I don't know Jenna, but if she wants to be my new best friend, that's fine with me.
Jenna is on the other end of the 0845 number that leads directly to JobCentrePlus. It's 8am and I'm determined to get in early. A late night 'phone call from a mate (the PRINCE2 mate) leads me to believe the JC have got it wrong. About me not being able to work for a limited number of hours, that is. Surely not? I mean, this is a massive deal, considering the number of people who go through that JC, all, surely, asking the same question.
I ask Jenna what the limitations are. "Sixteen hours" she replies promptly. Yes, but doing what, I ask? The question stumps her. "Well, anything you like". So, I press on. I'm not limited to charity work then? "No, of course not". And it's OK for me to take advantage of this unpaid training opportunity? Jenna hesitates, but only because she thinks it's a trick question. If she were permitted, I'm sure she would come out with "Duuur"?
There's a pause, then Jenna says, "But your JC should be able to tell you this". I explain to the dear, wonderful, girl that my JC is saying the absolute opposite and there was me about to sign-off and lose my precious ABI1 form. Jenna is at a loss and advises me to check out the DWP website, which does, indeed, confirm the 16-hours-do-what-you-like-get-paid-or-unpaid rule. (Of course, any earnings will be deducted off JSA, but seeing as I don't get that anyway, and mine is unpaid work, it's a double-moot point).
I put the 'phone down with a sense of supreme relief. Thank goodness. I can proceed with this opportunity, continue to job-hunt on the side and not get evicted. Trebles all round!
It's not till later that I get mad. Fuming that essential government policy can somehow be so badly misinterpreted by those in a position of trust, advising the desperate. I'm not sure how I will tackle this at my next signing-on. One thing's for sure, I will tackle it.
Perhaps I will get them to 'phone the fragrant Jenna. My new best friend.
Thursday 10 June 2010
Mission Impossible
Groundhog Day.
Up the stairs again, this time The Bejewelled One directs me to the Mysterious First Floor. I like it up here. It's a much nicer view and you're away from the proles.
Linda welcomes me and I am brimming with optimistic anticipation. I have all the information about the certified course I am interested in and can't wait to see what they can help me with.
"I really don't know why they've made an appointment for you to see me today. I can't tell you about training, it's not what we do". As an opener, it's not encouraging, but I can't believe Sean can have got it so wrong. Perhaps she doesn't understand? I explain the proposal but she has a definite look about her that brooks no argument. Pushing the info across the desk, I explain that someone I know has had PRINCE2 sponsorship, so surely this is on a par?
With a reluctant sigh, Linda rises to consult God. During her abscence I begin to deflate. Two, consecutive days of total negativity drains even the most boisterous spirit and all of a sudden I've had enough. I feel like the hate-hate relationship I have had with the JC is in its' glorious death throes and I can't wait to be out of its' toxic clutches.
Linda is back and I know it's a No before she even sits down. Perhaps, if I had a letter from this company, stating that this certification was an absolute must, backed up with a guaranteed job at the end.......well, perhaps. But, otherwise, it's a firm No.
She pushes a business card across the table to me. "You could talk to these people", she suggests. It's a ghastly, government-sponsored organisation that helps with CVs, interview techniques etc., and they meet in the local library. No. No. No. Not for the first time I realise that the DWP just doesn't get it.
I take my leave. Prolonging this abortive appointment is pointless, and I find myself outside the JC doors within approximately 7 minutes of entering them.
Thank goodness I got free parking.
Up the stairs again, this time The Bejewelled One directs me to the Mysterious First Floor. I like it up here. It's a much nicer view and you're away from the proles.
Linda welcomes me and I am brimming with optimistic anticipation. I have all the information about the certified course I am interested in and can't wait to see what they can help me with.
"I really don't know why they've made an appointment for you to see me today. I can't tell you about training, it's not what we do". As an opener, it's not encouraging, but I can't believe Sean can have got it so wrong. Perhaps she doesn't understand? I explain the proposal but she has a definite look about her that brooks no argument. Pushing the info across the desk, I explain that someone I know has had PRINCE2 sponsorship, so surely this is on a par?
