Disappointment; fact or mere coincidence.

I arrived at the company's gate a few minutes before 9 a.m. I felt a sigh of relief. The interview was scheduled for 9 a.m.

I was agitated when the car I boarded developed some mechanical faults that the driver had to stop and fix. The middle-aged driver later informed us that, having worked as a commercial driver for more than a decade, he doesn't need the assistance of a professional motor mechanic to fix some problems in the car. I wasn't interested in his talks. My mind was occupied with how I would meet up with the scheduled time of the interview.

"Good morning, sir," I greeted the security guard manning the gate.

"You are welcome to Boni Insurance. How may I help you?"

"I am scheduled for an interview by 9 a.m." I opened my file and brought out the copy of the interview invitation I received on my email earlier.

"Come inside," he directed me after reading the letter I handed over to him. "Go to that hall. Other people that came for similar purposes are there."

In the hall, people were seated calmly waiting for the interview. I took my seat. Hanged on the wall were the company's vision and mission statement. "This is my dream job," I told myself while letting out a smile.

I checked my watch, and it was already a few minutes after 9 a.m. A young woman walked in to address us. He introduced herself as the head of the human resources department.

"Good morning. I wish to warmly welcome you to Boni Insurance. We are sorry that we are behind schedule. We will start very soon. Please make sure that you meet the set criteria."

The criteria listed on the job application portal of the organization while filling out the form include age, class of degree, and years of experience. I am 25 years old with a first-class degree and three years relevant experience. I was confident that what was standing between the job and me was a good performance in the interview. I brought out my diary, in which I wrote important information about the organization.

"Let me refresh my memory once more," I told myself.

I spent some minutes reading through the possible interview questions about the company.

"You are welcome to Boni Insurance once again."

I raised my head to listen to the speaker. This time around, it was a middle-aged man wearing a vest with the company's logo.

"The interview panel is ready for you. We will be taking you into the reception in a group of five. After each and every one of the five is interviewed in the boardroom, another group of five would be called in." He gestured for the first five people in the first row to follow him.

I rolled my eyes around the hall to count the people before and after me. I was the 27th person out of the total of 34 applicants seated for the interview.

I turned to my phone to keep me busy pending the turn of my group, which is the 6th group. The first group spent almost an hour and a half. The second group was called in thereafter.

At this point, I stepped out to a nearby kiosk and bought a bottle of soft drink and snacks. My stomach was in turmoil with hunger.

Shortly after returning to the hall, the third group was called upon. The previous group spent less than an hour, and that rekindled my hope that it would soon get to me. After the fourth group was attended to, the head of the human resources department came to address us.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Please, we won't be able to take any interviewee again for today. If you check your time now, it is already a few minutes before 3 pm, which is our closing hour. Expect the rescheduled interview date and time via your respective emails. We are sorry for any inconvenience caused. To aid you in your transportation, go to the receptionist for a token before you go. Thank you, and safe trip to your destination."

I stood up with cold feet.

"What is happening? Does it mean my mom was right about what she told me in the morning, or is this development a mere coincidence?" I asked myself many questions in quick succession.

I picked up my file and went to the receptionist. With my red eyes, it was obvious to the receptionist that I wasn't happy.

"We are sorry for the inconveniences caused," she apologized several times while giving me the money.

I was given 5000 naira. The money covered my transportation fare and feeding adequately. Pressure was built up in my mouth several times, and I opened it each time to release the pressure.

While in a bus returning home, I was busy thinking of my encounter with my mom earlier in the morning.

My mom decided to see me off to the main road to board a vehicle. As we were trekking the three-minute distance, I hit my right foot on a stone, and I bent down to clean my shoes immediately.

"This is not a good sign," said my mom.

"Mom, you have come again. If you are going out and you hit your foot on a stone, you can give it any meaning. As for me, I don't believe in all these superstitions," I responded to her.

On several occasions, my mom had aborted her mission of going out after hitting her right foot. She believed that hitting the left foot on a stone is a sign of good results in whatever she was going out for, while hitting the right foot is interpreted as the opposite.

"Mom, I am going for my interview. I don't believe in it, and it won't dictate the outcome of my outing."

I boarded the next available vehicle—the rickety vehicle that broke down on the road and paved was for my relatively late arrival—and left.

I arrived home and narrated my experience earlier in the day to my mom.

"I will be expecting an email from the company for a rescheduled interview," I concluded disappointedly.

"What happened in the morning wasn't a good sign, but you kids of this generation refuse to believe in what has been working since the generation of my forefathers."

I was short of response at this stage.

"Mom, let's leave this topic for another day." I went to my room to take my bath.

I waited endlessly for another invitation from the company. Unfortunately, I never got any. A few months later, I realized that the successful applicants had been given appointment letters.

While my mom believes in such interpretations of hitting one's foot on stone, I refused to follow suit. It wasn't the first time that I was hitting my right foot on a stone while going out. The last time it happened, the purpose of my outing was successful.

"It is merely a coincidence," I told my mom the next time we discussed it. "Do you remember the previous time that I experienced the same thing while going out and it turned out to be a success?"

"It was our prayers to Almighty God that changed the result in such an instance," she responded to me.

My mom couldn't be convinced to believe otherwise, and neither was I.

"I pray that you will be hitting the left foot anytime you go out," she offered a prayer.

"Mom, I don't have to injure my foot before any success comes my way. I don't want to hit any foot on the stone."

We both laughed over it and progressed into talking about other things.