Work Program pt 2

I walked into the open-plan room. It was completely packed full of people. No places to sit, barely any room to hear yourself speak. Dozens of sad and bored looking faces. It was impossible to tell who worked there and who didn't. The air was pumped full of people trying to convince others that it really wasn't so bad when it clearly was. I felt like I'd accidentally walked into a battery farm for chickens.

I stumbled my way through the cluttered floor planning towards what I eventually work out to be the main desk. I stand there dripping wet for ten minutes before someone approaches and sits behind the desk.

In all naivety they ask "Can I help you?". I repress the urge to utter the words of truth "No one can help someone like me" or for a towel and instead tell her that I've had an appointment and late but my adviser knows I am here and why I'm late.

I am informed that my adviser will come over shortly and in the meanwhile to enjoy their free coffee machines...

COFFEE!

I flee her presence. Practically skipped over to the vending machines and mashed my palm on the keypad frantically, screaming for lifes little helper to bring me some brown, polystyrene cupped joy. I hold onto it like it's a rope stopping me for slipping over the edge of an endless abyss. The last bastion for my sanity.
Finally, my adviser arrived and we spent the next hour going through setting up my files. I deliberately decided to read everything through very carefully, even being a nuisance of myself by asking constantly about minor phrases or even entire paragraphs that seemed to contradict themselves or were obviously asking me to sign away information that was not needed nor legal for them to take. The word "may" in context of "you may" cropped up more then any other.

I deliberately chose to sign all forms put in-front of me for three reasons:
1) I had no intention of being on Work Program for very long and...
2) If I was to experience the full horror I had to sink to the lowest end of the low because...
3) I planned to write openly about my experience here.

She asked me what I thought my greatest need would be, I told her with a slight laugh that easily it was experience. How can I get a job that requires experience when I cannot get a job to gain it?

She said she understood but I had a feeling that somehow it would not matter if she understood my position or not. All that the Work Program did was try and push people into work. It was exceptionally unlikely that I'd receive any genuine help to improve my prospects of getting work.

After filling out a whole bunch of pointless forms I was finally asked what my strengths and weakness' are.
In the world of job interviews this has got to be the most asinine question to ask an potential employee. First of all, anyone with any sense will lie. Secondly, your strengths and weakness' of real-life usually have little to do with your work-life. For instance, in normal life I can be chatty and dominate I listed off a whole bunch of key words that I thought represented my strengths...and was stopped.

According to my adviser what I was doing was listening off a bunch of key words . . . Yes. And? That's what you asked me to do . . .
Apparently, despite being told to do this, this would not do. I told her I did not spout off answers like this during my interviews so she asked me to answer as if I was under interview conditions - but not to worry because it was not an interview so don't feel like it is.

. . . What?

The whole process was extremely condescending.

We moved on to what kind of work I'd like to do. I made sure she was wanting me to be honest, and she was, so I answered with a multitude of responses from my broad background of passions and interests.
Work Program seem stumped that I would have interests in more areas then "getting a job". Apparently studying for Electrical Engineering (for trade work), writing free-lance (for the passion) and doing bar work (for the monies) is too complicated. It's dead simple...

1) I learn a trade because job security is shit these days and I want to have a back-up trade to my name. Plus, I am sick of working in industries where I passively contribute to killing people via liver and lung cancers. If I can't kill people quickly and by lightning then I don't see the point.
2) My passions are not work that will pay well: writing and acting. Tell me again why I should "follow me passions", Mrs Work Program employee - because I will but you'll have a hell of a time trying to find paid work for me.
3) Bar work is simple. It's not a career I want to do but I CAN do it.

So, let me break it down for you:
1) I am studying to do this because...
2) This is not a career that can pay enough to support my life and I can and do this for free whilst...
3) This keeps me from being stuck with YOU for the next two years.

She went off to photocopy some paperwork and I went off to abuse the free coffee privileges.

SECOND COFFEE

We went through some other crap and finally I got bored and told her I had to leave - which was true but not for another half an hour or so. We went back to the questions about strengths and weakness' to which I finally replied - "I'm too modest" and left her with that cop-out answer to ponder over.

I'm going to blog about my experiences through Work Program for a while. I hope it can help educate some and entertain others.

Work Program pt 1.

Last week I was referred onto the Work Program. In purest English this translates to: "We, the Government, have fobbed you off onto someone else, to keep our official numbers of un-employed down and justify spending cuts for J.S.A. staff." Some company called Ingius is now my keeper.

