Running the gauntlet

Some weeks ago I went to enroll in college where I was told by a charismatic man of a certain age and attractiveness that, as I'd be leaving my job at [cinema] before I started my course, I should sign on and come back in to enroll when in receipt of benefits as I'd then get the course for free rather than paying the hefty £950 fee. "Sign on, even if it's just for a week. I'm a tax payer and I don't have a problem with you doing that. I just want my students to get the best deal," he said, sweeping his hair out of his eyes with a rolled-up-shirt-sleeved arm. I nodded, trying not to let my mouth hang open. Not paying £950 sounded good to me but little did I know I was about to face an ordeal worse than exam term at Cambridge, worse than vomit on a ten hour shift at [cinema]. We hear about people that make a living by scamming the government, claiming benefits in different cities and I say let them keep the money. It's a full time job trying to extract one payment from them, I can only imagine the effort and patience required for four or five.

College gave me a form to be filled in and stamped at the Jobcentre. So when I went to sign on for the first time I brought it with me. After signing on:
Mavis: Miss F?
OGH: [goes and sits down at the table]
Mavis: [sighs in a loud and protracted manner] Book?
OGH: [hands over book]
Mavis: Sign here. NEXT!
I went downstairs and asked about getting my form stamped. I was shown immediately to a table where a nice young man called Tristan filled out my form quickly whilst making polite conversation and then I was on my way within the hour. I felt surprised and pleased that everything had gone so smoothly. However at this point I had no idea that I was already undergoing ORDEAL BY INCOMPETENCE. I took the form to my college, which is on the other side of South London to my home and the Jobcentre, and proudly handed over the form to the fee assesment lady. "Oh no," she shook her head, "Oh no, they've put an end date!" she prodded at the relevant part of the form with a fingernail manicured in hot pink, "Can't take it with an end date! The benefits have to be ongoing, look." She pointed to another part of the form where this was clearly stated. I inwardly cursed Tristan and his friendly conversation and complete lack of concentration. I had to wait for half an hour to see a smiley woman who confirmed that, yes, the form was useless. "I'm really sorry, you'll have to get another one filled in. God, it's in Woolwich! I'm sorry hun."

So was I, very sorry to be trailing yet again into Woolwich Jobcentre with a new form clasped between my fingers. I was a bit better prepared this time but there's no real preparation for ORDEAL BY OBSTRUCTION. First I was told that in order to see someone I'd have to make an appointment. Obviously the most natural way to do this is to sit on a jobcentre phone on hold for fifteen minutes before getting through to the main call centre in Belfast where you give them your NI number and they then put you through to the jobcentre you are sitting in where you are finally given an appointment for an hour and a half's time. An ingenious system. I'd been waiting about for over two hours when I finally saw Don, a flamboyant gentleman who waved me over in a manner that wouldn't have been out of place directing air traffic.
Don: Now what can we do for you?
OGH: Well, I've got my P45 to be faxed over...
Don: Oh gawd! I don't know if I'm supposed to be doing that! Oh gawd! Where do I send it...
OGH: New Claims.
Don: Oh Gaw... Really? New Claims? Oh right, I'll just fax that over then! Right. Anything else?
OGH: Yeah, could you just stamp this form for me? I've brought it in before but it was filled out incorrectly.
Don: Oh gawd! I can't do that! I'm not authorised! We're short staffed today and I'm not authorised! What's you NI number?
[types it in and presses return repeatedly while the computer beeps angrily]
Don: See? I'm not authorised! Bring it in tomorrow morning and Linda will do it for you. NEXT!

Linda sat in front of me the next morning looking apologetic. "I can't stamp that for you as the claim isn't coming up as live on the system." She typed my NI number in again and the computer beeped another emphatic "NO!". I showed her that I had, in fact, had the form filled in before. She looked over it and tutted, "Tristan!". My patience was running extremely thin. It seemed that this was ORDEAL BY MISCOMMUNICATION. "I have been here three times with this form," I said, my anger barely controlled, "I need it to enroll in college, if I still have a place after all this incompetent faffing." She called head office for me. Apparently the person handling my claim was away from their desk but would give me a call that afternoon and when they called I should make sure that they'd put my claim live on the system, then come in the next morning to get my form stamped. Of course I got no such call. I spent the evening near to tears through frustration, melodramatically flinging myself onto soft furnishings demanding, "Why won't they just stamp my fucking form? All I want is to better myself! Another chance at education!"

