The fat lady has warmed up her vocal chords nicely.
It is my first lunch-hour in my new employment and I slip out of the office to make my last call to the DWP. I am confirming that I have started work and wish to sign-off. It's a momentous occasion and would have been improved with a glass of chilled champers in my hand, but satisfying enough without.
Dean* is a nice enough lad, but is struggling with the concept that I was not in receipt of benefits. "So, you're on JSA?" he starts and I head him off at the pass. No, no JSA. Not for some time now. "Oh, OK. Council Tax Benefit, then?" Nope, not on that either, never have been. "Housing Benefit?" he asks hopefully. No, I confirm, I have never been in recipt of that either. Pause. "Oh, right then, Tax Credits." It's a statement. I wonder for a moment if I am such a rarity, in receipt of none of the generous benefits available, but I know I'm not, as all other connections in my circle are equally bereft of state assistance.
"No, I'm afraid not," I say and Dean seems disappointed. Perhaps he gets his job satisfaction by calculating how much money the state saves every time someone on full-blown benefits finds employment. I'm afraid I'm rather thin meat for him. "I'll tell you what I have been on," I volunteer and Dean brightens momentarily. I sense his anticipation. "Bugger all. That's what I've been on. A big, fat zero." For a split second I know he's checking his list of benefits for the one labelled 'Bugger All' but he quickly realises I'm pulling his leg. "Oh, OK then." he concedes and I confirm that my call is nothing to do with ending state handouts and everything to do with DWP bureaucracy. I want this chapter firmly brought to a close so I can go home and shred every last piece of paper that reminds me of this surreal - and wholly unenjoyable - relationship.
After all the momentous episodes with the Job Centre, its' staff and maddening, de-humanising systems, this final contact is somewhat of an anti-climax. Like a Roman Candle that promises much but fizzles out with a whimper, rather than a bang. But I'm relieved that it's so. I am emotionally shattered. I have been in this abusive relationship for the last 8-plus months and need time and space for healing of mind, body and spirit. Pulling on my grown-up work outfit and driving to work this morning, I sensed the start of the healing process, but it will take some time.
I end the call and take a deep breath. The world has a whole new perspective right now and I feel vaguely familiar feelings - dormant for some time - stirring within. Self-respect, independence, confidence. It's a start.
So, with apologies to NASA, may I just say, this is Dole Queue Virgin signing-off. Over and out.
*Name has been changed