My instinctive reaction was one of elation - I wanted to get and stay the f**k away from the job center. It's a place where souls go to be crushed and dreams wither up and die. A land of broken promises and false pretenses. Work Program has its own share of horror stories. Still, I wanted to witness them first hand. A new flavour of disparity.

I have been unemployed for just over two years now. During this time I have take the time to brush-up on my writing and reading for personal and political development. To some I will be seen as a dole scrounger, to me I see myself as a victim. Do not confuse that with me having self-pity. If anything its quite the opposite that's true and I am rather pleased with myself for going on unemployed for so long and not giving a flying fudge about it.

The time off has been wonderful for re-charging my batteries physically and mentally. The frustrations of working were no way near redeemed by the pay I received. My last job, though by far my favorite of all the jobs I've ever worked in (which is saying a lot about how bad the previous were), was high pressure, high responsibility to meet targets, maintain standards and break through the near absolute isolation barrier without creating fictional friends to keep you company. Lets not forget the shit-tacular talents of the management I worked under and their complete and utter failure to train me.
The job before that I worked in for two years as a till-monkey. It was the most horrid and stressful job I've ever had. The staff were bullies and liars and I swore I would never go back.

Remember this, One Stop or I SHALL return!

So, finally being dumped off as someone else's responsibility I happily took note of the location of my first meeting in two weeks time, a small office at the end of the corridor in the Job Centre building. As I shagged my way out of the building...

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INTERLUDE:

                                                                   shag ²  (shg) 

n.

A dance step of the 1930s consisting of a hop on each foot in turn.

intr.v. shagged, shag·ging, shags

To perform or execute this dance.

-----

...I had every confidence that something would go wrong.

Next Wednesday comes around and I receive a phone call asking me to confirm that I am, indeed Vincent Blackwell. It's the Work Program letting me know that I have an appointment with them the next day.

Uh. What?

I listen to their understanding of events as the Job Centre are usually more incompetent then this and accept it as fact. My appointment was a week earlier then expected.

The next day I was getting ready to set off an hour early to my appointment. As I was literally putting my shoes on to leave the house I received a phone call. It was an offer of a job interview to work in a pub/bar. I could not get them to get off the phone fast enough. Now I was 10 minutes behind schedule but could still be on time.

As I left the house I saw my bus drive off from the bus stop. Perfect. I wait for another fifteen minutes before a bus arrives. Whilst I am on the bus I try to contact my new adviser to let them know I'll be late and irony was at fault. After being put through to a call centre instead of my adviser I finally got a message sent to SOMEONE in the department where my adviser worked. The length of the ride into the city takes 20 minutes. Traffic burdened an additional five minutes. The phone call took 15 minutes.

I hope off the bus and sprint for the Job Centre, I have less then 10 minutes to arrive on time. I hurry and make it to main reception where I ask show a G4S thug my appointment acknowledgement. They send me over to the reception desk. I wait in line anxiously. Finally I am seen and am given a confused look. The man on the desk wonders off at his own pace to find out if my appointment is in the building or not. As this happens I get a phone call from Ingius. I take the call. I am asked where I am. I tell them and am quickly informed that my appointment is NOT in this building. A member of G4S starts trying to shuffle me out the doors as there is a no phone policy despite my protests that this call is relevant and important. Getting frustrated that I am being pressured to leave without having any answers from the Job Centre I loudly tell the security guard where to stick himself and leave the building.

It is now raining. Yes, it's fucking raining! I get the person on the phone to give me directions. Turns out its on the opposite side of town, go figure. I walk in the rain to my appointment and finally arrive half an hour late in a sleek glass and steel office building behind a hotel. I enter eager to escape the downpour. Outside it looks peaceful, inside it was frantic and miserable.

Playing the System

If tabloid newspapers and government propaganda are to be believed, and by so many people it is, then a massive black hole in government spending lies at fault with those in our society who refuse to get an honest job to earn an honest wage. I'm not sure what they mean by an "honest wage" (the system is corrupt) but with so much of it floating around then 'Honesty' should replace the 'Pound' as the next currency come 2014 leaving politicians financially and morally bankrupt (*BA-DOOM CHA*!).

Master of puns though I am I must be serious for a few moments. I have something to confess that I don't find easy to say . . . aside from the numerous holes in the logic (and mathematics of trying to force more people into fewer jobs will work and racism and homophobia and encouragement of sociopath behaviour) I am genuinely pained to admit this but, well - the right-wingers are . . . right. For the first time. 

