A Former Neighbour Asked Me to Be a Job Reference: He Showed Up Late, Drunk, and Unprepared
My phone lit up as I was leaving my flat. Kofi texted: Charlie, is your guy here for an interview? Reception says you referred him. Before I could reply, another message followed: He's late. He smells like alcohol. HR is annoyed. My stomach dropped. I hadn't referred anyone. Not Alex. Not this time.
Source: UGC
I drove to the Airport area in a panic, hoping it was a misunderstanding I could kill quickly.
When I walked into the lobby, the receptionist leaned toward me, voice low. "He says you sent him," she whispered.
Right then, Alex burst through the revolving door, reeking of alcohol, shirt half tucked, shouting my name as if I owed him. He looked around, spotted me, and grinned like we were partners.
"Charlie, you made it!" he said, slapping my shoulder. "I told them you'd be here. I told them you're my guy."
The receptionist stared at me. The security guard edged closer.
"Hello, we have an Alex Mensah here for the interview," the receptionist said, professional but strained. "It says you can vouch for him."
"Alex," I hissed, keeping my voice low, "why are you doing this? I told you I cannot be your reference."
Source: UGC
He waved a hand. "Relax. It's just an interview. You know your people. Just tell them I'm solid."
My phone buzzed again, as if to confirm I wasn't imagining it. Kofi: HR is asking if you're signing for him. They're annoyed.
Alex smiled, careless. "So where are they? Let's go."
He hadn't come to earn a job. He had come to spend my name.
And the lobby watched me decide whether I would pay for his chaos.
My name is Charles Kwame. I'm twenty-six, fresh out of the University of Ghana, Legon, with a degree that people always praise, as if it guarantees success.
I entered the job market early; I did internships before my final year, attended networking events when my friends went to beach parties, and built a circle of contacts across finance, media, and the tech sectors. I had a reputable name in Accra.
Not because I'm special. Because I understood something early: In Accra, your name travels faster than you do. And once you damage it, you don't get to chase it down and apologise.
My mother used to say, "Protect your name like you protect your phone. If you lose it, your life becomes hard."
I took that seriously.
Source: UGC
Alex Mensah used to be my neighbour in Dansoman. We were not best friends, but we were close enough for favours. When my parents travelled, Alex watered our plants. When his mum needed help filling out forms online, I assisted. The relationship felt like a community.
After university, Alex approached me with the same request.
"Charlie, I beg, just put your name," he would say. "Just small reference. I will not disgrace you."
The first time, I believed him. I recommended him for a small internship at a media company where a friend worked. Alex missed the first day and claimed the trotro broke down.
The second time, I introduced him to a cousin's friend in a fintech start-up. Alex showed up late and argued about the salary before he even proved himself.
The third time, I helped him polish his CV and sent him to a small training programme. He stopped attending after two sessions and later told people it was "boring."
Source: UGC
Each time, I felt the shame land on me, not him. People didn't call Alex unreliable. They called me careless for recommending him.
So when Alex came again, desperate, insisting he had changed, I already felt my stomach tighten. I didn't just fear his failure. I feared what it would do to my credibility.
Alex caught me outside a pharmacy in Osu on a Tuesday evening, like he'd been tracking my movements.
He stepped into my path with that familiar grin.
"Charlie, I need you," he said.
I sighed. "Alex, please. Not again."
"This time is different," he insisted. "I have an interview. Serious one. They asked for a reference. I thought of you because you're the only person I trust."
Source: UGC
That line always annoyed me. Alex called me trustworthy when he wanted my name, then acted like my reputation was disposable.
"What role?" I asked.
"Operations assistant," he replied quickly. "Near Airport. Good pay. If I get it, my life will settle."
"Who is the contact?" I pressed.
He hesitated. "I don't know the person. It's through someone. But your name will open the door."
I laughed once, sharply. "My name is not a master key, Alex."
His smile thinned. "So you won't help me?"
"I can't," I said. "You've embarrassed me before."
His face changed.
"Embarrassed you?" he repeated, louder than necessary. "After everything I've done for you?"
He started listing favours like they were receipts.
Source: UGC
I kept my voice calm. "Alex, I appreciate those things. But a job reference is not a small favour. If you mess up, it reflects on me."
He leaned closer, voice low and accusing.
"You're selfish," he said. "Friends are supposed to help. You think you're better because you went to Legon."
That guilt tried to hook me the way it always did.
Later that night, mutual acquaintances piled on.
Charlie, why did you do Alex like that? He's struggling. Just help a little.
Then Alex sent voice notes.
"This one will change everything. I won't disgrace you."
Then another.
"If you don't help me, you're the reason I'm stuck."
That line landed badly. Alex wasn't asking anymore. He was assigning responsibility.
I wanted to stay firm. Then I remembered my younger self, desperate and hungry for a chance. So I offered a compromise.
Source: UGC
I called my friend John, who worked in HR at a mid-sized company. Not one of my high-profile contacts, but someone whose judgement I trusted.
"John," I said, "meet him casually. Not an interview. Just a chat. I need to see if he's serious."
John agreed.
