THE JOB: Get the Exit Door After Seeing the Entrance Door

After a brief conversation with a colleague of mine, I realized I wasn’t the only worker who plans his exit the very moment he receives his appointment letter. I don’t hold too much of a pessimistic view of life, but I don’t think people should always think and hope for the best in everything; rather, people should think and plan for the worst. By so doing, you’re already prepared whenever the worst happens. Life is full of uncertainties; at least the COVID-19 misadventure has taught us this. Perception mightn’t have taught me this, but a couple of experiences in not very distant past as a bloke who started building a career life at 14, have.

So, when this politically ambitious colleague of mine began the conversation (which I can’t say really what generated the conversation), that when working in an unpredictable and uncertain work environment, prepare for the worst rather than the best—my shortest career life of barely one month flirted by, pleasurably, in my memory.

Shortly after my NYSC, I received an appointment to teach English and Literature in an ensconced secondary school in a location in Kaduna metropolis that is considered a GRA simply because it’s in proximity with the NNPC. That I was employed together with over six other staff was enough a red flag that I’d never go far in the school. Those in the teaching profession, especially in Nigeria, will understand that for a school to employ over six teachers at a go is seriously a questionable move: Why are the former teachers leaving and why in that high number?

I was persevering with the stringent ground rules of the school, but I couldn’t bare the pretty unsavoury stories told by my SSS2 students and three remaining old staff (who were still there obviously because they had no other option than to continue hanging on an abusive job because they lacked the qualification/experience). In an essay on the topic, “How Concerned should you be about your school”, it was as if a flood gate was opened: my SSS2 students wrote a deluge of troubles about their school, with reasons why they’re still held back. One even forecast my very brief stay in the school: “Mr Shadrach, you’ll quit this job, every teacher quits the job before or after they’ve been harassed by the proprietress and her little devil, Mr Daniel, her son, the principal.”

One very sweet thing about being an English teacher is that you have a way of getting information about yourself, the school, other members of staff, and even other students through essay writing: create a sensuous topic that will have them subtlety revealing to you what you want to know.

What the six of us — the new, young, vibrant and unyielding staff, gathered barely two weeks into our job was that you’re indiscriminately sacked as soon as you’re perceived to be dissenting to the views and decisions of the management. You’re not only sacked, but you’re terribly hectored before you’re relieved of your job. The previous English teacher was said to be insulted “nonentity” and “you’re not qualified to teach, I just employed you” in front of a class.

One day, I had a little altercation with Mr Daniel, the proprietress’ son and principal of the school. You can’t be in that school and not be altercated with Mr Daniel who was barely older than me. He gathered the series of altercations I had with him since I came in (even those which were simply my feelings over issues); the chief among them was my disobedience in one of the ground rules that stated two staff mustn’t be seen chatting with each other. The following day, the proprietress, haughty both in looks and in demeanour, visited the school. I was in SSS1 taking my early morning class when the mistress passed by. I didn’t want to flout another ground rule of the school that whenever you sight the proprietress, you should pause whatever you’re doing and shower her greetings and admiration. So, I paused my scintillating flaw of teaching the topic, “Grammatical names and their functions” and greeted her majesty, good morning. Both me and the children weren’t astounded when she cut me down to size with her haughty eyes, hissed and walked away.

It was Tuesday so I waited for Friday when we’d have our meeting for the week and receive our salary since it’s also the last day of the month. Do I also say I and others who troubled the school that week would be in the agenda of the meeting? Instead of an apology letter which I was supposed to write and read in the meeting, I prepared a resignation letter along.

Salary was paid. I read my apology letter when it was time to do that; submitted resignation instead of the apology letter. Meeting ended and everyone dismissed home.

Shortly after I got home, I received a call from the proprietress.

“Shadrach, what do you mean by that letter?”

“Ma’am, what part of the letter don’t you understand?”

“We won’t accept that, you’re to notify us three months before resignation or forfeit your salary, you know this as a rule.”

“I’ve already spent half of the salary on my way home, ma’am. What do I do?”

“Shadrach, you must be in school on Monday and continue what you started!”

With that line, it was clearly not a bait for me to return so she could sack me, rather than me resigning, as she’s wont of doing.

When I stood in front of that politically ambitious colleague of mine as he’s narrating to me how you shouldn’t allow any employer taint your CV by sacking you, especially when the event that leads to the sack appear like you deserve it, I couldn’t agree more.

A worker ought to write a letter of resignation after he’s written his letter of acceptance. Plan for the worse, especially in a work environment full of unpredictable things. It’s honourable to resign that to be sacked. The conjecture that you’re sacked is an unpleasant one no matter what term you decide to use for it. All I’m saying is, look for the exit door after you’ve seen the entrance door after a job offer.