Unemployment

So my work finally came to an end and I once again entered that great void, that bleak nothingness, that is unemployment. Here in the UK that means regularly attending a 'job centre', confessing your job-searching techniques once a fortnight to an 'advisor' and signing your name on a dull scrap of paper. Oh joy of joys, what fun!

Admittedly it has been quite a while since I set foot in one of these centres, but the time had come when I knew without going there I would ultimately starve to death. So with reluctance and a costly half-hour phone call, a bunch of dreary forms to fill in and my first appointment, I found myself standing outside the threatening office block building knowing what awaited me inside was probably akin to hell. Then the doors slid open and I stepped inside. The unwelcome chamber before me was adorned with vomit-coloured plastic and washable vinyl and contained the unsmiling and unwashed faces of the doomed. Yes, I thought, welcome to your place of purgatory; perpetual despair and pessimism awaits.

After declaring I would work my fingers down to somewhat bloody stumps for the minimum wage, twenty-four-seven and without holidays, I signed my name away for the sake of a few measly pounds. I kid you not, the 'law' now says that I must be willing to travel almost three hours a day for employment and that I will take any opportunity that arises, such as working as an apprentice for £2.68 an hour. I have rent to pay, I have bills. This is just impossible!! But I digress for now I must tell you about the booklet. The booklet, or 'work plan' as it is known, when I received it reminded me of something you might give a child, like the maths booklets we had at Infant School. The booklet has little these check boxes for the most obvious of skills and tasks, such as 'I have a contact telephone number,' or 'I know I can find jobs through employer websites.' It was seriously condescending, deprecatory and absurd, and to top it all off, like a school-child you have to have it marked by your 'advisor,' hoping this week that you've passed and can keep yourself on the edge of that bread line for just that little bit longer.

...Anyhow, after several weeks of searching to no avail, I have grown discouraged and restless. I have grown desperate and hungry. I have felt saddened and lost. I have offered to work for free and been turned down. If nobody wants me to work for them for free then nobody really wants me to work for them at all. Should I give up? Should I start begging?

To sum it all up the job centre thinks that I have the mind of a twelve year-old, and you can have all the qualifications known to man (and man do I have a lot qualifications) but without the experience you're pretty much left on the shelf. Gathering dust. Waiting.