Nikkipedia

The Job Centre today was ace, my favourite so far. I caught a glimpse of some of the sort of stuff I’d hoped (and sort of dreaded) seeing when I was there.

Hopefully, you’ll live your life without ever having to visit these god awful places, so you’ll have to make do with the second-hand experience of reading my adventures there.

My previous visits to JC have been really rather uneventful, first time, I was actually in and out of there within the space of 5 minutes. I was impressed.

The second visit, I was slightly late – and fuck do they moan about it, but nonetheless, the transaction was again smooth and speedy, in and out within 10 minutes, with only a brief accosting from security on the way in. I knew where I was going, what I was doing, but apparently THEY *have* to know too. I’m not a hoodie, I don’t wear baseball caps, I was dressed smartly, with shoes on, not the uniform prison-whites that most of them wear, not so much as a cigarette tucked behind my ear, or a packet in my hand. I don’t fit in there, but I’m treated as if I’m one of the scummers regardless.

Today, after the nagging I got for being late, I was there a few minutes early. The security guy today was younger than the Nazi from last time, and gave me a big smile as I pushed the door open, covered head to toe from the freak blizzard that happened the second I got out of my car. I told him I was there to sign, and showed him my Job Club pack, so he knew where I was going (that’s how it works, see, I’m getting it!) He pointed me to where I needed to go, and I thanked him, and headed over to the sofa to wait to sign.

Job Centres have a pitiful amount of seating in the areas where people have to wait to sign. There is a sofa-esque, soft chair by the people you see to sign, it will seat about 4 normal weight people, or 5 undernourished chavs/druggies. There were 2 chavs on the sofa today. They seemed to know each other, they were talking. As they’d parked themselves in an entirely selfish manner, I had no choice but to sit between them, despite their conversation. So I said ‘Hi’ in my cheeriest tone and plonked myself down. They looked baffled.

Flat capped chav, to my right, clearly had a chip on his shoulder. He was angry. He asked hoodie chav (on my left) what the time was. It had just passed 12:20.
“Fuckin’ell mate. I’ve been ‘ere since ten fuckin’ to. They fuckin’ moan when you’re late, but then fuckin’ keep you hanging around when it suits ‘em.”
Hoodie chav mumbled something in agreement. Flat capped chav continued his monologue, repeating the same thing to no-one in particular, complaining what a joke it was. In reply to this, the baseball cap chavs that were standing using the touch screen computer the other side of him joined in to agree what a “loada shit” it was.
“I’m gonna fucking start getting angry, and pointing at people. With my fists.” Flat capped chav said. Quite what that would achieve, I have no idea. He complained again about his wait then shut up.

Another chav, white tracksuit top chav, came over and sat next to flat capped chav.
“Mate, you still ‘ere?”
(I rolled my eyes. Obviously he was still there. Moron.)
“Yeah mate. Been ‘ere since ten to, an I?”
At which point, the security guard came over.
“You can’t sit down yet mate” he said to white tracksuit top chav.
“Why not?”
“Not time for you to sign yet.”
He got up and took 2 steps to his left.
“Alright, I’ll use this fuckin’ job machine” he says, aimlessly prodding at the screen in a ham-fisted manner, without looking at it.
“Jobsworth” said flat capped chav, as the security guard walked off. Classic insult that, coming from someone that’s unemployed. It took a lot for me not to laugh.

It fell silent.

Then my name was called. I stood up. The 5 chavs looked at me simultaneously. I felt sure they were going to murder me.

Less than 5 minutes later, I scurried out of the Job Centre, as quickly as I could. Done, dusted, free. They were all still there, waiting.

*Points* Chav!

“Miss Pywell is a fat chav who definitely does not have whiplash.” I wish I knew James, he sounds like an absolute legend.

I did tweet this one too, so apologies if you saw it there too, but it actually makes me laugh out loud.

Yesterday I went to a ‘back to work’ session at the Job Centre. It was completely dull and tedious, and an hour of my life wasted, that I’ll never get back.

The comment I got from a previously unemployed Twitter friend, @Brykins was ‘Good luck – if it’s the one I went to, it’s twelve people in a room learning that application forms shouldn’t be done in crayon.’

He wasn’t far off the mark.

There were 4 other people in the session. Ginger, Greasy Lady, Know-It-All and Moustache Man that can’t switch on a computer. They were all as equally unamused as I was. Know-It-All spent half of the session arguing with Job Centre Lady. I couldn’t watch, I was busy trying not to laugh.

We had clipboards with forms on them. I stole the copies from the empty seat next to me, in order to share them with you.

The first form had me tearing my hair out, such simple questions that I thought they might have been a trick. I actually struggled with them. The second, I didn’t quite have the heart to fill in saying that the session wasn’t helpful, Job Centre Lady was very nice and if I’d been interested in Health and Safety, childcare or forklift driver training, I’m sure it’d have been very helpful, but in my search for work as a PA, it wasn’t, in the slightest.

At the end of the session, we were given packs to take home – ‘How To Find A Job’, including this little gem:

This is an example of what the Job Centre believe to be an acceptable letter to approach a potential employer. They advise people to send this out to companies. Words absolutely fail me. No wonder there are so many people unemployed, if this is the standard of the advice we’re receiving.

Mind you, the standard of employers and their adverts is only marginally better. These are two adverts I stumbled upon today. I’ve highlighted my favourite bits.

The first. I realise this is just for a role as a receptionist, but the preview of the advert, which started ‘You’re brief’ – lured me in. ‘You’re brief’ – ‘Am I?’.
As for smiling and saying hello to colleagues and guests, surely that’s just common sense and common courtesy, especially if you want to work in hospitality. Could be a problem if you don’t like someone you work with though.
Flare, flair – no, you’re right, I’m nitpicking, they’re mostly the same thing. Just keep the former away from flammable items.
You don’t need a head for figures to handle cash. They hand out money to my fellow Job Centre scummers. I’m sure the Hoodies don’t have a head for figures, but they handle the cash, happily, and as for other payment methods – taking a card payment with a machine and till is hardly rocket science.

The second advert, to me, was a wonder to behold. This advert has been placed by a college. A place of education and scholarship. A pillar of the community. I can only assume that the first highlighted sentence should be read as ‘A-C GCSE English and Math is essential’ but I worry that’s not the case. THIS IS A SCHOOL ADVERTISING THIS. The ad was placed directly by the employer. They should be ashamed. Unless they don’t have an English Teacher among the staff. But surely it should have been proof read by someone.
As for the last highlighted sentence – I’m literally speechless. How is that a question? How can they have *that* poor a grip on the English Language? How am I so good at composing questions, and they be so awful at it?

‘I’m Ron Burgandy?’

When these are the adverts that are placed, the employers, and the level they work at, I am left wondering *why* I’m surprised by what the Job Centre offers us, clearly they’re just matching the market.