You Can Do It!

Today I found myself holding my breath in a room with six other grown adults, who each held theirs too. No it wasn't some strange sex game - it was a careers advice workshop!

And it was actually quite helpful. Well, more helpful than the automatons at the Jobcentre, who organised today's 'jolly'.

We discussed securing jobs, our CVs, and preparing for an interview, and how the way we view ourselves can differ from how we are seen by others.

We looked at examples of how this relates to people in the public eye. My partner and I were given Labour leader Ed Miliband.

These are the ways in which we thought Ed would describe himself:

- Powerful
- Capable
- A Born Leader
- A Man of the People
- A Family Man
- A Good Communicator

These are the ways in which we thought of Ed:

- A Joke
- A Nerd
- Weak/Wet
- Privileged
- Boring/Bland
- A Poor Communicator
- Manufactured
- Pampered
- He Lives in the Shadow of his Brother

... not all good then.

We also looked at potential interview questions - such as the killer 'What's your favourite animal?' followed by the slightly tamer 'What's your second favourite animal?'

My answer to question number one was 'Dog', and my answer to number two was 'Military Dolphin'.

The best piece of advice I heard today, however, was a technique to get your CV to stand out during recruiters' keyword searches: to fill the white - or empty - space on your CV with particular keywords - but, and here's the clever bit, CHANGE THE FONT COLOUR OF THOSE KEYWORDS TO WHITE!

So these keywords won't be seen by the naked eye, yet they'll be picked up by computers during keyword searches. Genius!

I would shake the hand of whoever thought of that.

All in all, there was a lot today to keep us positive. Although when I need some motivation, I just imagine Arnold Schwarzenegger saying, in his thick Austrian accent, "You can do it!"

Or I watch this video.

Unemployable

This just in: I've received a reply to my letter of complaint sent to the Jobcentre, after they treated me like a dog.

This reply came not from the Chief Executive, to whom I sent my letter, but from the District Case Manager of my local branch. For ease, we'll call the District Case Manager from my local branch 'Ronald'.

It seems I'd gone over Ronald's head with my complaint - I'd asked the Jobcentre receptionist exactly how to complain, and she told me of a leaflet, on which I got my grubby mitts, that described the complaint process in very plain English (basically written as if an 'editorial' from the Sun newspaper).

That process is:

Stage 1. Tell the Jobcentre your complaint.

Check.

Stage 2. Get in touch with the District Manager.

Now, I'd already vented my spleen and other internal organs to two Jobcentre staff, neither of whom had offered to put me in touch with Ronald, nor told me to write to him.

Given this, I skipped straight to:

Stage 3. Writing to the Chief Exec.

Anyway, I received a reply from Ronald. He did apologise, but in the kind of forced way kids do when they've been caught monkeying around putting chewing gum in each other's hair.

Ronald's reply spends far too much time apologising for rescheduling a meeting without informing me (leaving me on the Jobcentre's doorstep, something I'm very much over), and not enough time apologising for one of his member of staff's unprofessional and juvenile comments. 

(I love calling someone who works at the Jobcentre "unprofessional", when I'm unemployed, it just feels right.)

Ronald agreed that these comments "could have been phrased more appropriately" and he apologised "that they were not".

I've been down the Jobcentre today, for an interview with my 'Personal Adviser', Caroline, who is lucky enough to have been already mentioned on this blog.

Caroline is tasked with helping me get back into work. This is the first meeting I've had of this kind, over a month since first signing on, and in fact, I haven't received any monies yet.

She told me that actually there is very little she can advise me on with regards to finding a job - I guess because I'm so very good at looking for work, despite not actually bloody finding any.

Maybe I am good at jobseeking - I did do some research this morning into finding the perfect font for my CV. I've stuck with Times New Roman - not because I'm a boring everyman, but because I came to the conclusion that I couldn't give a fuck what font my CV's in.

At the Jobcentre we scrolled through a list of jobs and stopped at one which I thought sounded fun: News Editor for the Halal Food Foundation - which I now need to contact, because I showed an interest in the job. Somehow I don't think it's for me, though; they're probably looking for someone who at least eats halal food, not someone who simply realises that halal food exists. 

