This is my real experience of my time in a job centre. After my first visit, I knew that I had to write all other visits down for people to understand what it is like and for those people who have also experienced it, to empathise with me.
My rants and thoughts
Minute 1 – I walk into the long corridored room with workers at the edge of it and the dolites sat on settees in the middle, like cattle at a market. Just as I sit down, a woman from behind her desk begins to shout the name Ricky Johnson. She does this 8 times without moving her rotund arse from her chair, you know in case he is deaf or hard of hearing. I assume that we just sit and wait as there is nowhere to book in to say you are here, even though I have an appointment. Ridiculous & confusing to me, never mind the illiterate people who attend this place.
Minute 2 – The rotund one has now stood up and is talking to a colleague wasting her time where this Ricky is. “Oh he might be here, try shouting again” I hear her colleague advise her. I am biting my lip to shout “WHY DON’T YOU SEE IF HE IS HARD OF HEARING AND IF NOT, HE ISN’T HERE SO, NEXT! but I refrain as I will probably be made to wait longer or the tall, muscular security guard may place his Doc Martens so far up my arse I will be whistling his laces for the rest of the day.
Minute 3 – As I stare at my smartphone I can already hear two desk clerks flirting and doing nothing. This happened last timeI came to the job centre. Could you possibly stop looking at each others sexually attractive body parts until later and actually do some fucking work. Its a chore I know but at least you have a job. There are a dozen people sat waiting, okay they don’t need to rush off to work or anything but they HATE being here. You can suck him off later love, just get us seen so we can leave as soon as possible and try and escape the gang of drugged up, alcoholic losers who stand outside all day and try to find a job. That would be a good idea now wouldn’t it (that part was supposed to be said in a patronising voice just like the one they use when you tell them you don’t have a job).
Minute 4 – The chav next to me is looking at me. I decide to put my smart phone in my zipped pocket and check where my wallet is. He turns to me and informs me that I have to book in otherwise they won’t know that I am here. Bless him, it has taken him 4 minutes to pluck up the courage to tell me that, or it took 4 minutes for his brain to send the information to his mouth. He shows me the desk that I have to go to and its the one where the lazy cow who was shouting Ricky was still sat. She was interviewing someone when I arrived so how the hell was I supposed to know that you had to book in there. After I tell her my name, I looked around for any signs to tell you this. There are none. Dicks.
I sit back down and thank the chav, he does not respond but then he probably isn’t used to hearing compliments.
Minute 5 – Feck me its hot in here. It is either all of the hot air these gimps are spouting about there being plenty of well paid jobs out there or this is where our tax is going, to heat the job centre and make the unemployed even more uncomfortable. I noticed the security guard inch closer to a massive black bloke who just walked in. No stereotyping there then is there, besides the security guard wouldn’t stand a chance if he kicked off anyway.
Minute 6 – One woman is working like a trojan and has seen two people already and is on to the third. The rest are just sat staring into their pay slips, licking each others lips, probably on social media sites & laughing at us pogs as we sit here and roast. There are two men sat in suits opposite me and I woman has just walked up to them and spoke about them being interviewed for a job soon. I had to laugh as they both looked down her top at the same time and then looked at each other. They then both checked her out as she walked away. The only thing that was missing was them high fiving each other.
Minute 7 – Now the staff behind me are talking about Christmas shopping instead of seeing us. My lips are about to burst and I was waiting 15 minutes last time I was here.
The sentence “aw it’s out of order man” is spoken behind me as two disheveled, pale looking scruffy gits walk past me. They look like they have not eaten for weeks and they stagger out of the door. I look around and notice that there are lots of people walking about aimlessly. More people have turned up but no-one else’s name has been called out.
Minute 8 – I have just noticed that one woman at a desk on my right has been highlighting with her head down for 8 minutes. I then hear my name to be seen. I walk over to the desk and my interview begins.
INTERVIEW – I sit down and she asks if I have wrote down all of the jobs I have applied for, rang up about and been into shops for. I say no, but before she has time to have a go, I tell her that I have found a job. The relief in her face is apparent and I swear I hear Kool and the Gang singing ‘Celebration’ in the background. She tells me to keep signing on until my CRB clears then I can get what is entitled for me to receive. My next interview is on the 22nd of December so I will have to force my way through the dickheads who are last minute Christmas shopping and there will be nowhere to park. I REALLY hope that I never have to visit a place like that again. It is more depressing going to that place and searching for a job than any job in the world makes you feel.