With a reluctant sigh, Linda rises to consult God. During her abscence I begin to deflate. Two, consecutive days of total negativity drains even the most boisterous spirit and all of a sudden I've had enough. I feel like the hate-hate relationship I have had with the JC is in its' glorious death throes and I can't wait to be out of its' toxic clutches.
Linda is back and I know it's a No before she even sits down. Perhaps, if I had a letter from this company, stating that this certification was an absolute must, backed up with a guaranteed job at the end.......well, perhaps. But, otherwise, it's a firm No.
She pushes a business card across the table to me. "You could talk to these people", she suggests. It's a ghastly, government-sponsored organisation that helps with CVs, interview techniques etc., and they meet in the local library. No. No. No. Not for the first time I realise that the DWP just doesn't get it.
I take my leave. Prolonging this abortive appointment is pointless, and I find myself outside the JC doors within approximately 7 minutes of entering them.
Thank goodness I got free parking.
What would Stelios say?
Having managed to skive last week's additional appointment, I skip up the stairs to the JC, greeting Man Mountain and Mr In-Tray with a breezy good morning.
The waiting area is quite empty, apart from a couple of stoic souls, who, (judging by the way they all keep looking at their watches) have been kept waiting for some time. It's unclear why this should be. I count the desks.
Desk One, empty.
Desk Two, Adorable Emma, but not seeing punters, she's answering the 'phone. Gosh, this is a first.
Desk Three, a youngish lad. Solid build, looks eager.
Desk Four, double-take. It's Crumpled Brenda, in black again. I expect this will now be her Monday outfit for the next six months.
Desk Five, empty.
Desk Six, can't see, but there's no mistaking the delicious corruption of those vowels. That has to be Zsa Zsa, obviously down for emergency cover again.
Whilst waiting, I tune into Adorable Emma's conversation. Well, you can't help yourself, really. She seems to be advising someone who has a legitimate reason for having to rearrange their signing-on. It sounds like they have secured an interview, something you think would result in champagne corks popping and congratulations all round. Apparently not, as this inteferes with the bureaucratic function of the DWP and is Not On. "You will have to come in for a 'Sit & Wait' appointment" says Emma. As opposed to a Sit & Wait & Wait & Wait appointment like the rest of us then? I'll have one of those, please.
The eager young man calls my name and I find myself sitting across from Sean*, who, I establish, has only been working here 9 weeks and LOVES it! Loves it, loves it. It's great to meet someone so happy in their role. He came from banking, apparently. Well, sombody has to.
I tell Sean that I have the opportunity to work (unpaid) with a local company, who will train me in their sector, give me valuable skills and, if I work out, there could well be a job for me at the end of it. I will keep within the 16 hours per week allowed, so I just need to inform him, I think? Pause. Long pause. "Oh, I don't know about that", he says, and rises to consult Zsa Zsa. After a few minutes I notice Mr In-Tray is also in the fray. A 3-way conversation about me, but not with me. Nice.
Sean comes back. "No, you can't do that, it has to be for a registered charity, not a commercial company". Really? That's a blow. Well, what would happen if I took this offer up? They would sign me off, apparently. No more NI contributions, no more ABI1 form. Bugger all.
What about making this a Work Trial then? I know the DWP sponsors those? Sean, again, shuffles off to consult Mr In-Tray, who, this time, comes across to the desk to deliver the negative news. No they won't.
So, Mr In-Tray, let me re-cap here -
No, I can't do unpaid work.
No, if I do it I won't get my NI contribution paid.
No, if I do it I won't get my ABI1 form signed.
No, they won't make this a Work Trial.
I ask him what happened to the spirit of enterprise that made this country great? How on earth did all those Dragons get into their Den? He has the grace to concede that The System does not exactly encourage endeavour and initiative. As if The System was a beast of autonomous, uncontrollable nature, as opposed to a man-made disaster.
Swallowing my disappointment I move onto the accredited training available for this new role I have been looking at. I pass over all the details and ask if the DWP would part-fund this investment in my future? (I only ask as I know of someone who has had their very expensive PRINCE2 certification co-funded, so it's worth a punt). At last, Sean feels like he can be positive and says that although he can't advise, he'll make an appointment with Linda* on the Mysterious First Floor, as she's the one who can tell me everything about what's available. Hurrah! I leave with an appointment for tomorrow morning.
