Let me take you back to 2011—those days when being broke was a full-time job and job interviews felt like auditions for Zimbabwe’s Got No Talent.
So, I got called for an assistant accountant interview in Msasa. I wore my best (and only) shirt, polished my shoes until I could see my reflection (and my poverty), and off I went.
When I arrived, the first person I saw was the security guard at the gate. Now, this wasn’t your ordinary “Chibhorani” type. No. This guy had a potbelly that screamed “executive lunch allowance” and skin so smooth it looked like he moisturized with imported avocado butter. He shook my hand with a warmth you don’t usually find at guard posts.
We talked. About soccer. Turns out we both supported the same team—although that day, I was the one playing defense against poverty. He smiled, logged my name in the visitor’s book, gave me a tag, and directed me to reception.
When I got there, I greeted the receptionist, who told me I was early. So, I sat down and did what my grandmother taught me—greet everyone who walks in, even if they look like they own the building.
Other interviewees arrived. Three sharp-looking guys in expensive suits. They were busy Googling “how to answer difficult interview questions” and perfecting their British accents. Me? I was just there greeting people like I was running for ward councillor.
Then came my turn. I walked into the boardroom confidently… until I nearly collapsed.
The “security guard” was seated at the head of the table.****
Ladies and gentlemen, the CEO was the guard.****
Yes! The potbellied, smooth-skinned “guard” was the real boss. Turns out the guy I had thought was the CEO was just the HR officer with a fitted suit and too much cologne.
The interview was rough. I fumbled on accounting questions like a drunk guy holding a calculator. But when it came to general questions, I held my own—thanks to all those hours spent debating politics with kombi drivers.
After the interviews, we were asked to wait. An hour later, the HR lady came in and said:
“The one who got the job is… Jerry.”
Wait, what?
She explained that ATTITUDE made up 60% of the interview, and I had scored 55 out of 60. The others? They walked in like they owned the place, didn’t greet anyone—including the “security guard CEO”—and failed the test before it even started.
The CEO stood up and said, “We hire for attitude, we train for skills.”**
That day changed my life.
Since then, I greet everyone—even the person cleaning the bathroom. I’ve turned this lesson into a policy at my own company: If you can’t greet people, you can’t serve customers.****
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Sales? It’s 95% relationships, 5% price. If you can’t build a connection, don’t bother selling.
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Leadership? Voters don’t forget how you ignored them until election season.
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Gym life? Greet everyone—even if it’s just the guy using your favorite machine. Tomorrow, you may need him to save you from collapsing under that barbell.
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Elevators? Ever been stuck in one with someone you didn’t greet? That hour feels like a Netflix documentary on social awkwardness.
Greet everyone. Be humble. Your degree may open the door, but your attitude decides whether you’ll be invited in for tea.** ** Most companies today know the truth: Skills can be taught. Attitude? Not so much.****
So next time you meet someone—boss or cleaner—say “Hello.” It might just be your ticket to the next big opportunity.
And if all else fails, at least you’ll make someone smile. That alone is worth more than a certificate