Even this clock is correct twice a day. That's twice more then the Tories have been correct about anything else.

Correct at least in that we have serious situation in this country regarding State handouts. Thank God that George Osborne has finally grown a back bone, now we can get this country back on track. We've developed a culture where a family can live comfortably on these handouts and not need to work. It has been recently revealed to me that a SINGLE family is currently costing the British tax payer 32.2 MILLION POUNDS a year and have no shame in their expense. This particular family do not work for a living wage, pay no taxes, contribute nothing to society at large, live a life of luxury off state money and LOVE to flash it around, spend hundreds of thousands a year socialising and travelling to foreign countries (justifying these as essential), breed to perpetuate their life-style of privilege and get given a mansion to accommodate them all in the most expensive city in England. The tabloids call these people "Benefit Scroungers" but commonly they're known as the "Royals'.

"...and then he said the "Royals". It was HYSTERICAL!"

But seriously, why are they still here?

Meanwhile, in the muddy surf fields below Buckingham palace's 'wave-to-the-peseants' morale balcony the average "honest" worked and hard taxed members of our society are continuously feeling the screws being tightened on their finances. Stress levels are high as are the suicide rates. So damaged are the working classes this unwavering attack on their life-styles (because for some mad reason the Government wants to protect the current gambling nature of the western banking system, white washing any media coverage of countries who have counted their debt as illegal or purely a private sector matter) the working classes are turning on those who rely on state handouts to survive as class-war propaganda takes it's effect.

I know that the established system is a tough mistress to challenge but historically courage and comrad spirit has been what it's taken to do some thing about our problems. Yet rather then drag themselves up and further away from the borderline of poverty by fighting back economic oppression it appears more people would rather see the most vulnerable suffer to new lows. Rather then push back up against the state they would rather kick those who are already down. Deluded that by pushing the bar further down they have a greater standard of living (proportional) to those who are jobless, ignoring the history and purpose of the system they are attacking - TO STOP WORKERS WHO ARE OUT OF WORK STARVING, THEIR FAMILIES SUFFERING OR TURNING CRIMINAL TO SURVIVE. Because it doesn't just happen to the lazy or single moms or people who want to play the system. It can and will happen at some point to everyone. Gone are the days of leaving your job in the morning an having another by afternoon. I'm sure they won't be quite so hostile when they find themselves queueing for their first jobseekers booklet.

1979 Tory propaganda . . .



. . . is now a parody of itself.

George Osborne recently declared that state benefits for the sick would continue to be cut and jobseekers payments would be frozen below inflation levels for the next three years. A few days ago I read a news story of how thousands of working families now rely on food banks to survive. The next story broke my heart. A woman in her 50's walked 20 miles to reach her nearest food bank. Her feet were raw and in agony.

It is with this agony in mind that I'd like to sarcastially congratulate the latest Scrounger - I mean, Royal, Kate Middleton, on achieving the utterly unremarkable task of getting pregnant. Who would have thought it huh? A young and newly wed straight couple have unprotected sex and then expect a child. It's a bloody miracle. Truly a unique and wonderful force of nature and goodness in the world. And during an economic down-turn too! It's almost as if they can afford to have one because they don't have money troubles. Tabloid and broadsheet newspapers united in the celebration of Kate Middleton's new S.T.I. The Daily Mail outdid themselves with a thirteen page spread of how the Royals have perpetuated the cycle of gaining state handouts by breeding of the last twenty years but I don't think others saw the same point I saw.

Women get pregnant all the time. In fact I'll bet you fifty quid that your own mother was pregnant once (and I'll bet you double she'll testify that it was all your dad's fault). Some women are pregnant without realising it. Even men get pregnant these days. Everybody is doing it.

But not everybody has unicorns or born under a double rainbow. Sorry Kate but north Korea's got you beat.

Finally the Commonwealth have taken the extra step of changing the rule of succession so that, regardless of gender, the kid can be third in line to the throne. Possibly the fastest law change I've ever seen. We as a nation celebrate and encourage these scroungers to continue breeding by becoming hysterical when they get married and spawn everywhere. At least it's decent to see so many countries working so swiftly and tirelessly together to eradicate gender inequalities, even if it's only beneficial for one person. One unborn super-privileged rich person, I suppose.