounded to him like they were administered for the sake of formality, rather than practicality or necessity.

“What is your 5 year career plan?”

“Why do you think you’re the right fit for this job?”

“Tell us about a problem you have had and successfully solved on the job.”

As a chronic interview attendee, Fred had ready-made answers to those questions in his head and so, he just recited them with reckless abandon.

“This should be fine from my end.”

“The next stage would be to take Ben’s test.”

“It should only take a few minutes.” She said with her eyes fastened to her laptop as though something was going to break if she took them off.

“Ok”

“But before then, would you like to get your breakfast?”

“Yes I will.”

Though he was not yet hungry, he was really interested in the coffee, as he needed it to get pumped up for the job ahead.

“I’m ready now.” He said to Linda after he finished the food.

“Ok, just a few seconds,” she said as she quickly typed an email on her laptop.

“Have this laptop and please follow me,” she said as she walked to an office almost adjacent to hers.

Pointing to a table and chair, she said “you can sit there”.

“The test question and everything you’ll need is in the desktop folder.”

Within a few minutes of him opening the laptop, his face was lit so bright with surprise, his whole being covered with fear and once again, the pungent smell of uncertainty filled the air.

He had been given 2 brand guidelines of approximately 100 pages each to study. He was also given 20 copies to come up with designs for. He was also meant to create 3 sets of 1-minute adverts from 206 clips.

He wondered how he could possibly get everything done within the “few minutes” he was told it should take.

This is something that would normally take at least a week to do but he was expected to get it done in “only a few minutes.”

“So, I just wasted my money to come for another interview?” He thought to himself.

“I probably won’t get this job.”

“I’m probably not even good enough.”

Like water -starved -fish thrown in a large pond, the thoughts ran recklessly around his head so much that he lost track of time.

And like a parcel he had already been promised, Ben walked into the room to confirm his doubts.

“It’s 1pm already and you’re still on it.”

“I’m almost done sir,” he said to appease him. Though he knew in his heart of hearts, that it would take at least 6 more hours on his fastest day to complete it.

“But let me even see what you have done sef,” Ben said with a sarcastic smile that only screamed pessimism, the kind of look you give to a student you never expected to pass anyways; you really could care less if he failed.

“Hmmm, I like what I see,” he said as he scrolled through the designs, with a mixture of weak confidence and amazement.

“I can’t even lie, this is very good.” This time he was viewing the unfinished and unrendered video advert. But probably noticing he was giving way too many compliments than he normally would, he tried to give a balanced opinion and said, “But you are super slow and it’s a big minus.”

“I have several others competing for this job.”

“We can only hire you if you’re better than all of them, which I doubt.”

“Hmmm. Ok sir,” Fred said as he focused on the screen to continue his work.

Ben, with a normal look, the type that screamed “I’m indifferent” said,

“You have to go now.”

“We have other candidates coming in.”

Was he going to be hired? Could he have been possibly better than every other person that was coming for the test? Was this job going to be “the one”? Or was it just going to be another interview?

Those were the questions that heated up the chilly waters of his mind as he left the building.

His stomach was hurting from hunger, his head was aching from stress, his long legs were crying for space in this overcrowded Lagos bus as he was experiencing his second dose of the his first Lagos Black Friday traffic jam.

But all of those physical discomforts were like a canoe in the Atlantic, when compared to the painful air of uncertainty that moved freely in and out of his nostrils.

Looking for a distraction, he remembered he said he was going to call mama later. +23480…, he dialled her 11-digits from memory.

He had already dialled when he remembered that calls hardly went through inside these Lagos traffic jams. He allowed it to dial through, just to see if the call was going to connect. 

Luckily, it did.

“Mama, it’s Fred. How are you? I’ve been at the interview and that’s why I am just calling”. 

His monologue suddenly hit him when he realised that mama had not responded which was quite out of character for her. 

“Mama, are you there?”

Then a male voice answered from the other end “Hello, Fred. It’s uncle Emeka. Mama is sleeping at the moment and can’t take your call right now”. 

Fred’s heart missed a beat but the rhythm normalised when he heard that she was sleeping. But what was uncle Emeka doing at mama’s house? 

He is not one to leave his clothes/ fabric store unattended, not even for his dear sister’s ill health. And as he pondered his words in his heart, while still on the line, he heard a shrill in the background. 

It was a cold, familiar noise, one which was synonymous with a loss. This jerked him out of reverie… 

“Hello, uncle Emeka, hello’’

An attempt was audible in the background to quieten the noise in the background. This cannot be, no, not mama, not now… 

As he slipped carefully into the denial stage of grief, something deep inside him just knew, with or without the discounts, the crazy shopping and traffic jams; this was forever going to be a Black Friday for him on the calendar.