Iffishency Rulz

I am early. A whole 15 minutes early.

Daren't risk another ritual humiliation by being a nano-second past my appointment time. I am so early that I have to loiter outside for 10 minutes, trying not to look like a feckless waster. A friend of mine was told off for being too early at his JC once. Seems we really can't win.

The automatic door works! Obviously the JC have been doing their bit to keep automatic door engineers in work. Jolly good.

Eva is back. I try, I really do. She gets a bit waspish when she can't work out from my activity record where I have actually applied for jobs, or where it's research; registering etc., so I make a mental note to use colour coded highlighter pen to clarify in future.

I ask about the SL2JP form and the referral to the specialist agency and this time I really press the point. Even the sluggish nature of the public system must appreciate that six weeks is an excessive length of time to wait. Eva reviews her notes, then without a word swings her way upstairs. I have to assume she's going to track the progress of my application, but for all I know, that's where the staff loos are. I note that Eva wears trainers. I add that to the mental list of 'What I Would Change If I Managed This Job Centre'.

Moments later, Eva is back, this time clutching a green form. Had I filled in one of these? "Err, no, can't recall. Is this to do with the SL2JP form?" I ask. This IS the SL2JP form, I am told. I consider for a moment, then point out that it's blank, which for a form which was processed and in the system seems a little odd. "Yes, I know, you have to fill it in" is the testy reply. And the realisation comes upon me in crashing waves of utter disbelief that my application was never started, was never 'in the system', and had gone precisely nowhere.

Eva avoids my incredulous expression by burying her head in the form to write my name and address. I then have to sign it. That's it. "That's it? That's all you had to do to start the process?" Yes, apparently.

I am a placid person, by nature. I loathe complaining and will eat mediocre food served by surly waiters and still leave a tip. But the extent of such incompetence, and worse, the total lack of acknowledgement of same, pushes me to boiling point. I ask, politely, but firmly, how can it be that six weeks ago you went upstairs and told me it was in Simon's in-tray and would be processed? And how can it be that two weeks ago, I was told that it was 'in the system'? Eva is impassive. But not curious about this systematic failure, and certainly not apologetic.

I am persistent, but polite. "Where precisely has this form been for the last six weeks?" is a reasonable question in the circumstances. It seems it has been in Simon's in-tray, along with all the other blank SL2JP forms. In fact, they come in a tear-off pad. Deep breath. "So, what you are telling me is that this has been sitting (blank) in an in-tray upstairs, and every time I enquired it's progress, this startling fact was missed?" Yes.

My attempts at eye contact are being studiously avoided. "This has wasted six weeks of valuable time" I say, which in the circumstances is quite understated. Eva fixes her eyes on the desk in front of me and says (teeth clenched) "Sorry". It's the kind of apology you force out of your toddler for biting at nursery, when he doesn't mean it at all and only says it because otherwise there's no sweets later.

On the way home from the JC I 'phone My Rock, who I know will be working, unable to answer the mobile, but will have voicemail on. Because, boy oh boy, do I need to vent. There is a toxic mass inside me which needs lancing and this is the best way to do it. I need to say several swear words repeatedly, loudly and with real invective, until I am totally spent.

It takes several minutes.