Back in Skelmersdale life began to fall back in
to its normal routine, although to call my life normal is a bit of a stretch. The course at TPT had closed and I was
waiting for some instruction from Action For Blind People. I had been told that the nationwide board of
directors had approved the Irish plan in principal and all we were now waiting
for was for them all to physically get together in London and formally approve
the scheme. Once that had happened I was
off to Ireland. I was surprised to see
how many people, especially family, who were relieved that I had finally seen
sense and had taken a normal job. As
with the air cadets, I was only there for my two eldest boys, so although I
found the job with Action For Blind People exciting, invigorating and hugely
rewarding, it was a side line for me, I still was intent on becoming a
professional writer.
I’m not sure whether or not they did it on
purpose but TPT had notified the unemployment office that I was now unemployed,
this angered me, I wasn’t unemployed, I was self-employed. I received a letter that told me to report to
their offices for an interview. I had
dealt with the unemployment office for some time and I was not impressed with
their approach or ability. I didn’t want
to be associated with unemployed people as the ones I had witnessed really were
the bottom of the social pile. I remember
the first time I had gone in to an unemployment office and saw the scuff marks
and damage around interview booths that made me wonder what type of people they
were. As time passed I could see that
yes, perhaps some of the unemployed had no education, no future and no ambition,
but experience showed me that you could probably say the same for the people
behind the desks.
One of the only ways of expressing themselves
would have been to strike out and hit an inanimate object. I went for the interview feeling that I would
be meeting them as an equal, even though I had passed the civil service fast
stream tests and was competent enough to run their whole set up. I was in for a shock. I can remember sitting in a large
office. It had two rows of desks running
along either side of the office and a central seating area for the
clients. I sat myself down and waited. There was a girl at a desk in front of
me. She checked her paperwork and asked
me my name. “Oh,” she says, once I’ve
told her. “I’m supposed to deal with you,
but I haven’t had my break yet.” You
would expect a normal human being to call you over and run through whatever it
was she had to say to me but no, she took out a can of soft drink and a packet
of crisps, sank back into her chair and began to enjoy her snack.
I could feel my ears burning with the rage that
was building up inside me and I could see exactly why people might attack the
booths that these cretins populated.
Suddenly I thought I had discovered a group of morons who would give social
workers and teachers a run for their money in the stupidity stakes. I kid you not; she made me sit there for
twenty minutes while she finished her snack and held a conversation with the girl
in the next booth, about her forthcoming holiday. She then invited me over and asked me to take
a seat. “What have you been doing to
find work?” she asked, as if I wasn’t there. “Nothing,” I replied, which was the
truth. I don’t think anyone had ever
said that to her before. She then began
to give me a lecture on how I had a responsibility to look for work. I interrupted her and explained that I already
had a job; I was just waiting for a start date.
Apparently this didn’t matter. I should
attend one of their courses and learn how to make a CV, they would even help me
prepare for interviews and apply for jobs.
I found it quite funny at her blinkered attitude;
she was treating every person that sat before her as the same. I looked around the unemployment office and realised
that I was in the company of failed social workers. These cretins knew nothing, they had no real
life experience yet they believed they knew everything. I was smiling away to myself at my accidental
discovery of a new and lower group of stupid people when she began to tell me
that should I manage to get an interview, I should try to smarten myself up. ASDA had just opened a huge supermarket in the
town and she informed me that I could get a nice pair of black trousers for a
couple of pounds. This would help me
look smart, and if I had a comb I should run it through my hair. I had stopped smiling now, for this was getting
insulting. I completely shut down as I used to do with the RAF police. I had reached the point where it was impossible
for me to deal with these people in a rational way, they were beyond stupid.
I enjoyed stepping out into the fresh air and
promised myself that I would never go back in to that office. How wrong was I? I got a call from TPT, “How would I like a couple
of weeks work while waiting or Action For Blind People to get their act together?” “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
There is a large office complex in Skelmersdale housing companies like
the Co-op bank, various legal firms, council offices and the unemployment people. The whole complex is called Whelmar
House. The unemployment people have two whole
floors, at one end of the building. TPT
had secured a government contract to run a course for unemployed people. Anyone who had been out of work, for more than
six months, had to attend the course, or lose their benefits. I was to be a course facilitator, on the top floor of Whelmar House. I was to again, assess individuals, help them
prepare their CV’s, letters of application and basically encourage them back
into work.
I went over to TPT to talk to John and find out
some more details about the job. I
explained that the job was a bit of a God send as it would get the unemployment
people off my back and then growled at John that he shouldn’t have informed
them in the first place. “Ah,” says
John. Now; I’ve been in one or two
strange situations in my life and believe it or not I was about to find myself
in the middle of another. “We can’t pay
you,” said John, who, knowing me, must have known what I was about to tell him
to do with his job. My experience of TPT
told me that they were second, if not third, rate people who liked to pretend that
were high flying business people. “What
we would like you to do is submit a legitimate business receipt, or receipts,
every week, for the amount of wages we have agreed, and we will give you the cash.
There was no way I was going to scrabble around finding legitimate
business receipts for TPT every week, however, I had been doing some research for my move to Ireland,
and knew that I should be able to present them with one receipt every week for
the exact amount of wages I was due, and; it was legitimate.
I went to a local travel agent and asked to
book a return flight to Belfast from Liverpool.
It wasn’t enough but with a bit of jiggling, we managed to find a hire
car for three days in Belfast which gave me the exact amount I required every
week. The manager of the travel agents
agreed that as long as I paid the initial amount he would give me a receipt,
every week, and then allow me to cancel the booking, until the following week. This wasn’t the strangest part of the set up
as on the following Monday morning I was stood standing in front of a class
full of long term unemployed people, about to lead them through a two week long
course, that would help and encourage them to find work, and I myself was registered
as unemployed. The classroom was three
floors above the unemployment offices, on the top floor of Whelmar House. It confirmed to me that the whole set up
surrounding unemployed people and government training schemes was absolutely
useless, no one involved had a clue.
But temptation flashed its ugly face before me. Despite being knocked back by Carol Anne Duffy’s
literary agent I was still writing to literary agents and publishers all over
the UK and I was still following the rule, or perhaps suggestion, in the Writers
and Artists Year Book that I should only contact one agent and one publisher at
a time. I now had unlimited access to a
photocopier, free envelopes, free stamps and a long list of literary agents and
publishers that was going to take me eight months, at least, to work my way
through. I had one of those ‘sod it’
moments and wrote to them all in one fell swoop. By the way, thank you very much TPT for
paying for all that postage and stationary, it certainly did help to bridge the
gap between what you were paying me and what I should have been paid.
Some of the people on the course had no
intention of getting a job; they already had jobs and were angry that they had
to attend the course. One or two were unemployed,
didn’t want to work, had never worked in their lives and made money in the drug
trade. Occasionally one or two people
would genuinely ask for help and it was great fun getting stuck in and arranging
grants and funding for them so that they actually could move forwards. But it was the first Friday afternoon that something
strange and sinister happened. A clipboard
carrying girl came in to the suite of offices where we were. She asked to see the tutor and I stepped
forward fearing that I had been found out.
I was registered as unemployed, thanks to the cretin I had initially
met, but I had no intention of returning to those offices and no intention of explaining
myself to these people. By not turning up
they would remove me from their system.
She asked me to sit down with her at a desk, which I did. “Tell me,” she asked, glancing about, to make
sure the classroom was empty. “You’ve
had this lot in for a week now; do you think any of them, who are all registered
as unemployed, actually have a job?” You
know something, I could think of a few but I was sure about one.
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