Why I Failed My First Job Interview

The pain was indigestible. I felt rejected, valueless, demeaned and misjudged. My pride and honor had been piqued in no small measure.

When I completed the requirements for my first degree at the University of Ghana, I was initially posted to Tema General hospital for my national service. On account of the fact that I studied English and Psychology, I was posted to the clinical Psychology unit of the hospital.After 4 weeks of my service to the hospital, my interest and fidelity had waned considerably.I found the medical firmament to be repetitive and boring. I wanted to move to pastures anew so I applied for re-posting and took up a role as a Data Entry Clerk in a private organisation. It was a mortifying turn of events 6 months thereafter.The quest for job-search had heightened since it was left with a few months to the end of the service.Life had become just a bowl of cherries. The skimpy allowances I received monthly had exposed me to violent pangs of economic suffering. My expenditure had soared upwards. I needed to act quickly so as to hit pay dirt.

When I got a call to attend this job interview whose advert I had seen in the Daily graphic and applied, it sounded like music to my ears. It was going to be my first Job interview. It was a position as the executive assistant to the C.E.O of a multinational company in Ghana. A well-paying job with irresistible conditions of service.

On the day of the interview, I wore a matching navy-blue jacket and trousers which I had bought for my graduation. I set off at 7 a.m. I had spent the previous night doing some homework on the aforementioned position and organisation. I visited its website and checked for press mentions. The interview had been scheduled to begin at 10 am.The venue was the premises of the company somewhere in Accra.

When I got to the "trotro station" in my vicinity, I could feel my stomach twisting and turning in agony. It was begging for food. I knew that hunger wreaks havoc on one's ability to focus. I needed a mental puissance that would enable me answer all the questions from the panel so I dashed to the popular “Daavi Aboboi’’,an eating place near the “trotro station”. I requested a bowl of boiled beans and plantain and enjoyed myself.The food was grouse.No wonder lots of people patronised it. I arrived at the foyer of the venue for the interview with a paper copy of my resume in hand. It was at the last floor of a tall building. I saw a good number of candidates who had also come for the interview .I counted as many as 17.I was tensed and got the heebie-jeebies. But I was very confident that I would pull it off.

As an ardent reader and lover of literature, I had adopted the habit of improving my otherwise limited brain while hanging out on the white throne every morning. I had read books on poetry, public speaking, philosophy, psychology, neurosciences, law and others. So I appropriated to myself the unfounded arrogance of asking myself how many of my competitors for the job had acquainted themselves with Mastering the lost Art of Pure Persuasion by Alan Axelrod, Confessions of a Public Speaker by Scott Berkun,Secrets of successful speakers by Lilly Walters, Speak and grow rich by Dottie Walters, The mastery by Robert Greene, In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes,The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein?

I had read the masterpieces of William Shakespeare, Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, William Wordsworth, William Blake, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Keats etc. I had fallen in love with the works of African writers like Chinua Achebe, Ama Atta-Aidoo, Kofi Awoonor, and his ilk. My confidence was also rooted in the fact that some feature articles I had written had found space in the Ghanaian Times newspaper. This happened during my third year at the University of Ghana. The publication of the articles made me receive plaudits and commendation from my English Professors who assured me that I was going great guns.

As i waited for the show to get underway, I felt a tremor. I felt ounces of methane, trapped in my belly. I knew that when one is confronted with the feeling to poop,it doesn't come and stay. Rather, it comes, stays for a while, then goes away, then it comes back stronger, stays, then goes again. Eventually it seems to stay permanently, but not initially. I knew i could hold it till i got home.

When the interview began and it got to my turn,i could hear the soft clicks of my shoes hitting the marbles as i entered the room. The placid room was very quiet and decorated with tasteful and classical furnishings. It was somewhat jammed with 10 gritty men and a lady who sat in front of a window. Through that window, I could see the most stunning panorama of Accra, the trees and buildings below. The panel wasted no time at all. Their facial configuration pointed to the fact that they were going to run a taut ship. They quickly scanned my resume and asked some quick questions to basically confirm what I’d listed there.

“It says here that you studied English and Psychology, is that correct?”

Yes, that’s right,” I replied.
"What makes you think that your studies in Psychology and English can help you discharge your duties as an executive assistant? One of them asked.

Just after I had finished searching my mind and was about to answer the question, I became nervous. It was a one- of- a - kind uneasiness. It gripped me for a few seconds and disappeared. The minute i thought i had gotten away with it, the urge came rushing in all at once. The spasm of discomfort that twisted my face rhythmically was enough to draw the attention of the panel. I knew that sitting isn’t as good for holding your poop in as standing or lying down is, especially after i had unsuccessfully tried clenching my butt cheeks. I couldn’t hold it any longer. I needed to blast that pain out of my butt. I summoned courage and blurted out,"could you excuse me to use the washroom?’’ They obliged.

As I surgically ushered myself into the washroom and suspended my butt on the hinged unit, terrible noises disintegrated from my innards. When at last I was able to push out the noisome mess, it splattered. When I was convinced that I had ejected every remnant of ‘’Daavi aboboi's’’ handwork from my crumps, I became irrationally enthusiastic about my seamless effort.

I headed back to the interview room with the hope of getting a second bite of the cherry. When I knocked and re-entered the room, the jaded gesture of the panel made me come to a realization of having made a botch of the interview. ‘’Gentleman, it seems you are not prepared for this interview. As far as we are concerned, we are through with you. Please ask the next candidate to come in.Have a nice day." The lady among them whined.

Her tone permanently left a bile in my mouth, a jarring taste similar to aspirin or chloroquine.I regained my composure and walked out of the room. I had fluffed up an opportunity to a new lease of life thanks to boiled beans and plantain.