Baby steps

Another rainy summers day, another appointment at the Job Centre Plus. I'm pretty sure that plus should have an exclamation mark like Yahoo! after! every! word!

Entering, I find four members of staff huddled around the 'Welcome Lectern'. Not one of them speaks to me, but one does actually look at me without uttering a single word. I introduce myself, state the time of my appointment and which department it is with - all this to the person who is actually looking at me. He still doesn't utter a single word to me. This is just plain rude, but I may be hasty. He could have been the victim of severe brain injury, or maybe he's riding high on something - his vacant expression doesn't give me many clues. A cheerful little woman does pipe up and leads me to a chair to sit, where I can look through delightful photocopied job pages. I don't want to touch them, somehow I fear I could catch despair and failure off them.

Anyway - I'm going for a Next Steps interview. Their tagline is 'Helping you get on in work and life'. I think it should be 'Helping you consume European Social Fund money so it doesn't get spent on something worthwhile.'

The whole idea seems based around sitting down for half an hour or so and having a nice chat (but no tea and biscuits - how rubbish is that? You simply cannot have a meeting without a brew). They do ask you work related stuff, but how many different people can you tell the same story? I'm starting to get bored of talking about me - which isn't usual. So I sit down with my adviser and it all starts.

I'm trying to keep eye contact with the woman conducting the interview, but its really hard. She's got these massive eyes. It doesn't help that she looks like she could do with a few good meals - her emaciated features just accentuate the eyes to comedy proportions. What's worse, every time I use a technical phrase she doesn't understand she actually widens her eyes a bit more. I didn't think that happened in real life, but sure enough she keeps doing it over and over again.

Then another adviser behind me starts going mad at one of her 'clients' down the phone. Sounds like he couldn't be arsed to get out of bed by half nine to attend an interview. Apparently he doesn't have a phone and doesn't have any credit on his mobile. The adviser doesn't seem to ask him how the hell he's calling her, but there you go. It shouldn't be too hard to outwit these people then.

So I've heard I can get paid for training courses for professional qualifications. Mad-eyes blinks once and says that they don't pay for it. 'That's not what the woman at the last meeting told me,' I say. 'Funding is changing all the time,' she says. What? In less than 6 weeks we go from unlimited funding for two week courses to no funding?

We chat on, and then she suddenly reveals - 'Oh yes, you can have funding for courses.'

No hang on. My deductive powers are not razor sharp, but I think I've spotted a flaw in her statements. Resisting the urge to shake her roughly by the shoulders and point this out her using colourful language I ask politely why she said just before that there was no funding.

'We don't fund it - it comes from a different department, but we can organise it all for you.'

No! No! No! No! Mindless f***ing idiot! You could have pointed this out before and saved five minutes of my ever dwindling life.

After the half hour of chatting, giving the same information over and over, agreeing nothing I leave. I only pass a couple of people on my way out. It's still raining, but at least every time I've left the job centre so far I've felt like the Brain of Britain.