The Day a Paycheck Became a Crime: How a Young Worker Was Forced to Apologize for Dining Near Her CEO

In a country where workplace hierarchies are often treated like royal courts and CEOs assume the aura of minor deities, one young Nigerian woman’s simple decision to treat herself to a meal after payday became the center of an unexpected drama. What should have been a quiet afternoon of enjoying the “fruit of her labour” at a newly popular restaurant in Victoria Island turned into a lesson about power, insecurity, and the unwritten rules that govern corporate life in Nigeria.

Bimbola Royale, a young graduate at the time, shared on social media how she would routinely reward herself with a meal at a fancy restaurant around VI or Ikoyi every time she got paid. It was her payday ritual—her way of reminding herself that she was earning her own money and deserved to enjoy it. On one particular afternoon, she decided to visit Jevenick, a then-trending restaurant off Adeola Odeku, just to try what everyone had been talking about. She took her seat, placed her order, and was moments away from her first bite when the unexpected happened.

Her CEO walked in.

Not just alone—she arrived with “special guests,” the kind of high-profile company that often makes bosses sit up straighter and demand an even tighter grip on their perceived status. The CEO’s eyes scanned the restaurant, landed on her employee, and widened in shock. In that moment, the atmosphere shifted. Bimbola was no longer a young woman enjoying her lunch; she was now an accidental intruder in a space her boss apparently considered exclusive to her social class.

“Abimbola, who brought you here?” the CEO asked, as though seeing her employee in the same restaurant was a violation of some invisible company boundary. Bimbola, confused but polite, told her she had come by herself. The CEO’s response was a simple but telling, “Wow!”—a single word heavy with judgment, surprise, and something else Bimbola could not immediately place.

Lunch ended. The CEO left with her guests. And Bimbola assumed that was the end of the strange encounter.

But it wasn’t.

Soon after, she received a message summoning her to the CEO’s office. Walking in, she found her boss ready to address what she considered a serious offense: Bimbola had embarrassed her by being seen trying to enjoy the same restaurant as her. The CEO explained how uncomfortable it was to have an employee eating in the same space where she was entertaining important guests. As though her presence somehow diluted the prestige of the moment. As though luxury restaurants were an exclusive domain reserved only for those with executive titles. As though an employee spending her own money on her own time required permission.

And then came the worst part.

Bimbola had to apologize.

In a country where jobs are scarce and power is deeply centralized, she did what many young workers in her situation would do: she swallowed her pride, said she was sorry, and walked out of the office with a new understanding of how fragile some egos in leadership can be.

Her story struck a nerve online, sparking conversations about workplace culture, classism, and the entitlement and insecurity that sometimes shapes how Nigerian CEOs interact with their staff. While many empathized with her experience, others shared their own workplace encounters—some humorous, some shocking, and others unexpectedly wholesome.

One such contrasting experience came from another user, who narrated a very different kind of CEO interaction. He recalled sharing an elevator with the head of a company of 20,000 employees—a man whose level of influence and responsibility dwarfed many corporate leaders. The situation was awkward at first, but he noticed the CEO’s shoes matched his tie and couldn’t resist saying, “Nice shoes, sir.” Instead of responding with surprise or irritation, the CEO thanked him warmly. They exchanged a few words, and the CEO even asked how the staff were adjusting to their new office building. For weeks afterward, the employee braced himself for HR to send a warning email, expecting that he might have breached some unspoken corporate etiquette. But no such email ever came.

His story served as a reminder that leadership, contrary to what some Nigerian workers have become accustomed to, doesn’t have to be steeped in intimidation or unnecessary formality. It doesn’t have to create invisible lines between staff and executives. Respect should go both ways.

The two stories—Bimbola’s humiliating apology and the other user’s pleasant elevator exchange—highlight the extreme contrasts that exist within corporate Nigeria. On one side are CEOs so threatened by the idea of their staff sharing the same spaces they frequent that they feel entitled to question their presence. On the other side are leaders who treat their employees like human beings, capable of conversation and deserving of kindness.

But beyond the anecdotes lies a deeper question: why do some Nigerian bosses feel entitled to police the lifestyles of their employees? Why does the sight of an employee in a nice restaurant feel like a challenge to authority? Why do some companies treat their workers like extensions of the office, even during personal time?

The incident at Jevenick shows how deeply ingrained class consciousness can be in the workplace. For some executives, the presence of an employee in a high-end restaurant feels like an intrusion into what they consider their own exclusive social territory. It exposes an insecurity—that the gap between employer and employee might not be as wide as they’d like to believe. It challenges the narrative that success belongs to the few at the top.

Bimbola’s experience is one many Nigerians quietly understand, even if they’ve never spoken about it. Countless workers have stories of bosses who monitor their social media, police their lifestyles, or feel threatened when employees display signs of progress. It’s an unspoken tension that stems not from professionalism, but from ego.

Yet the contrasting elevator story shows the kind of leadership many young workers hope for: leaders who don’t need to belittle others to feel important, who recognize that respect is earned not through fear, but through humanity.

As more young Nigerians enter the workforce, share their experiences, and challenge outdated ideas of leadership, the culture is slowly beginning to shift. Stories like Bimbola’s spark conversations that force companies to reflect—however uncomfortably—on how their executives behave. And stories like the elevator compliment remind everyone that leadership doesn’t have to be hostile or hierarchical; it can be warm, approachable, and genuinely inspiring.

In the end, the lesson from both narratives is simple: power is best expressed through humility, not intimidation. No one should have to apologize for enjoying the simple pleasures their own hard work has afforded them. And no CEO should feel threatened by the presence of their staff in public spaces. True leadership creates room for others to grow—whether in the office, in an elevator, or even in a restaurant on Adeola Odeku.