Crying all the way to the job interview

Crying all the way to the job interview

It has been 5 years since the crying happened. I am thinking of this as I walk into the meeting place. I look around. I cannot spot my date.

Charles, whom I cannot tell if he is smiling or simply grinning at me, is following my cue. I reject his table-for-one offer by politely telling him that I am meeting somebody who is already seated. We both look this way and that way. He is feeling awkward about this. His job is to serve food for patrons, not to perform Tracker services for them.

So I pull out my phone. I dial and pull it to the ear. Oh, there she is. I abandon the call, and Charles. She stands up. We hug. We are happy to see each other. We sit. Charles carefully interrupts. He wants me to order a drink. Kemong insists that I take wine or cider. Charles is nodding. A debate ensues.
‘I am driving 99 kilos after this,’ I protest.
‘Ah, just one glass, my brother, hau,’ she insists.
 When I look at her glass, it is not of Grapetiser (her favourite, as far as I know) but something which looks like Redd’s. Right there, peer pressure gets the better of me.
‘I will take Savannah, provided it is just one glass,’ I say, pointing to the heavens with my index finger to emphasise this declaration.
Suddenly, that TV ad of Kagiso Lediga, wearing dark shades inside a pub, and gigantic wrist watch, lustily wooing a clearly unimpressed lady, across the room, and demonstrating to a white dude next to him what buffoonery looks like, is running through my head. I quietly pray for safe passage, despite Savannah in my bloodstream.

Kemong has just accepted a job offer. She is relocating to another city. But why has she invited me here to celebrate with her? I ask myself. It is a long story.

It was in April 2009. My sister and I had just pulled over at a salon when I received the phone call. The caller was crying. I was startled.

‘What is wrong?’ I had asked.
‘My car won’t start!
‘What? Where are you?
‘I am at my place… I’m about to leave but it won’t start!’ she says hysterically. ‘Fusi… I don’t think I’ll make it to the interview… I have messed up!’

‘Calm down,’ I said. It was exactly 55 minutes before the interview at 10h am.

‘Look Kemong, I am in Qwaqwa right now; is there somebody nearby who can help you?’
‘I can phone my boyfriend to come from work... he understands this car… but I’m late, Fusi!’ the crying is not stopping.
‘How about you call the cab to Sandton?’ I offered a suggestion.
‘No Fusi, I don’t have much money on me!’
I understood where she was coming from. The other night I had taken a cab from Midrand to Craighallpark. I paid an arm and a leg and remained traumatized for a long time.
‘Okay, okay… this is what you must do. Ask Vuyo (boyfriend) to rush. Then, phone Pansy (HR Officer); tell her that your car is delaying you; request a 30 minute delay for your interview while you work on a solution to get there.’
‘Okay,’ she says.

‘I will phone you later.’ I assure her before ending the call.
[6-8 minutes pass]

‘Kemong, what’s the latest?’
‘Vuyo is on his way; Pansy and the Manager agreed to start the interview at 10h30.’
Excellent! Now, focus on yourself, lady. You are going to that interview and you are going to get that HR Consultant job, do you hear me?
She laughs nervously and says ‘Okay.’

Vuyo solved the engine problem and escorted Kemong to the interview. She got the job. She worked for a company for over 2 years. Today she has invited me to supper to celebrate because she has found other greener pastures. So we are sitting at Carlswald, in Midrand. We are recounting that old drama. And we are in stitches.

Charles appears. He is flashing his trademark “smile.” We compose ourselves and we watch him as he places scrumptious-looking things on our table.
‘So what can you say you learned from that experience?’ I ask Kemong.

She’s holding her glass in both hands. She looks up and says, ‘… that whenever you encounter a problem on your way to the interview, have the presence of mind to inform the company immediately.’

‘What else?’ I ask, not thinking for a minute that I am questioning a seasoned HR professional. She is studying my face for a clue.

‘That I must know how to fix that troublesome Citi Golf of mine,’ she chuckles.
We burst out laughing, knowing that she OLXd that damned thing. Today she gets around in a shimmering BMW, which is waiting snobbishly for her in the parking lot.
‘Well, what if you did not have airtime at that moment?’ I ask her.
‘Hei wena… airtime is king, I guess,’ she exclaims, and contemplates for a while. She is stabbing food with her fork.
‘And what if you did not have the phone number of Pansy… mind you I was not in the office that day?’
‘I would have been in big trouble, Fusi,’ she says.

The first casualty from my plate is a mound of spinach. It launches “heavenly” sensations inside my mouth. I can feel my nostrils come to life as I let the taste to take effect.
‘Well, you have been through a lot,’ I say as I tumble down from dizzying heights of spinach-in-my-mouth, and violate the table manners in the process.
‘You have actually cried all the way to the interview.’
Her fork, which had taken a sizeable stab at the green leaves and heading to her mouth, plunges back to the plate as she bursts out laughing.

We enjoyed the food, and the drinks, and the memories. Kemong is now HR Manager at a new company, in a different city, 5 years on.