Interview on the 9th

 

I hopped out of the car before it even came to a complete stop leaving my Bolt driver wondering what kind of lunatic I was.
I was beyond caring. This was my one chance of getting my dream job and I was almost late for the interview. I really should check my mail more often, , I thought as I sprinted the short distance from the car park to the revolving doors of the building. I would have missed the interview if I hadn't randomly opened my mail the previous night.

I ran into the lobby of the high rise building that houses David Adejumo and Company and a dozen other firms. I forced myself to relax as I approached the front desk for directions to the accounting firm.

She informed me it was on the 9th floor and directed me towards the elevator. On my way to it, I passed by a flight of stairs and briefly considered using them to run up to the ninth floor to avoid the potential delay of the elevator stopping on every other floor to pick people and let them off.
I pushed the idea away seeing as arriving at the interview out of breath and sweaty wasn't going to do me any good. I arrived in at the doors of the elevator and joined a group of four waiting to go up. Oh great!  I snarled under my breath. I eyed the elevator floor indicator as it counted down 4...3...2...1 and I felt myself tense up with this familiar feeling in my stomach that habitually came whenever things were about to go wrong. My clammy hands were holding on to my folder in a vise-like grip. I can't mess this up. This can't go wrong. I thought over and over trying not to psych myself into ruining my chances. I nervously adjusted my tie then glanced at my watch. 8:59 am! Jesu mi o!
The elevator doors opened and three men and one woman walked out and the five of us waiting trudged in. I located the hand bar on the back wall of the elevator to support myself because elevator rides made me dizzy. Someone pushed the button for the ninth floor and nobody else pushed a button. Maybe we are all headed for the same interview, or they work for the firm.
To take my mind off my anxiety, I began to assess my fellow riders. There were two men and two women. One of the men was in a fantastic suit that looked like the price tag could sustain me for a couple of weeks. I doubt he was a job seeker like me. He was standing close to the door with his back to the rest of us so I couldn't see his face. I moved my attention to the other  man who was dressed very similarly to me. I can guess he's also here for the interview because his nervousness mirrored mine. I wondered how many spots were open for recruitment.
I shifted my attention to the women. The younger one stood to my right. She had on a shockingly bright maroon wig and a number of piercings. I could spot a brow, septum and even a medusa piercing. Her dress could use a few inches more lengthwise in my opinion. Her entire get-up didn't seem both work or interview appropriate so I can only wonder what her purpose is on the 9th floor.

The older lady was right beside me to my left. She had a face marked with hardship and struggle  typical to the Buhari administration. She  seemed calm and weary. She could be a fellow job seeker. She sure had the look of someone used to disappointments.
My eyes wandered to the elevator floor indicator and counted along as it moved from floor to floor. 3...4...5...
The man with the expensive suit cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. "So I bet you're all wondering why I gathered you here" he said before hitting the emergency stop button.
THE END