Unemployment

Having recently found myself unemployed yet again, I decided to bite the bullet and claim benefit, which I haven’t done since I was 18.

There’s no Job Centre in Driffield though, so I had to go to the beautiful market town of Beverley for an “assessment interview” or whatever they’re calling them this week.

My appointment was at 12:20 and I arrived just after 12 to show I was keen. I needn’t have bothered. Why are they now called Jobcentre Plus anyway? It sounds like a really low-budget TV channel. The place was just as depressing as any I visited in the mid-90s. They may as well just paint all the internal walls grey and be done with it.

Predictably they were “running a bit late” so 12:20 became 12:40.

My first question was “can I claim back my bus fare?” Not an unreasonable request as I had to travel to another town. “No,” was the answer. I’d somehow managed to forget that I was solely responsible for the closure of the Driffield Job Centre some years ago and therefore had to pay to £7.50 for the pleasure of getting there.

A series of patronising questions were asked and I was given a booklet in which to write everything about what I was doing to look for work. I resisted the urge to write in it there and then “attending bullshit interviews with people who assume I’m an idiot.”

Thankfully, due to Jobcentre Plus’ inability to conduct appointments on time, I missed the bus home by five minutes and was forced to spend almost an hour waiting for the next one. This meant I could now buy a pork pie as I wouldn’t be home at a reasonable time for lunch and some fags because I was thoroughly hacked off.

Due to the luck of the draw of my National Insurance number, the first time I needed to return to sign on was the following day. Hooray! I could spend another £7.50!

The 10:30 appointment meant that I would need to take the 9:05 bus to arrive on time. This gave me chance to kill 45 minutes in a Caffe Nero when I got to Beverley, drinking hot chocolate with people with ironic haircuts and cool shoes.

Again I banked on being seen on time, rather foolishly. The bus home was at 11:05 and they didn’t call my name until 10:45. It was a race against the clock.

“Have you done any work, paid or unpaid?” asked the faceless drone.

“Not in the 22 hours since I was last here, no,” I replied.

I was talked at for a few minutes and then I signed to say I agreed to everything they said, which could include having to give them both kidneys for all I know.

I physically ran back to the bus station and flagged down the bus as it was reversing out of the bay. Luckily I was allowed on and was spared the repeat of an hour in pork pie and cigarette hell.

See you in a fortnight, Beverley. I now have a new incentive to find work as I really don’t want to be arrested for petrol bombing your stupid Jobcentre Plus.