Jobcentre Plus Part 2 - More Madness (2/2) By Martin Nickson

(1/2), (2/2). Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

At this stage I would like to invite any Canadian readers to take part in an experiment that will not cost them a penny, although it may cost them a little time. The experiment is to locate the Jobcentre in Hull, and try to telephone them. The results are amazingly consistent, regardless of whether you call during opening hours or not. In an effort to reduce unemployment statistics, the office has developed the simple but effective ploy of not answering the phone. Ever.

Having managed a workforce of fishermen on the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia I'm not about to be deterred by this transparent tactic, so I bicycle down to the JC Plus office to find out more. Being back in the UK means that I remove both wheels, lock them to the bike rack(making sure that it IS firmly embedded in concrete), remove the seat, panniers, lights, water bottle holder and water bottle and give a pound to a nearby youth to 'mind me bike'.

Twenty five minutes after arriving at the JC Plus Office, I'm ready to enter. Inside the office, a burly Pinkerton security guard denies me access ('No entrance without an appointment, sir'), but gives me a badly photocopied piece of paper. It strikes me that badly photocopied pieces of paper are a developing theme in the UK, and maybe I could get work as a photocopier salesman. I also wonder why he bothered saying 'Sir' when he really meant 'Workshy scrounger'. No time for pondering though, because the paper gives me a free phone number, which I am invited to utilize in order to further my claim. At last! The HOLY GRAIL!!

The phone call to process my claim actually took an hour, and was either semi-automated, or I was talking to a cyborg. Two days later, I recieved a fourteen page booklet, which I am now thinking about completing, featuring the same questions as the cyborg asked, plus a few bonus questions.

One of these bonus questions is 'Have you come to the UK from Montserrat after 1995 because of the volcanic activity?'. Page 5 features the question 'Are you being held in custody until a trial?' I answer NO to both these questions, especially the second one, which I think is a trick question, designed to snare dumb criminals, because I realise that if I had been held in custody and then escaped, my first instinct probably wouldn't be to go straight to the dole office. Also, if I had stopped to claim benefit during my flight from British justice, any chance of showing a clean pair of heels to the pursuing cops would be have been badly impaired by the three day wait for the form, not to mention the traceable phone call.

Later tonight, I might take this form down the pub, and fill it out over a few quiet pints. I'm promised an interview on Friday to review my claim with a special Careers Advisor. Part of me wants the Careers Advisor I am to see, to be the person I was trying to get information from last week.

My accent is still, regrettably, a commentable rarity round here, and I have no doubt that person would remember me. I'm now convinced that she's a kind of 'tough love' genius and her apparent uselessness of last week was actually a complex initiative test. By getting this interview, I think I've passed, at least the first part that test. I hope she's impressed, I certainly am, by which I mean that my dealings with British bureaucracy so far, have certainly made an impression on me.

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