You want humiliation with that?

I have seized the day. Grasped the nettle. I am full of purpose.

Job Centre Day has been spent writing tailored speculative applications to 17 various organisations. I am so focussed and determined to get them in the post today I have to hare out of the house, pick my way as fast as I dare through the slushy streets and walk-trot to the JC, falling through the door two minutes past my appointment time. Greeting the lady on door-step duty with a cheery 'Happy New Year' I hand over my clocking-in papers and proceed to the waiting area. Whilst waiting, I take out the last of the envelopes to be hand written and busy myself getting the addresses right.

I sense someone at my side and it's Door Step Lady. "Miss X?" Yes? She clears her throat to make sure her voice carries to the farthest point of the packed waiting area. "You are actually a couple of minutes late for your appointment." I must have looked confused. Door Step Lady helps me out. "We will still see you" (said with the most grudging tone) "but I do have to point out that you were a couple of minutes late." Stunned silence as she turns on her heel and departs. No-one dares meet my eyes. Everyone has theirs cast down to the floor. There is something horribly uncomfortable seeing someone else utterly humiliated, but at the same time, total relief that it wasn't you.

I am stunned. Had I not had my lap full of envelopes and applications I might have leapt up and pursued her back to her post. But I don't, and I suspect that it is a sign of my eroding confidence that I accept this petty, public dressing-down without a word.

Eva is not there (again). I see a different trainee, who, ironically, apologises for keeping me waiting. She is delightful, but only just out of school. So, when she smiles encouragingly and asks "How's the job search going, then?" I feel an utter weariness at having to explain what I have been doing. She notes the 17 speculative applications and tells me I'm being wonderfully pro-active, then approves my JS Allowance for another two weeks.

I ask about the progress of the SL2JP form, the magical golden ticket to the specialist agency. It has been a month since this was raised and I am concerned about the delay. It's all in-hand, apparently, and I must be patient.

On the way home I post all the freshly stamped applications.

I feel totally demotivated. Furious with myself for not having a quiet word with Door Step Lady about how to speak to people like adults. A large Monty Python-esque foot has descended though the clouds and squashed me underfoot, and I'm suddenly very tired.

Epiphany

It's almost religious.

I have spent the last two weeks reading. I dread to think what Eva will have to say about this, but I have. And I have learned more about how I will eventually get a job in these two weeks than ever before. Because I have learned that it's like passing your driving test. It's not necessarily the best drivers that get through, it's the ones that know how to pass the test.

Thanks to three reference books* I am inspired. Buoyed up. Full of pep and ready to take on the world. Even Eva.

I trudge through the snow (passing an unobservant man wearing shorts) and fall through the door (still broken), greeted by Man Mountain, who admires my Doc Martens - the only thing the stylish girl-about-town wears in inclement weather - and I learn he is a rugby man. I don't expect he could run very fast, but I bet he would stop a herd of charging rhinos if they dared try.

Eva is not there. I see a lovely young lady, very smiley and encouraging. She doesn't get a word in. I am off, preaching my new-found religion, whilst she sits there (full eye contact - Eva, take note) and smiles in a bemused fashion. I rant on about the books I've read and my whole new philosophy on the job seeking path. "Well, I think you should get a job as an inspirational speaker and coach!" is her response, when I finally shut up. Bless. I note from her badge that she is a trainee. I wonder how long it will be before her good nature and positive approach will be ground down into cynical dust.

It seems I have done enough to warrant another two weeks of JS Allowance. "More than most people I've seen today" she mutters, sotto voce.

*What Colour is Your Parachute?
*The CV Book
*Brilliant Cover Letters

This time, with feeling.....

I am a woman on a mission. I am not leaving the JC this time without an SL2JP form. This 'golden ticket' will get me a referral to a specialist placement agency that can give me practical support, plus potentially take me on their books as a candidate. The 20 minute phone call I had with the manager of the agency filled me with hope, but the elusive SL2JP form was the essential next step. "The JC should refer you, ask them for the form." I can do that.

I sit across the desk from Cindy, and having gone through the usual "How's the job search going?" routine, I address her ever prominent ear and ask for the form. There is a pause. "What's that?" she asks. I actually get eye contact for a fleeting second. I explain the purpose of the form and how I was reassured she would know all about it.

Apparently not. She leans over to the next desk and asks Mr Pony Tail if he knows about the form. Frantic conferring. He doesn't know either. They even call across to Man Mountain (on door-step duty) but he doesn't know. (Note to self: Must find out what his role is). Mr P-T then suggests "Simon might know." Simon* must be terribly important, because they lower their voices to a reverential hush when they say his name. Cindy sighs, pushes back her chair, and most reluctantly swings her way upstairs to the Mysterious First Floor. I sit and wait. And wait. There is a lull in human traffic coming through the door and Man Mountain calls across to me "Are you the one making trouble?" He did it with his wolfish smile, so I take it in good spirit and try not to look nervous as I nod.

Eventually, Cindy swings back down, empty handed, but says she knows what the form is (in a tone that suggested she knew all along) and said it would be processed, as requested. Great! I am told the referral was on Simon's desk, would be forwarded directly and the agency would contact me to arrange my appointment.

I stride from the JC, feeling I have achieved, well, something.

I have re-named Cindy. She is hitherto referred to as Eva. As in, Braun. It suits her.

*Name has been changed

Ground Zero

First visit to sign-on, so clutching my 'Looking for Work' record of activity, I approach the automatic doors of the JC (still broken, use handle) and enter. To my consternation I am met at the welcoming post by Man Mountain. He bares his teeth and I realise he is smiling. He looks like a kindly wolf. He takes my paperwork and asks me to sit in the waiting area.