Yes, I know two visits in two days will take stamina, but for the goal of funded training, I can do this.
Bidding a cheery adieu to Man Mountain, I tell him he'll see me again tomorrow. Oh, no he won't. He's off for the next 6 weeks, working as a steward on various sports fixtures, here and on the Continent.
I wonder if I'll still be a visitor here, when he returns?
*Names have been changed
The waiting area is quite empty, apart from a couple of stoic souls, who, (judging by the way they all keep looking at their watches) have been kept waiting for some time. It's unclear why this should be. I count the desks.
Desk One, empty.
Desk Two, Adorable Emma, but not seeing punters, she's answering the 'phone. Gosh, this is a first.
Desk Three, a youngish lad. Solid build, looks eager.
Desk Four, double-take. It's Crumpled Brenda, in black again. I expect this will now be her Monday outfit for the next six months.
Desk Five, empty.
Desk Six, can't see, but there's no mistaking the delicious corruption of those vowels. That has to be Zsa Zsa, obviously down for emergency cover again.
Whilst waiting, I tune into Adorable Emma's conversation. Well, you can't help yourself, really. She seems to be advising someone who has a legitimate reason for having to rearrange their signing-on. It sounds like they have secured an interview, something you think would result in champagne corks popping and congratulations all round. Apparently not, as this inteferes with the bureaucratic function of the DWP and is Not On. "You will have to come in for a 'Sit & Wait' appointment" says Emma. As opposed to a Sit & Wait & Wait & Wait appointment like the rest of us then? I'll have one of those, please.
The eager young man calls my name and I find myself sitting across from Sean*, who, I establish, has only been working here 9 weeks and LOVES it! Loves it, loves it. It's great to meet someone so happy in their role. He came from banking, apparently. Well, sombody has to.
I tell Sean that I have the opportunity to work (unpaid) with a local company, who will train me in their sector, give me valuable skills and, if I work out, there could well be a job for me at the end of it. I will keep within the 16 hours per week allowed, so I just need to inform him, I think? Pause. Long pause. "Oh, I don't know about that", he says, and rises to consult Zsa Zsa. After a few minutes I notice Mr In-Tray is also in the fray. A 3-way conversation about me, but not with me. Nice.
Sean comes back. "No, you can't do that, it has to be for a registered charity, not a commercial company". Really? That's a blow. Well, what would happen if I took this offer up? They would sign me off, apparently. No more NI contributions, no more ABI1 form. Bugger all.
What about making this a Work Trial then? I know the DWP sponsors those? Sean, again, shuffles off to consult Mr In-Tray, who, this time, comes across to the desk to deliver the negative news. No they won't.
So, Mr In-Tray, let me re-cap here -
No, I can't do unpaid work.
No, if I do it I won't get my NI contribution paid.
No, if I do it I won't get my ABI1 form signed.
No, they won't make this a Work Trial.
I ask him what happened to the spirit of enterprise that made this country great? How on earth did all those Dragons get into their Den? He has the grace to concede that The System does not exactly encourage endeavour and initiative. As if The System was a beast of autonomous, uncontrollable nature, as opposed to a man-made disaster.
Swallowing my disappointment I move onto the accredited training available for this new role I have been looking at. I pass over all the details and ask if the DWP would part-fund this investment in my future? (I only ask as I know of someone who has had their very expensive PRINCE2 certification co-funded, so it's worth a punt). At last, Sean feels like he can be positive and says that although he can't advise, he'll make an appointment with Linda* on the Mysterious First Floor, as she's the one who can tell me everything about what's available. Hurrah! I leave with an appointment for tomorrow morning.
Yes, I know two visits in two days will take stamina, but for the goal of funded training, I can do this.
Bidding a cheery adieu to Man Mountain, I tell him he'll see me again tomorrow. Oh, no he won't. He's off for the next 6 weeks, working as a steward on various sports fixtures, here and on the Continent.
I wonder if I'll still be a visitor here, when he returns?
*Names have been changed
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