Working from home sounds like a dream. No traffic. No office tea politics. Just you, your laptop and a comfortable chair. Then you join your first important video meeting, and you discover that the internet has a cruel sense of humour.

This is the story of Tayo, a project manager with an excellent presentation, a decent shirt and an extremely unreliable router.

The Big Day

The meeting was set for 10 a.m. It was the most important one of the quarter. The company’s regional director would be there, along with a dozen colleagues and two clients. Tayo had spent a week preparing. He had designed twenty slides. He had practised his opening line in the mirror. He wore a crisp shirt on top and, in the quiet confidence of a man who believes in cameras, a pair of old shorts on the bottom.

At 9:50, he sat at his desk, clicked the link and watched the little wheel spin. At 9:52, the screen lit up with a grid of faces. At 9:55, he saw himself in a small box and thought, I look like a man in control of his life.

The First Sign of Trouble

The director began the meeting at 10:03. “Good morning, everyone. Let us start with a quick introduction.” The first speaker, a colleague named Ifeoma, introduced herself with great energy. Halfway through, her face froze. Her mouth stayed open. Her eyes stayed wide. For four seconds, she looked like a statue of a surprised woman.

“Ifeoma? Are you there?” said the director.

The picture jumped. Ifeoma blinked and continued, “…and that is why I believe our growth plan…” Her voice disappeared, her mouth kept moving and a tiny message at the bottom of the screen said “Poor connection.”

Tayo watched with sympathy. He did not yet know he was next.

The Rooster

When it was Tayo’s turn, he cleared his throat. “Good morning, everyone. I am delighted to present our quarterly progress.” That was exactly when, from the next compound, a rooster began to crow with enormous enthusiasm.

It was a long, proud, golden crow. It lasted a full ten seconds. Every face on the screen turned toward Tayo with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“That is my neighbour’s rooster,” he said calmly. “He is a very early riser.”

“It is ten o’clock,” said the director.

“He is also very confident.”

Someone laughed. Someone else muted themselves to laugh harder. Tayo smiled and began his slides, grateful for the small human moment.

The Great Freeze

He was on slide four when it happened. His router, which had survived a thunderstorm, three power cuts and one accidental dropping, blinked once and gave up. On everybody else’s screen, Tayo froze in the middle of a hand gesture, his arm raised, his mouth in an awkward shape that seemed to say “ooo”.

He did not know. In his own window, he was still happily speaking. “As you can see,” he said, “our revenue has grown by…” and then silence. On the other end, his frozen face hung like a portrait.

For a full thirty seconds, the entire team stared at the image of Tayo mid-gesture. Someone typed in the chat: “Is he okay?” Someone replied: “I think he is thinking.” Another person added: “Deeply.”

Can You Hear Me Now?

When Tayo’s connection returned, he noticed everyone looking at him. “Sorry,” he said. “Can you hear me?” Nobody replied. Everyone was on mute, as the director had requested. They all gave small thumbs-up signs instead.

“Can you hear me now?” he asked again, louder. This time several people nodded. He took this as a sign of success and continued. Unfortunately, only his video had returned. His audio was still gone. He gave an impassioned speech for two minutes, waving his arms, pointing to charts and smiling warmly, to a silent audience.

At last, the director said gently, “Tayo, you are on mute.” It was the most famous sentence of the modern workplace, and he had been waiting for it.

The Open Microphone

He unmuted. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. “Sorry for that.” Then, thinking the meeting had paused, he turned to his wife, who had just entered the room, and said, “My dear, please bring me something to eat. I have been talking to these people for two hours and the router is useless.”

The entire team heard every word. The director raised an eyebrow. A client coughed. Somewhere, a colleague wheezed into her hand.

“Sorry,” said Tayo, with great dignity. “That was a private conversation.”

“It is a very public private conversation,” said the director, smiling for the first time.

The Rescue

Tayo finished the meeting from his phone, using mobile data and a borrowed cable. His slides were still excellent, his rooster story had become a company legend and his shorts, thankfully, remained out of view.

The next day, the director sent a short message: “Great presentation. Please invest in a better router. And maybe a different neighbour.”

Tayo bought a new router that weekend. It had four antennas, a proud blue light and a promise of “reliable speeds”. He plugged it in and held his breath. It worked. Then, at exactly 10 a.m. on Monday, with a new meeting about to begin, the rooster crowed again, the lights flickered, and from the kitchen his wife called out, “Tayo, do you still want that food?”