So, Wednesday morning, day three, I awoke with a steely determination. I gathered numbers and stepped into ORDEAL BY CALL CENTRE. This determination didn't falter when, having been on the phone to him for half an hour, the first man I spoke to told me my claim would probably take four to five days, too late for me to enroll, before realising that I'd been given the wrong number by the website and his call centre didn't cover Woolwich. The next number told me that my claim should have gone through but I'd have to call my local Jobcentre to get them to enter my last signing on date. I called Woolwich and was put through to a rather confused man.
Confused Man: What do you want?
OGH: Er, I need my last signing on date entered onto the system so my claim can be processed.
CM: Right. Are you on New Deal?
OGH: No...
CM: Well you shouldn't be talking to me then, who gave you this number?
OGH: I was put through by Woolwich jobcentre.
CM: Give me your NI number... right... you can't sign on today, you sign on on Fridays.
OGH: Yes, I know, I just need my last sign on date put...
CM: You come in on Friday to sign on, you can't have money today.
After hanging up I decided it was probably best to take direct action and went into Woolwich again. At the Jobcentre I waved at Don, smiled at Linda, realised I was probably in there more than some of the staff.

At the front desk I explained that I needed my sign on date inputted so that my claim could be processed and was given a number to ring and shown to a phone. At [cinema] we were taught to use the "Talking to a Brick Wall Technique" on very difficult customers, essentially just repeating yourself over and over again. I decided that this would be my tactic.
Callcentre Employee: Hello, NI number please... right, how can I help you?
OGH: Could you put my last sign on date on the system so my claim can go live please?
CE: Right... just doing that now... Right, you sign in on Fri...
OGH: Is my claim now live on the system?
CE: Well, I'll put a note...
OGH: Is my claim now live on the system?
CE: If you come in on Fri...
OGH: Is my claim now live on the system?
CE: Yes!
OGH: Right. Thank you.
And so I went and had my form stamped and filled in correctly by Linda, then had a trouble-free enrollment at College. VICTORY. Still haven't got any money though.

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it

Nine thirty on a Saturday morning is for being in bed. It's for reaching groggily for pain killers to numb the hangover before turning over and going back to sleep. If you're a particularly enthusiastic type, it might be for fucking. But what it's emphatically not for is standing in the grim lobby of Woolwich Job Centre Plus. I was greeted by two security guards, and a man with his shirt hanging out who handed me a sheaf of papers and pointed me towards a chair. There I studiously checked over the details that I'd given over the phone (she'd misheard my phone number and apparently not even made an attempt to hear my last work dates). I painstakingly signed and dated every correction and then turned my attention to a form I had to fill in. The first question read, "Do you have any problems with English or Math's that would prevent you getting work?" Yep, "math's". This was a portent of things to come.

When I was finished I was called over to see Julie (not real name obviously, especially not with my memory).
Julie: Hello Miss F. [shuffles papers] Now I see here that you've studied at university.
Our Glamorous Heroine: Well, I...
J: Oh! Sian! I thought you weren't in today!
Sian: I was feeling a bit sick but I thought I may as well come in... Dave, fuck off out of my chair! Did you hear that Darren walked out yesterday?
J: Really?
S: Yeah, he had to be escorted off the premises!
J: [Realises that half of the job centre are looking up from their forms, listening with rapt attention] Sian! That's company business! Don't talk about it in front of customers! Yes Miss F?
OGH: Well, I actually dropped out after two years due to illness.
J: Right, have you got the letter from your university stating that you no longer attend?
OGH: Er, no, the woman on the phone didn't mention having to bring one.
J: Tchuh. They don't make our job any easier for us!

After that little chat I was asked to take a seat again ("No, not that seat Miss F, the completely indistinguishable one directly next to it.") where I waited to see another 'adviser'.
Claire: Right, I just need to ask you a few more questions Miss F... just one minute... Sandra! Sandra!
Sandra: [comes over leaving her own client] Yeah? Oh, right, what you do is you just click yes or no for each question and then it comes up red or green at the end, then you just delete it and put successful or unsuccessful.
C: So you have to do it even though you just delete it straight after? That's stupid! [sticks tongue under bottom lip and gurns making an "uuh" noise]
[Enter manager, a bloke about my age who could have done with a shave, from behind a glass partition having noticed the conflab.]
Dale: Everything all right ladies? You're remembering to do the [incomprehensible jargon procedure]?
C: Yeah, yeah.
[Exit manager Dale.]
S: Hahahaha, he asked me if I was doing that earlier and I was like, "Of course I am," but I didn't have a clue what he was on about!

