I found the jobcentre with a few minutes to spare. A member of staff on his ciggie-break informed me that I couldn’t enter via the wheelchair access ramp because it’s for staff only. Since I am not a wheelchair-user, I climbed over the low fence to get to my designated entrance and he complimented me on being 6’5″. It was rather surreal and he overestimated me by five or six inches, but I let him off because he looked like a friendly old person from my church. I digress. Sorry.

The inside of the jobcentre was spacious, bright and airy. There was a few people standing around in the open area at the entrance and some more industrious stuff going on behind some screens, which bore slogans extolling the virtues of employment and the helpful services of jobcentres. With the exception of the overly-ubiquitous G4S security guards, nobody in this area was in uniform or had a badge, so I couldn’t tell the difference between fellow benefits claimants and members of staff. I caught the eye of a woman who didn’t seem to belong anywhere and wasn’t doing anything except standing there looking timid. She seemed to be dressed a little smarter than the rest. Reasoning that she’s probably more scared of me than I am of her, I tentatively approached. She neither welcomed me nor backed off, so I explained why I was here. Luckily, she pulled out an appointments list, thereby demonstrating that she was, in fact, a member of staff.

Timid Tina (I don’t know her real name – no badge, remember?) seemed surprised that I’d come five minutes early. She warned me that appointments usually start late, so I might be waiting a while. She instructed me to wait in the waiting area and somebody would call for me presently. I explained that I have a hearing difficulty and may need to be called more loudly than usual. I did as I was bidden and found the waiting area to be quite pleasant, as waiting areas go.

Despite my request for an extra-loud call-out, the gentleman who summoned me was noticeably softly-spoken. Fortunately, I happened to be looking in his direction, so I knew that he was calling for me. We’ll call him Softly-Spoken Stan since he might prefer not to be named on this blog.

I liked Softly-Spoken Stan. He was respectful and listened to what I had to say. He explained that we’d go through my application and discuss my ‘claimant commitment’, which is all the stuff I have to do to get paid jobseekers’ allowance. When it became evident that the discussion of my financial situation might take longer than normal, he apologised that the interview would be rushed because he only has a forty-minute timeslot and even suggested that I apply for backdated payments from the date on which I last worked. Thanks Stan!

We went through and amended my online application. I’m half Sri Lankan. These forms frequently don’t really make allowances for Asian-style financial practices, so I had to write a supplementary statement, reminding Stan to countersign it. I’m not sure how relevant my financial affairs are, given that I’ve paid my National Insurance contributions for the last four years and should therefore be entitled to JSA irrespective of my financial circumstances. We then discussed my life, work history, educational background and medical conditions, with a view to filling in another online form about what jobs I should go for and what I should do to get them.

Stan was decidedly uncomfortable putting down the more specialist rôles that I suggested, instead preferring to enter lower-grade generalised rôles such as ‘lab technician, teaching assistant, support worker’. (No offence intended to the many people who do excellent work in these rôles. Many of you are undervalued. It’s just that I’d like to use my degree to make my student debt and the years I spent studying worthwhile.) Presumably, getting me off the dole and out of the unemployment statistics is the priority here, rather than making the most of my skill-set and ensuring that I find a stable position in which I am likely to remain.

I too was decidedly uncomfortable. For my part, this is because I found myself discussing my finances, health, education and work history in an open-plan office in which all and sundry might hear my personal concerns. I was unable not to hear plenty of juicy details about my fellow claimants. The lass next to me used to work as a nursery nurse and would like a similar job because, as a mother, …

The process was lengthened somewhat because the blank forms and leaflets had not been restocked, requiring Stan to twice run around in search of copies. Nonetheless, we were able to shake hands and wish each other a pleasant afternoon before the forty minutes was over. My next appointment with Stan is on 02⋅02⋅15. Meanwhile, my paperwork is to be sent to Nottingham for processing.

So here’s what I got out of it:

Figure 7⋅1: Things to bring home from the interview

A: ‘My Work Plan’. This is some kind of log that I have to use to prove that I’ve done some work looking for work.

B: I went to the local apothecary after the interview to pick up my keep-me-mentally-stable pills. I didn’t have to pay the prescription charge because I’m on JSA! This saved me £8.05, to offset against the £4.20 ‘bus fare. These are the pills. If you have really good eyesight and a high-resolution monitor, you might be able to work out my drug of choice.

C: A goodie bag which they gave me so that I can carry all my stuff home. It also contained a slice of heavily-iced birthday cake wrapped up in a brightly-coloured serviette, but I ate that on the way home.

D: An improvised photocopy of a ‘Universal Jobmatch’ leaflet. I am required to register for this thing.

E: A ‘Backdating your Jobseeker’s Allowance’ form. (So ‘jobseeker’s’ is singular? I’ve been getting my apostrophe positioning wrong. Sorry.)

F: ‘My Jobseeker Profile’ and ‘My Claimant Commitment’.

I lied about one of these. Can you guess which one?