Friday 27 May 2011

The Noose Tightens...

Week 12, now the fun begins.
After waiting the extra 15 mins (for no reason it seems) having had my sign time needlessly changed I go through the motions once again. A list of jobs is paraded before me most of which are unsuitable for reasons of experience (or the lack thereof), transport and location. These factors seem to be something the JC just cannot process. Of course I'm just seen as refusing work, but if I don't have knowledge of the building trade or the only means of public transport doesn't get me there on time. What can I do when it's pointed out that I can get in at 9am (as is evident that I can by virtue of my presence at the jobcentre right now) therefore it must follow that I can get in any time.
Then my next time is booked. Again this seems to require some change in the process. Out comes the green appointment card, indicative of the seriousness of this next appointment. I'm booked on the 10th (hoo-fucking-ray) at the incongruous and inexplicable time of 2.20pm even though my signing time is 9-15am. Why? Who knows, even asking seems to indicate an unacceptable level of curiosity. Apparently the advisor that awaits my pleasure is only available at that time. The wheels move slowly as I try to explain that I might not be able to get in at that time. I can't say for sure as I don't have the timetable to hand and neither does the jobcentre who subtly point out that others come from where I live so, again, what's the problem. I have no idea who else local to me travels to the JC in question, but it's quite likely they have alternative methods of transport.
Then the fun begins: the advisor then offers me a time next Wednesday and my stress/anxiety kicks in. I find myself shrinking inside my own mind watching as anxiety autopilot takes over. I flat refuse that appointment, quite politely and calmly, but I just refuse refuse refuse. It's now quite clear to the advisor that something ain't right with this boy. She seems genuinely concerned, but the system is the system and not much can be done anymore than I can just switch off my anxiety (that's why it's anxiety) and do whatever whenever it's required. She inputs some data onto the system for the advisor and the original appointment is left as is, even though I've no idea how I'm going to get in if the buses aren't running, but rules is rules.
Why is there no discussion of what might constitute a suitable appointment? They get snippy when you say that travelling in on a limited bus service is difficult; as if you are inconveniencing them. It's ridiculous: they don't consider keeping the regular appointment that I clearly can manage but insist on seeing someone that's only available at a certain time. Then, when you have a problem with that (and you aren't given any advance warning or asked what time would be suitable), the system falters like a broken train. Ridiculous. Again.

Saturday 14 May 2011

After the Honeymoon

Got myself a pass from signing on the 29th due to the blueblood's arranged marriage. A pleasant event I'm sure if you're a fan of hats and prearranged events designed to soothe the social outrage going around at the moment. Sorry Dave, nice try. Thanks for the pass though.

Anyway I get back to the Jobcentre and the old stress kicks in. I really cannot deal with attending this place. I can't function under this level of stress. People aren't meant to live like this. God only knows what it's like if your health condition is worse. Why is there no other way for dealing with unemployment than shepherding people to an arbitrary venue and processing a signature? Before the invention of the Jobseeker's Agreement people used to be able to sign via post! Imagine that in the new tory era: IDS wouldn't hear this at all - no profit in it.

So as I attend I find that I, and two others, are to receive special attention: we have to wait for some coordinated effort on the part of hte security staff because we have to go...upstairs! This requires a manoeuvre comparable only to the sort of stuff that must be happening in Libya right now.

We get upstairs and find out that things have 'changed' due, apparently, in part to the fact a few members of staff have left (can't say I noticed a deficit in manpower). This it seems means we have to go upstairs to be seen by some other people to sign on. People no different than the people that are still signing others on downstairs; people I saw last time. It also means I have to come in 15 minutes later. So that's now 30 minutes of wandering around the town centre with nothing to do (nowhere's open at that time of the morning for instance) while an apparently short staffed jobcentre resorts to some byzantine method for dealing with me. None of this makes the slightest sense. Why on earth do I need a security escort to walk up some stairs? I'm no more dangerous than when i first entered the building (and it's not like I got searched then either). The whole thing is typical jobcentre insanity that took longer than it did for me to get signed (thankfully).

I despair of this process. Currently I'm trying to find somewhere to get an Asperger's diagnosis. Though I have to wonder what for. It won't help me sign off, the jobcentre won't accept it as some excuse not to work or to help me find something I can do. They will continue to put me forward for unsuitable jobs and refuse to do anything else until they get tired of dealing with me and I end up falling foul of the system or being shunted off to the likes of Working Links again.

I'm Back!

Years and years ago, before anyone had ever heard of disease and pandemics, I started this blog. I gave it a stupid name from an Alan Partri...