Having finally got through the questions (Claire: Any qualifications? OGH: Yeah, 10 GCSEs, 5 AS levels, 3 A levels Claire: AS levels? Never heard of them! OGH: Just put 3 A levels...) I was informed that yes, I was eligible for JSA (green, successful) and asked if I had any questions.
OGH: Er, yes, I have to bring in proof that I left university due to illness. Where shall I bring it in to?
C: One minute... Dale! Dale! This lady needs to bring in proof that she's left uni because she was ill. Where does she give it in to?
Dale: [comes out from behind his partition again] Er, that would have to be Procedures.
C: But the public can't give stuff to Procedures.
D: Oh, right, yeah, I guess she'd have to give it to New Claims then. Yeah, just come in and go upstairs to New Claims...
C: But she won't be allowed without an appointment
D: Nah, she can just tell reception that she needs to hand some stuff in and it'll be okay.
C: Right, so what you need to do is come in and ask for New Claims
OGH: Oh really?

I have to go in to sign on tomorrow. I haven't filled in my form stating what I've been doing to look for work this week yet. Somehow I don't think "read article in the paper about the phone sex trade" is going to cut it either. Sigh. Wish me luck.

Irritating Customers: A Study

Working in customer services, sometimes you can tell when someone is going to be a difficult customer before they open their mouth. For example, the ugly and rather effeminate man who approached my till with his face screwed up into the sort of permanent grimace that suggests the universe has left a bad taste in his mouth. I sold him a ticket with the utmost politeness and helpfully told him the time when he asked. However, this was not good enough, for this customer was of The Complainer variety. The Complainer has not had a fulfilling day unless they've found themselves inconvenienced in some way and had an opportunity to moan about it. So for this man good service just wasn't enough.
Ugly man: [In an irritated manner] Erm, could you get a clock in here please?
Our Glamorous Heroine: Er, pardon?
UM: A clock, a clock! So we can tell the time?
OGH: Oh, I see ah...
UM: There's no clock in here, no clock in the Grafton Centre and I don't wear a watch so I've no way of telling what time it is
OGH: ...
UM: and you're running to a schedule so surely it would be convenient if you actually had a clock
OGH: Do you own a mobile phone?
UM: ...yes.
OGH: You can tell the time on that.
UM: [Glares for a minute, then flounces off]
Work Colleague: I hope that wasn't a mystery shopper.

Or the man who accosted me on gate and asked me about the films we had on the other day. He was a perfect example of The Lonely Old Person. The Lonely Old Person likes to come in during the day, when it's not too busy, to use their senior discount and have a good natter with people who are trying to do their job. This particular man was enormously tall, wearing an ill-fitting woolly hat and smelled a bit like a wood pile. I humoured him, tried not to mind his constant use of my name and semi-personal questions, recommended him In Bruges and thought that was the end of it. Unfortunately the very next day he came lumbering up to my till.
Jolly Green Giant: Hello! I came in yesterday.
OGH: Yes, you did.
JGG: You recommended me a film and the acting was terrible.
OGH: Oh, I'm sorry. I really enjoyed it.
JGG: That's okay. I can see why you recommended it. I suppose it's the best of a bad bunch. Ranulph Fiennes was good in it though.
OGH: Er, I think you mean Ralph Fiennes, Ranulph Fiennes is an explorer.
JGG: Oh yes. I'm old you see. I make mistakes like that. You see, I'm old, I just want to see a film with characters in it. Not a film for children. I'm too old for that.
OGH: To be honest, you might consider going to another cinema with a selection more to your taste.
JGG: But this cinema is so convenient. What about this film? Does it have characters? Real emotions? Integrity?
OGH: Er, Forgetting Sarah Marshall? I don't really think...
JGG: Oh never mind, I'll take a ticket to it.
OGH: [Dreads to think what he'll have to say about that next time he comes in.]

Then there's The Downright Stupid. A fine example of this customer group was the large gaggle of American students that came to concessions the other weekend.
Group Leader: Hey, five tickets please.
OGH: Which film would you like to see?
GL: Uh, that film, y'know the one with the American actor dude.
OGH: You might have to be a bit more specific.
GL: Uh, Bruce Willis, that's it, Bruce Willis.
OGH: There isn't a film with Bruce Willis out at the moment.
GL: There isn't? Are you sure?
OGH: Yes, do you mean Kevin Spacey? George Clooney?
GL: Yeah, that's it! George Clooney!

And finally there's The Unlucky. The Unlucky have the misfortune to be served by me after a day of dealing with The Complainer, The Lonely Old Person, and The Downright Stupid and committing a minor indiscretion. For example the youth who came up to me and demanded "Popcorn!" to which I snapped back, before I could stop myself, "Please!". Or the unfortunate pair of Cambridge students who came to my till at the end of a long day.
Cambridge Student 1: Two students for 27 Dresses.
OGH: Could I see your student cards please?
[CS1 and CS2 get their cards out]
CS2: [to CS1] Oh my god, look at your photo!
CS1: You should see my driving license, I look awful! I look like a lesbian!
OGH: [With eyebrow raised] Because being a lesbian is the worst thing in the world.
[CS1 and CS2 blush embarrassedly and hurry off with their tickets].