He smiled, pressed Mute and whispered, “Yes, please.”

A CV is supposed to be a short and honest summary of what you can do. In practice, it is a short and enthusiastic summary of what you wish you could do, written at midnight with the help of a very generous imagination.

This is the story of Kingsley, a graduate with a gleaming smile, an extraordinary CV and one remarkable gift: absolute confidence.

The Document

Kingsley’s CV was three pages long. The first page listed his education, which was real. The second page listed his experience, which was mostly real. The third page, titled “Skills”, was a work of art.

It said: “Expert in Microsoft Office, Photoshop, Excel, coding, networking, accounting, graphic design, video editing, project management, digital marketing, public speaking, data science and basic engineering. Fluent in English, French, Igbo, Hausa, Yoruba and Spanish. Familiar with artificial intelligence.”

At the bottom, in small italics, it added: “References available upon request, and some even on time.”

The Interview Begins

The hiring manager, Mrs. Adebayo, was a calm woman who had interviewed thousands of people and could spot an exaggeration the way a mechanic spots a loose bolt. She welcomed Kingsley warmly, offered him a seat and held up the CV.

“This is very impressive,” she said, in a voice that suggested the opposite. “Let us begin with something simple. Your Excel skills.”

“Excellent,” said Kingsley. “I am an expert.”

“Can you tell me how you would add a column of numbers?”

He paused. “I would… use the plus sign?”

“Interesting. Is there a function you might use?”

Kingsley’s eyes moved sideways. “Yes. The function of addition.”

The Language Test

Mrs. Adebayo nodded slowly and moved on. “You say you are fluent in French.”

“Absolutely.”

“Please say something in French.”

He sat up straight and said, with tremendous confidence, “Bonjour, je suis Kingsley. I am very good.”

Mrs. Adebayo smiled. “Yes. And how would you say ‘I would like to schedule a meeting for next Tuesday’?”

There was a long silence. Somewhere, a clock ticked. Kingsley looked at the ceiling, looked at the wall and finally said, “Next Tuesday, we shall… bonjour.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Adebayo, writing something on her notepad. It was a very short note, but it had a firm underline.

The Software Showdown

“Let us try something practical,” she said, turning her laptop toward him. “You listed graphic design software. Please design a simple flyer.”

Kingsley stared at the screen. It displayed a blank page and a toolbar full of tiny pictures. He moved the mouse. He clicked a pencil, a bucket and an object that looked like a tiny frog. A bright pink shape appeared and covered the entire screen.

“It is a modern style,” he said. “Very bold.”

“What is the frog?”

“It is a… frog-shaped tool.”

“And what does it do?”

“It jumps,” said Kingsley, with the dignity of a man who believed in his answer.

Mrs. Adebayo closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she was smiling in a way that was almost admiring.

The Question of Artificial Intelligence

“Last line of your CV,” she said. “Familiar with artificial intelligence. Can you explain what that means?”

Kingsley took a breath. “Artificial intelligence,” he said, “is when a computer thinks it is smarter than a human.”

“And is that true?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Especially in my case.”

There was a short pause, and then Mrs. Adebayo laughed. It was a real laugh, loud and unplanned, and the kind that makes a room feel lighter. Kingsley, relieved, laughed too, though he was not sure why.

The Honest Moment

When the laughter faded, Mrs. Adebayo folded her hands. “Kingsley,” she said gently, “can I tell you what I see?”

“Please.”

“I see a young man who is bright, quick and not afraid. You are brave in an interview, which is rare. But your CV promises things you have not yet learned. That is dangerous, because when the job begins, the work will not wait for your confidence.”

Kingsley said nothing. His smile had softened into something quieter and more honest.

“Next time,” she continued, “write what you truly know. Write what you are learning. Then tell me you are eager to learn the rest. I will respect that far more than a long list of things you cannot do.”

The Second Chance

He thanked her, shook her hand and walked out looking thoughtful. That evening, he opened his laptop and began to rewrite his CV. It took four hours. The new version was shorter. It listed three skills he actually possessed, two he was practising and a sentence that said: “I learn fast, and I tell the truth.”

Two weeks later, his phone rang. It was Mrs. Adebayo. “We have an opening in our customer team,” she said. “It requires patience, humour and the ability to say ‘I do not know yet’. Would you like to try?”

“Yes, ma,” said Kingsley, so quickly that he nearly dropped the phone.

He got the job. And on his first day, a colleague asked, “Do you speak French?” Kingsley smiled and said, “Not yet. But bonjour.”