Caroline has also organised for me to attend a 'career management workshop' next week, where I'll learn how to get the right hair, when to smile and make eye contact, and how to project my voice. I'll also get to network - with other unemployed people. Hurrah!

The Art of Complaining

Oh, how to fill these long days of unemployment! Well, I've been writing lots of angry letters. It's a pastime I've enjoyed for a while, but something I can really now focus on, as I've so much time on my hands. 

It has been said that the British don't like to complain - I'm trying to redress the balance. I'm getting pretty good at it - I'd say I've pretty much mastered the medium of the angry letter.

A couple of weeks ago I earned £33 in one day - for doing nothing... except complaining. One of these complaints was justified and fairly serious, the other was not very serious at all.

I realised on a Sunday evening when trying to access my internet banking that my debit card was locked, so the following morning I called my bank to find out why. This led ultimately to a complaint and an angry email, which I've just re-read, littered with words like 'flabbergasted' and 'laughable'.

I explained my problem over the phone and was told how to unlock my card at an ATM. I asked how my card had become locked and was told that the only way it could happen was if my pin was entered incorrectly three times. 

At this point I became concerned; I hadn't used a cash point for some time - I'm unemployed and have no money - and, because I know my pin, definitely hadn't entered it incorrectly three times. 

I raised my concerns and was put through to someone in online banking. 

This person then explained how to unlock the card at an ATM. Yep, you've guessed it: I'd already been told how to unlock the card. That wasn't the problem. I was concerned my card had been compromised. These concerns were not taken seriously. In fact, I don't think anyone I spoke to even realised why I was concerned. 

I asked to be put through to a security team and was put through to Martha... in Customer Service. She told me to unlock my card. I knew I had to unlock my card; I wanted to know how my card had been locked. 

All three people I spoke to told me that the only way it could happen is by entering the pin incorrectly three times. I hadn't entered the pin incorrectly three times. I asked at which cash point this had happened. Martha couldn't tell. Much later on in the phone call she told me the date the card was locked on - I hadn't left the house that day. I asked Martha if she thought she should've disclosed the information about the date my card was locked when I originally asked at which cash point it was locked. She didn't know. The resolution of all this was that, basically, should my card be accessed fraudulently, then I should call them again. How's that for security?!

Martha asked - twice! - if I was satisfied with the service she'd provided. I definitely wasn't, and told her I felt I was hitting my head against a brick wall. All three people I spoke to didn't understand my concerns, and had the attitude that if my account was accessed illegally, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. 

It was pure comedy - and not in a good way.

The outcome of this debacle was that I would simply have to wait to see if anyone other than myself accessed my account. I was confident this wouldn't happen, as whoever had tried to access it obviously didn't know my pin, or they wouldn't have locked my card. 

I eventually received a call back from another lady who told me that not many people - even the telephone banking staff I spoke to - realise that a card can become locked if its pin is entered incorrectly at a number of different cash machines. I then remembered that I had put my pin number in incorrectly once, when I first got back from travelling, and that I'd let my friend use it to buy drinks when I was too drunk to do it myself - the night we met Bramble and her owner. He could've entered it incorrectly too.

Case closed, and for my trouble, the bank put £30 in my account, "to cover the cost of the call" - and their arses. 

The other £3 I earned came from the yoghurt company Muller. I was shocked and appalled to discover that a multipack that should've contained three different flavoured yoghurts, only contained two. I promptly sent an angry email off and received £3 vouchers in the post. Yes!

The upshot of all of this is that, now well practised in the art of the complaint, I've targeted a bigger fish - the Department of Work and Pensions. After the way I was treated recently at the Jobcentre, I've sent an angry letter of complaint to the Chief Executive, asking for an apology. 

Watch this space as to the outcome!

Jumping through hoops at the Jobcentre

I'm still unemployed. Today I turned up at the Jobcentre for an appointment at 9.30am, to be met with a sign saying: "As of 13/02/12, the Jobcentre will not open until 10am on a Wednesday."

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.