Tel

  Chapter 11

  I hoped my inelegant conduct hadn’t made Caroline doubt her profession. I’m sure it would take more than unwanted saliva and unforgiveable ass cheeks for her to remove herself from the masseur’s table but sometimes you don’t know how your actions affect people until it’s too late. What I didn’t want was to discourage her from the honest and hardworking job that she was doing, which was more than could be said for me.

  Ten days without work doesn’t seem a long time in the grand scheme of things but when you are stuck at home, on your own, with only Loose Women to keep you company, it suddenly turns into a lifetime. Having a year’s salary to fall back on can quickly make you lazy. At first, I thought I could take some time to relax, maybe even learn a language or participate in some wood carving classes, before getting back into the world of work but my mother quickly shot my dreams to pieces when she informed me that a six month gap on a CV to ‘find yourself’ doesn’t go down well with potential employers.

  When I told my parents about the redundancy I kept the bribery quiet. My Dad suspiciously raised an eyebrow at the generosity of twelve months pay but my mother presumed this was how the financial industry worked and commended them on how well they looked after their staff. Little did she know I’d let the family down with my choices but she didn’t half bang on about how I needed to get back out there and do something quickly before the rot of unemployment set in.

  I was quite prepared to rot to be honest, I wrongly thought it my divine right after what I had been through but, as I watched four women dictate to others how to live their lives, I soon realised the idea of rotting was far more appealing than the reality. If a panel of middle aged men had been on lunchtime television, salivating over and bad mouthing the opposite sex there would be a national outcry from the Women’s Movement, but seemingly women doing it to men was perfectly reasonable. And aside from the poor quality daytime television, the trouble with being at home all day was that all my friends (which for once included James) were at work so I ended up going to the Benefits Office more out of boredom than need, which doesn’t paint me in a good light I know, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

  I was fortunate that I had never been in the position of needing the government’s help, being blessed with parents who let me live at home for a pittance before I found my first job and, if I’m honest, I never really thought I would need help after that. I had this romantic notion that I would always be in employment. I also presumed, because I had eighteen thousand pounds in the bank, that I wouldn’t need to sign on for the dole as I was financially sound and could, when the time came, look for work myself. My parents saw it another way, believing not only that I would rot away like a forgotten sandwich but also that I could become ‘lost in the system’ if I did not inform The Department for Work and Pensions of my unemployed status and, as a result, wouldn’t get any of the tax breaks I was entitled to.

  I understood their thinking, I really did, but maybe I was a snob and perceived accepting Job Seeker’s Allowance as a type of failure. Of course it isn’t but when your twenty six have eighteen grand in the bank and don’t fully appreciate what being unemployed is like, you think you’re above the help of the British Government. However, parents can be persuasive bastards when they choose to be and can speak a lot of sense to boot. Besides, sometimes it’s easier to appease them than to stand against them. You have to choose your battles carefully in life and I figured I was arguing against being given an extra £71 a week, which was pretty daft if you come to think of it.

  Walking through the door of The Benefits Office was an experience in itself. I had to navigate my way through a wall of smoke as two dozen chuggers puffed out poison before decorating the entrance with their cigarette butts and when I did get through I was met with a queue as long as the Dartford Tunnel. The atmosphere was less than enthusiastic to say the least, but it was to be expected really, it’s a tough gig wondering where the next pay cheque will come from, if one comes at all.

  I remember my old man being out of work once and struggling to sleep as a result. It’s a vivid image of mine because I woke very early one morning to find him downstairs watching news about Eric Cantona high kicking some fan in the chest because he’d called him names. My old man hadn’t slept all night due to worry, not about Eric Cantona of course, about not having a job so I’d sort of seen what that could do to a man even if I hadn’t appreciated it at the time.

  At the Benefits Office I did as I was told by the receptionist-come-security guard and scoured the jobs advertised on their internal computer system before a meeting with my Job Seeker’s Plus advisor, a woman named Margery who looked to be about twenty five stone and permanently wedged into her chair. I thought I would start with what I knew, whittling the search down to the finance industry but barely anything came up and what did seemed to be part-time work for a robot. I later learned that if I wanted a half decent job I had to go and get it myself. The advisors got paid regardless of whether or not I achieved employment so it was left to me to get off my ass and search.

  When my time with Margery came I was ushered over and gestured to sit down whilst she discussed her lunch arrangements on the phone. I didn’t learn a great deal from those first few minutes but I was richer for the knowledge that Margery would soon consume beef lasagne with a side order of fries and onion rings whilst her friend, Judith, was not to forget her medication because otherwise lunch would play havoc with her bowel movements.

  I didn't begrudge Margery her lunch, not by any means, but I did think discussing it with Judith at the start of our meeting was slightly inappropriate. Still, after Margery had dealt with the important issues of the day she slowly set about enquiring as to what it was I actually wanted to do.

  “Well, I’ve worked in finance as an administrator for the past few years but have been thinking that maybe I could change industries. I mean, my heart’s not set on finance and I would like to do other things,” I hopefully and optimistically told her.

  “Well let’s not run before we can walk,” she sarcastically announced, “It’s very difficult to change industries with the little experience you have but, you know, anything is worth a go so maybe we can look at alternatives further down the line,” she continued, perusing my CV with distaste.

  Her motivation was unparalleled. I expected her to be more like a careers advisor, there to understand and offer advice but Margery clearly didn’t view her role in the same manner. Ambition was not a welcome trait in her presence.

  “Why don’t we just take a look at what finance roles we currently have shall we?” she continued, patronising as hell.

  “Well, is it possible to look at other areas as well, maybe marketing or something similar? I think the skills I have picked up from my past job would transfer over to that line of work and I’d be more passionate about it than finance?” I countered.

  “Oh yes, I agree, they could be used in Marketing but the main focus here Terence is to get you back into work. Of course, we want you to do something you will enjoy but that will come in time, here we mainly want to find employment quickly so you can get back into it,” she replied, unwilling to drop the patronising demeanour and unwrapping a Snickers as she spoke.

  Margery then ran through the same list of jobs I had discounted only ten minutes prior to our meeting and jotted down a couple of them to enquire about further even though I told her they weren’t for me. She offered to ring them for me but I felt that was like a parent passing the phone to a child plus I didn’t want to have to speak to the employer with her listening to my every word, so I said I would make the call in my own time. When she had robotically gone through that stage of the process and systematically taken apart her Snickers she said,

  “Now then Terence, I have written down details of two jobs for you here. To receive Job Seekers Allowance you agree to enquire about the jobs in your own time and make every effort to seek employment outside of the Benefits Office. Fa
ilure to do so will result in your benefit being cancelled by the Benefits Office. Is that clear?”

  It felt like a threat but without agreeing to her verbal contract she wouldn’t have signed my form and sanctioned my weekly £71 so I agreed and duly went on my way, despondent with the whole process but determined that I would be better served finding employment through my own efforts.

  I headed home, still questioning whether I should have been there in the first place but at least £71 richer and with Webber’s wedding to pay for that weekend, I wasn’t complaining too hard. I just had to get through a whole day with Victoria by my side but I figured it would be plain sailing, what was the worst that could happen really?