As my friend would say, I flipped a shit. No one had bothered to tell me the time had changed: no phone call to landline or mobile, no letter, no email. The news obviously hadn't reached an Eastern European lady, too, who stood outside looking as confused as I was. I demonstrated my fine grasp of the English language by unleashing a succession of expletives. She looked impressed.
I wasn't prepared to wait around for half an hour, so tried to get the attention of the security guard inside. He ignored me. Soon several Jobcentre staff descended the stairs; they'd patently just had a meeting. I got the attention of a chap in a suit, who held up all his fingers and mouthed "10".
Being able to read, this was slightly galling. I flapped the piece of paper which detailed my attendance arrangements; he came over and asked if I could post it through a tiny gap between the doors. "It would be easier to open them," I said, struggling to squeeze the paper inside. "I can't," came his uneasy reply. I felt like a zoo animal - except I was locked out, not in.
After checking my details he returned to say my appointment was at 4.20pm. That was it - I made the international sign of being finished - crossing my hands and drawing a horizontal line from the middle outwards - and left. I'd now have to spend another half an hour on a bus to get home.
By the time I did I was furious. I rang the Jobcentre to speak to a lady, we'll call her Caroline, whom I was meant to be meeting, but of course, she wasn't around, so I spoke to a lady we'll refer to as 'Ivy'. I expressed my disappointment to Ivy, who was very nice and said she'd ask Caroline to call me.
Later someone rang from the Jobcentre we'll label Jane. Jane tried her best, bless her. She said that she couldn't tell me why no one had notified me of the time change until I came in a 4.20pm and she could see my attendance arrangements.
I had two seperate pieces of paper which listed today's non-appointment at 9.30am, but Jane wouldn't take my word for it. She wanted to see them. I told her I was annoyed that I'd had to get the bus into town just to come home again. "We'll reimburse the bus fare," Jane said nonchalantly. "It's not about money," I said, "what about my time?"
To which Jane sensitively replied, "To be fair, you are a Jobseeker; time shouldn't matter."
I flipped a shit. Again.
How dare Jane, a representative of the Jobcentre, say this to me? As if my time didn't matter - because I'm unemployed. My time on this planet is not worth as much as someone's who works. At the very least I could've spent two hours LOOKING FOR A FUCKING JOB!
(This doesn't mean I'm looking for work in the porn industry, by the way, but I'm close to considering anything).
Jane had to terminate the call. I rang back, complained to Ivy again, who was very nice again, then finally, Caroline rung.
By this time it was damage limitation. Caroline apologised twice for the original balls-up and once on Jane's behalf.
I still wasn't sure whether to attend the 4.20pm appointment, at first feeling like I would be returning with my tail between my legs, but after consideration did, and was as charming and smiley as I could be.
An example of the bureaucracy of the Jobcentre: I have to fill out three forms because I did a few hours' work writing an online guide for a website for £20.
The Jobcentre has paid me no respect or regard whatsoever. I was made to feel very small, and what I was told by Jane was cruel and completely unprofessional.
I feel confident enough to bite back when I've been wronged, but I bet many people on Jobseeker's don't. I'm concerned that a lot of Jobseeker's are made to feel this way.
At a time when the Department for Work and Pensions is causing controversy, Jobcentre staff should be inspiring confidence in Jobseeker's to get out there and find work, not making them flip a shit.
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