I texted Alex: Friday, 2 p.m., café near Ridge. Come early. Dress well. Bring your CV. No excuses.
He replied instantly, Charlie, trust me. I'm ready.
Friday came.
At 2:10, no Alex.
At 2:20, still nothing.
John raised an eyebrow. "Is this the guy?"
I forced a laugh. "He's coming."
At 2:35, Alex finally walked in, and my heart sank before he even reached the table.
He looked dusty at the knees, collar uneven, eyes glossy. When he leaned in, I caught it, alcohol masked by mint.
"The traffic was mad," he said, sliding into the chair. "Ei, Accra."
John stayed polite. "What experience do you have in operations?"
Source: UGC
Alex blinked as if the question surprised him.
"I'm a fast learner," he said. "Anything they bring, I can do."
"What tools have you used?" John asked. "Any systems? Any examples?"
Alex laughed. "Boss, those things, I will learn on the job."
John asked for his CV.
Alex pulled out a folded paper with smudged ink. The same mistakes I corrected months ago were still there.
John asked one last soft question. "Have you researched the company you're interviewing with?"
Alex waved a hand. "All these companies are the same. They just want someone loyal."
Then Alex turned to me, right in front of John.
"Charlie, when they call you, just tell them I'm the best. You know I'm solid."
In that moment, I understood. Alex didn't want growth. He wanted a shortcut.
Source: UGC
After the meeting, and Alex had left, John pulled me aside.
"Charlie," he said carefully, "if you link him to anyone serious, it will damage you."
I nodded, embarrassed. Even my controlled test was humiliating.
That evening, I messaged Alex so there would be no twisting later.
Alex, I cannot endorse you for opportunities anymore. Your pattern of lateness, lack of preparation, and unreliability puts my reputation at risk. I wish you well, but I won't serve as your reference again.
He replied quickly.
So you've decided to abandon me? After everything? You people are wicked.
I didn't argue. I replied once.
My decision stands.
I thought that was the end.
Three days later, my phone lit up with a message from my business contact Kofi, who worked at a company near the Airport.
Source: UGC
Charlie, is your guy here for an interview? Reception says you referred him.
My stomach dropped.
Before I could even call back, another message came through.
He's late. He smells like alcohol. HR is annoyed.
I drove there in panic, hoping I had misunderstood.
Then I walked into the lobby and saw Alex staggering in, shirt half tucked, shouting my name as if I owed him. He had used my name anyway. He had come drunk anyway. He had turned my boundary into a joke.
That was the real twist.
Alex didn't just ignore advice. He ignored permission.
I didn't try to rescue him.
I stepped up to the receptionist and kept my voice calm.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I did not refer him. I am not endorsing him. Please remove my name from his file."
Source: UGC
Alex's grin faltered.
"Charlie, why are you embarrassing me?" he hissed.
"You embarrassed yourself," I replied, still quiet. "And you tried to drag my name with you."
Outside, I stood under the hot sun, shaking, not from fear, but from the finality of it. I had done everything to handle him gently. He still chose chaos.
That night, I sent a second message, even clearer.
Do not use my name, my number, or my contacts again. If you do, I will correct it publicly.
Then I took proactive steps. I contacted the few people in my network who knew Alex's name from earlier attempts. I kept it respectful and brief. I only clarified that I would not be referring him going forward.
Finally, I created a personal rule for myself, because I realised I needed a system, not just feelings.
If someone wants a recommendation from me, they must meet three conditions:
They show up on time.
They prepare without being chased.
They accept feedback and act on it.
Source: UGC
If they fail any of those, I don't attach my name.
Alex held a grudge. Mutual acquaintances acted awkwardly. I accepted it.
Peace costs something. For me, it was a misunderstanding.
Moral: accountability vs enabling
I used to think being helpful meant saying yes, even when my body screamed no.
Now I understand something clearer. People who respect you will respect your boundaries. People who want to use you will call your boundaries selfishness.
I don't hate Alex. I don't even think he is evil. I think he's in a cycle where excuses feel easier than effort. I also think he has learned that guilt influences people. So he uses it like a tool.
For too long, I let it work on me.
I told myself I was being kind, but kindness without accountability can make you part of someone else's dysfunction; you start carrying their consequences. You start paying with your peace, your name, and your relationships.
Source: UGC
In Accra, reputation works like currency. When you recommend someone, you spend a portion of it. If they behave well, your currency grows. If they behave badly, you lose value, and people start doubting your judgment.
I learnt that lesson the hard way, in an Airport lobby, while strangers waited for me to claim a man who smelt of alcohol and entitlement.
So if you're in a position where people often ask for favours, ask yourself this: are you helping someone build, or are you helping them hide?
Because there's a difference between opening a door for someone who is prepared and carrying someone through a door they refuse to walk through themselves.
This story is inspired by the real experiences of our readers. We believe that every story carries a lesson that can bring light to others. To protect everyone's privacy, our editors may change names, locations, and certain details while keeping the heart of the story true. Images are for illustration only. If you'd like to share your own experience, please contact us via email.
Source: YEN.com.gh