On reflection, this is not the dingy hole it first appeared. The decor is almost 80's, it's the poor lighting (energy saving bulbs?) that spreads the air of gloom.

I am buoyed up. Can't wait to meet my Consultant, who I am sure I will bond with: someone I will look upon as a friendly shoulder to lean on. It's pretty jarring hearing your name called in a large, public office, but I'd better get used to it.

"So, how's the job search going?" asks Cindy*. It's amazing how she can inject such a lack of interest into the question. It would be apathetic, were it not tinged with a hint of aggression. I explain to Cindy's ear all the steps I have taken in the 10 days I have been active. I would explain to Cindy's face, except she does not offer me any eye contact whatsoever, in fact, keeps her whole body tilted away from me and faced towards her computer screen. She addresses all her subsequent questions to the computer screen, and I answer to her ear.

I have nine activities on my report, compared to the minimum three required each time, so am confident I am doing my bit. Cindy's only comment to the screen was "Well, perhaps you'll have more to show me next time you come in." What? My colleague attending a different JC was warmly congratulated on his three entries, and practically offered a cup of tea and a hug from his Consultant.

Considering her tender years, I bite back the comment I would really like to make, which is that I have been paying NI contributions for longer than Cindy has actually been alive. So, sit across this side of the desk at my stage in life, sister, then come out with your glib comments. But I don't. I am cowed.

I look across at the next desk. I wish I had that nice man as my Consultant. He has a pony tail and looks like he's kind to animals. Cindy does not appear to have any personality at all. Unless a desert rock has a personality.

*Name has been changed

The Mysterious First Floor

This time, I present myself with some confidence. After all, I have an appointment. To my great excitement, I am ushered past the desks on the gound floor and directed upstairs. Upstairs? It had never occurred to me there as anything other than the Middle Earth space downstairs.

I wait awhile for my appointment and am royally entertained by the young security guard, who considers himself the warm-up act. Wise-cracking, flirting with the female staff and utterly bored, we strike up a conversation about his role as a roaming guard for various JCs. This one, I am assured, is easy-peasy. You don't want to be in Reading though. Apparently. I marvel that he is permitted to sport the rather flamboyant diamond earings in his ears.

My appointment is with Colin*, a gentle man who seems to have seen it all before. Another very empathetic lady processes my paperwork and asks my circumstances. "Redundant, after almost 16 years with the same company". She smiles sadly. "Still in shock?" she asks, and I am startled to find my eyes suddenly stinging with tears. I am clearly more fragile than I had thought.

Colin is calm, efficient and reassuring. He believes I will have 'no problem' finding alternative employment. Really? I wonder what he bases that on? "No offence, but you can speak English" is the answer.

I sign-on 'proper' in ten days time, then every two weeks thereafter.

For how long?

*name has been changed

Into the System

He was right. Forty-five minutes to be precise. To a very nice young lady with a Livepool accent who took me through a vast number of questions. The first one was "Do you want to apply for Job Seekers Allowance?" I said, "I don't know, what's the criteria?" Well, that's not the way it's done. You have to go through the application process, then someone, somewhere makes the decision as to whether you qualify.

Same with Council Tax. "Did I want to apply for a Council Tax rebate?" I said, "I don't know, I suspect I have too much in savings. What's the criteria?" If, at this stage, she had been permitted to say that if I had more than £16k in savings, then don't bother, it would have saved both of us an enormous amount of time.

As it was, I came off the phone, having divulged more personal information to the charming Liverpudlian than I ever have to my gynaecologist, but with a Hot Date with the Job Centre for two days hence.

I can't wait to find out what happens there, beyond the welcoming committee.

Where's the Executive Entrance?

I can do this. I am a confident, experienced, professional. Just find the right door, walk through and find out what this is all about.

There's only one door (surely not?) and it seems the masses use it. Having swept, head high, through the huddle of stereotypical youths lurking at the entrance, I wait for the automatic door to swing open. It doesn't. It is clearly broken. Fine.

I remember looking through the windows of a Job Centre many years ago. It seemed a bright, airy place with row upon row of jobs posted up, and plentiful, helpful JC staff on hand to assist you in your job search.

Instead, I find myself in a dingy, rather depressing space with what looks like a thirteen-year-old as the welcoming committee. He is clearly still learning to shave, but I was glad to see his mother had sent him out with a vest on. Alongside my teenage host is a man mountain. He must be seven feet tall, easily as wide, and with a neck as thick as my waist. He says nothing, but sits calmly next to the young man and observes. I am agog as to his purpose.

"I've never done this before" I manage, before Junior whips out a (badly) photocopied list of telephone numbers and asks, "Do you want to claim benefits?"

Do I? I don't think so. How would I know? I say, "I don't think so" and he looks at rather a loss. This is clearly off-script. He sees my uncertainty as an opportunity and says "Well, you might as well. Call this number, it'll take about 40 minutes so make sure you use your land line." OK. Pause. "Will you be looking for another job?" The question takes me by surprise. Of course I'm looking for another job, this is why I'm there. I brighten at the prospect of sitting down with a consultant to discuss my options and any opportunities they have filed. Instead, he circles a website address on the badly photocopied list and says "It's all self service now. Go onto the internet and look for jobs at this site." My jaw slackens with disbelief.

I don't even get past first base. I am door-stepped. My first visit to the JC, for which I had steeled myself for several days, lasted all of 90 seconds. The hallowed ground of staffed desks beyond the entrance (what mysterious purpose do they have, I wonder?) remains a mystery for the time being. I take my leave. The man mountain has not uttered a word, nor has his expression changed. His mysterious purpose is also, as yet, undiscovered.

Off balance? You bet. I am so far out of my comfort zone it may take me a lifetime to find my way back. Perhaps I never will.