Apathy

Monday. It must be signing-on day again. I have total sympathy with Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

Putting my positive head on and grasping this week's clutch of applications, I skip up the steps and almost collide with Man Mountain - the last person I expected to see. What happened to Le Mans, I ask? Apparently he's been and come back and on his return, discovered that some wretch had stolen his beloved motorbike. His face looks thunderous and he's muttering darkly about retribution. I hope whoever stole it can run fast.

Taking my seat in the holding pen, I see Kate through a doorway and she waves and calls out hello. We exchange pleasantries across the floor and I feel like an honorary staff member. Perhaps I'll get an invite the the Christmas Party? I bet that's a riot. What's the betting party poppers, balloons et al would be banned on 'elf & safety grounds? Or simply banned because they were fun? I don't think the JC is meant to be a fun-emporium, it's meant to be a destination of shame where hopeless wastrels like me come to be chastised for our idleness.

There's only two on again this week but I've not long sat down before Sean calls my name. I'm feeling bullish today and when he asks me what I've been doing, I tell him. I tell him that the advice I was given two weeks before is wrong and at total variance to the DWP website and JobCentrePlus telephone service. I tell him that I am working - true, only for a dozen hours per week and not paid, but working none-the-less and LOVING it! I get to engage grown-ups in business conversations and I love it, love it, love it. A good dose of cold-calling has also helped with my confidence when it comes to my job applications and I have become quite stalker-ish about following them up. I am pig-sick of sloppy, un-professional and downright rude recruiters and I tell him so.

Sean then asks how I got on with Linda, the lady-who-knows-all-about-training-opportunities (allegedly) and says he saw me come in for my appointment with her, then saw me leave about 5 minutes later. He thought it was odd and I confirmed that Linda was in fact not-the-lady-who-knows-all-about-training-opportunities and had told me so in pretty terse terms. "Yes, she can be a bit abrupt", was his only comment. That was it. Next subject.

I fantasise about this scenario happening in the private sector. Can you imagine a customer receiving such non-service and no-one else within the organisation stepping in to take up the case and re-refer it to the appropriate place? (OK, OK, I know Virgin Media, BT, Talk-Talk and in fact any other company that outsources its' 'customer support' to far-flung call centres easily fall into the category of stupendously bad, but let me make my point).

Sean clearly feels this is not within his remit, so we move on and I really can't be bothered to fight any more. The solution to my jobless-ness is within my own hands and will have zip to do with the DWP. I ask Sean to sign my ABI1 form and all of a sudden I feel like I'm in a loveless marriage, an arrangement of convenience. We're going through the motions and the attraction has long expired.