jobcentreplus

On entering the Jobcentre, now helpfully repackaged as “jobcentreplus” (all lowercase so as not to confused the txt generation) I stood behind the desk marked “welcome”. Behind the desk I could see a number of workstations, all staffed by employees who stared at me as though a customer was the last thing they expected. I continued to stand, and they continued to stare, until another client walked through the door. This person was obviously a seasoned ...
...a random spot on the carpet. Immediately, a member of staff beckoned him over to an interview area. Following his lead I moved to the correct, unmarked area of carpet. In the manner of a movement activated singing fish, a member of staff suddenly sprang into life and approached me.

“I’m due to be made redundant in December” I began. He interrupted, saying, “You can’t claim anything until you’re actually unemployed”. I carefully explained ... more

On entering the Jobcentre, now helpfully repackaged as “jobcentreplus” (all lowercase so as not to confused the txt generation) I stood behind the desk marked “welcome”. Behind the desk I could see a number of workstations, all staffed by employees who stared at me as though a customer was the last thing they expected. I continued to stand, and they continued to stare, until another client walked through the door. This person was obviously a seasoned visitor, as he bypassed the Welcome desk and stood at a random spot on the carpet. Immediately, a member of staff beckoned him over to an interview area. Following his lead I moved to the correct, unmarked area of carpet. In the manner of a movement activated singing fish, a member of staff suddenly sprang into life and approached me.

“I’m due to be made redundant in December” I began. He interrupted, saying, “You can’t claim anything until you’re actually unemployed”. I carefully explained that I wasn’t asking for benefits, I was looking for work. Confused, he suggested I came back when I was out of work, and I pointed out that I hoped to avoid that situation by using his facilities; “Last time I was in a job centre, there were little postcards around the walls with jobs on”. He directed me to a brightly coloured computer terminal, which I had mistaken for a children’s play area as I entered. “All the jobs are on there now. Just followed the instructions.”

I pressed the appropriate buttons for “I would like a day job not too far away”, all 25 of them, and eventually got to the “Type of Job” page. At this point, the programme began to unravel. It was impossible to type a job title into a search engine – instead, one had to scroll down a list of possible categories, and none of them seemed likely to contain the job of Youth Worker. I returned to the welcome desk, realised my mistake and went back to the random spot on the carpet.
The same staff member warily approached me and I explained my dilemma. He returned with me to the terminal, and proceeded to talk me through the many different options, much as one would if talking to a small child. “What area do you want?” “Fairly local if possible” I replied. He selected an area on the map that barely covered Wimborne town centre. “I was thinking slightly wider than that”. It’s not likely that there would be many youth work jobs in my town which I had not heard of, although surprisingly the computer failed to pick up the one two streets away which I had already applied for. I was quickly losing faith. When he got as far as the job category section (where my trouble had begun) he looked perplexed. “What is it you do again?” “I’m a Youth and Children’s Co-ordinator. Youth Worker is fine.” He looked bemused for a second, but not wishing to be caught out by my problem, he randomly selected a few job categories, including the catch-alls of “General” and “Professional.”

“It’ll be under “Health Care” I expect” he stated. When I suggested this was unlikely he appeared most putout and proceeded to show me several jobs that were indeed listed under “Health Care”. Sadly, none of them were youth work jobs. However, he gamely persisted, “Here’s one! Health Care Assistant.” Not wishing to explain the difference yet again between a health care assistant and a youth worker, I humoured him and looked at the screen. “And only £10,000 a year less than my current job”. This was the final straw for him. “You’ll have to be less fussy in December.” I didn’t like to remind him that I had begun to look for a new job early so as to avoid being unemployed at all. His parting shot was “We don’t really cater for people like you.” Seemingly the expected clientele were all 17 years old, and unqualified. They didn’t need the computer screens and gadgets at all – they could simply herd them all behind the welcome desk and let them run the jobcentre.

Postscript: So as not to be completely unfair to the jobcentre, I decided to try out the website listed on the back of the helpful postcard they gave me. At least this had a search facility. I happily typed in “Youth Worker”, giving a maximum travelling distance of 30 miles from my address in Wimborne. Amongst the rather unhelpful jobs based in Bath, Somerset and London was one in the location I had requested. With my qualifications as a Youth Worker, my full motorbike license and provisional car license, the computer had matched me up with the perfect job – Driver in the Army Signals Unit!

 

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