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!

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.

Equality Street

Manchester United manager Alex Ferguson has aired his thoughts on the issue of racism in British football, today affirming, "We should do something about it if it's surfacing again, and be really hard and firm on any form or shape of racism."

Referring to the recent war of (naughty) words involving John Terry vs Anton Ferdinand and Luis Suarez vs Patrice Evra, Ferguson said, "There have been a couple of examples recently, which is not good. In 2012, you can't believe it. It was obvious maybe 20 years ago and the improvements have been for everyone to see."

Ferguson's comments echoed those spoken by Alan Hansen in December, when the Match of the Day pundit said, "Twenty-five, thirty years ago, it was probably in a bad way, not as bad as some of the nations on the Continent, but certainly there's always room for improvement."

Hansen had just been asked if he thought racism was rife in English football, to which he replied, live on air, "No it's not. If you played twenty-five… I think it's better, not only with the players, but with the supporters. I think there's a lot of coloured players in all the teams, all the major teams, and there's a lot of coloured players that are probably the best in the Premier League."

Whoops.

Obviously the Twittersphere 'did one' - with footballers - black and white - and fans alike all giving their two-penneth worth. Former Spurs player Rohan Ricketts tweeted how Hansen was "part of the problem when using that word."

It's a strange situation we now find ourselves in - Alan Hansen, in the midst of a spiel about how racism is a terrible, terrible thing, foolishly says a politically-incorrect word, and the knives come flying out.

Although to say that Hansen is part of a racism 'problem' is another thing altogether: he didn't use the word in a derogatory way, as Terry did when abusing Ferdinand.

Alan Hansen undoubtedly didn't mean to cause offence - but certainly did - and apologised, saying, "I unreservedly apologise for any offence caused. This was never my intention and I deeply regret the use of the word."

There - are you happy now, Twittersphere? The point is, most civilised people understand what language is acceptable, yet if someone does slip up (especially a person of the older generation... sorry, Alan), more attention should be paid to the context in which the comment is said. These things aren't always black and white... (apologies again).

It is slightly worrying, also, how issues like this can be blown up instantly on websites such as Twitter, with great swathes of sweaty-palmed and self-appointed experts clambering onto ever-more tenuous bandwagons.

The instantaneous of Twitter is brilliant - breaking news stories revealed on the site feel positively prehistoric by the time TV news channels and papers can report them - but perhaps more people should sit back, take a minute, maybe have a cup of tea, before letting their under-ripe and under-nourished thoughts go spilling out across their computer screens.    

Now Fabio Capello, who publicly expressed his unhappiness at the FA's decision to strip John Terry of the England captaincy - which happened, remember, because Terry racially abused Anton Ferdinand - has quit as England manager.

Job Update:

Unfortunately I'm still unemployed, and have been applying to as many relevant jobs as possible. Today I attended my first scheduled interview at the Jobcentre. I was asked for my form detailing the jobs I've applied for - you have to take three 'steps' to finding a job every fortnight (basically, you have to apply to three jobs in 14 days) - so I proudly showed my record of jobs I've applied for, which I've updated since December, long before I applied for Jobseeker's Allowance. The chap glanced at it, asked me to sign something, then said we were done. I was in there five minutes. They didn't even look at my CV. Completely pointless. I very much hope the Jobcentre bucks its ideas up for my next appointment in two weeks.

Give Us A Job

I am currently unemployed. It is rubbish being unemployed. I have been unemployed since the start of the year, and having applied to around 30 jobs, have heard back from just three of them.
This is annoying - not so much the fact that after a month I still don't have a job - but that very few of the employers I've contacted have even bothered to reply. Surely any response is a courtesy, even if it were to say, "I'm very sorry, but you're not what we're looking for"?

Almost three million people in the UK are unemployed - and in this respect I feel a mere stray pube in an overgrown bikini zone, that David Cameron and his government have the unenviable task of trimming back. This means that lots of people are applying for most jobs, but in an age of email and cutting and pasting, employers could at least send out a basic generic reply to people who may have spent hours applying for a job.  

Meanwhile it seems the Daily Mail is peeved that UK bosses are recruiting thousands from Romania, tattling that 2,400 vacancies are being advertised in Bucharest, vacancies that, crucially, are being advertised, not filled. And presumably by "UK bosses" the paper means it is "British bosses" who are searching for cheap labour from overseas? It's always those bloody British.

Today I telephoned Jobcentre Plus to apply for Jobseeker's Allowance and spent 25 minutes being interrogated by a man who had all the charm of an SS guard. He had a real twisted indignation - he was in work and good, and so I, being out of work, was bad. By the end of the call I felt like I'd been questioned in the Nuremburg Trials.

So off to the Jobcentre I went - an appointment was organised with real efficiency for myself to attend an hour after the phone call - and upon arriving I felt a strange sense of excitement. I'd never been in the Jobcentre before. There was a burly security guard, who wouldn't have looked out of place outside Yate's or guarding a prison, which, I suppose, it a bit what being a bouncer at Yate's is like. But why does the Jobcentre need to employ a burly security guard? There must be people fighting over jobs!

The Jobcentre was full of people who were busy doing nothing, but my interviews went well and the two ladies I spoke to were actually very nice. Given my journalism background, and that I would be happy to work in the retail sector or behind a bar, I was recommended one job: a film extra in a production of Les Misérables. I think I'll give this a miss.

I will finish with a plea: does anyone have a job for me? Are there any jobs out there? Is there anyone out there?!