The ₦150K Job I Didn’t Get—and Why I’m Glad

Two months ago, I almost gave up on everything.

It was a Tuesday. One of those painfully regular Tuesdays that just smell like pepper soup, diesel, and disappointment.

I had an interview scheduled at 10 a.m. with a marketing agency in Lekki. Nothing too fancy, just a gig that promised 150k a month and “room to grow.”

I had one shirt. White. Wrinkled. I ironed it with a pot cover because, well, our pressing iron had joined our ancestors during the last PHCN blackout.

By 7:30 a.m., I was out. Bus to CMS. Then another to Lekki Phase 1. Lagos was doing its usual madness: horns blaring, conductors screaming, and the sky threatening rain like it owed us money. But I was motivated. I kept repeating to myself, “You’ll make it. This one will change everything.”

But life—oh, life.

Midway through the journey, this guy beside me on the bus vomited. No warning. Just hurled like a possessed water fountain. I was collateral damage.

My white shirt? Baptized in garri flakes and bile.

I stood frozen. My mouth open. Everyone stared. Someone muttered, “Eyyya. Sorry o.” But nobody helped.

I jumped down at the next stop, heart pounding, tears fighting for space in my eyes. The bus zoomed off. I was drenched, stained, and miles away from Lekki. The interview was in 50 minutes.

I didn’t cry. I laughed. Maniacally. In the middle of the road like a broken character in a Nollywood drama.

I sat on the culvert and texted the recruiter:

“Good morning. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to make the interview anymore. Thank you for the opportunity.”

She replied, “Okay. All the best.”

That “Okay” entered my chest like knife.

I got up, walked home, and locked myself in. That was the day I officially decided: This 9-5 thing no be for me.

But here’s where the twist comes in.

Later that night, still moody and low, I went on TikTok to distract myself. I watched a skit, laughed a bit, then recorded a 60-second rant about the whole vomit-on-the-bus episode. Just to release tension.

I titled it: “How a Lagos Bus Passenger Killed My Interview and My Dreams.”

I dropped my phone and slept off.

By morning… over 50,000 views.

By evening? 200K.

People were laughing, crying, relating, resharing. “You sabi narrate story!” “Guy, abeg do part 2!” “You just made my day.”

That random video? It launched me.

I began posting more—funny, sad, inspiring stories from my Lagos struggles, all with that raw Gen Z energy. I added voiceovers, skits, motivation, quotes from books I never finished reading.

Brands started noticing. One reached out: “Hey, we love your storytelling. Want to handle our content for TikTok?”

Guess the offer?

₦350,000 monthly. Remote.

I signed that contract while eating indomie with sardine. No shirt, no stress.

Today, I’ve grown my page to over 100k followers. I help brands craft authentic stories, coach people on content creation, and I recently spoke at a youth event about “turning pain into power.”

So yeah, I missed an interview—but I found a purpose.

Moral of the story?

Sometimes, life vomits on your plans, not to destroy them… but to reroute you to something greater.

And now? That wrinkled white shirt is in my closet as a trophy.

Because the version of me that got rejected that day? He’s now booked, busy, and building something bigger than a 150k job.