Thank you, Job Centre Plus

Today was my final trip over to the local Job Centre to sign on, and they didn't disappoint. Anyone who is looking for something to blog about could do worse than visit a Job Centre, sit in the waiting area and listen to some of the conversations. As with Ronald MacDonald and the Nazi timekeeper, I swear the people in there knew that I was writing a blog and today they really put on a show for my final visit.

In the waiting area were two of the chavviest looking blokes you've ever seen, and what follows is a rough version of the conversation they had (apologies to Irvine Welsh):

Chav 1: Man, it's really changed in here since ma day. Thur wiz nane ay this waitin aboot or security guards. Ye jist came in an queued up until some cunt could see ye.

Chav 2: Ah ken, aye. This is fuckin mental. An ah'm no used to places like this, ken? Ah'm a grafter an ah aiways huv been.

Chav 1: Ah, me an aw. How much dae the cunts gie ye nowadays anyway?

Chav 2: Fuckin forty quid a week. It's fuckin brutal.

Chav 1: (visibly shaken) Forty quid a week? Fuckin hell. That's fuck all.

Chav 2: Fuckin right. Ah used to make mair about a hunner quid a day. Forty quid wiz a bad day's choryin.

(For those of you who don't speak fluent Scottish chav, 'to chore something' has nothing to do with tasks and errands. It means to steal something)

I'll skip the part where one of them went into great detail about how is ex-girlfriend hit him in the face with a driver because she had walked in on him and one of his friends 'spit-roasting' another woman. I was quite disappointed when my name was called and I had to leave the waiting area. I'd never thought of thieving as 'graft' before, and I severely doubt they were using the American variation of the word. I suppose I'll miss the Job Centre.

Thank you, Job Centre Plus

My rescheduled appointment was today and thankfully I had no contact with the evil bitch from Hell who set about me last week when I was a few minutes late. Mind you, I think the people who run the job centre must know about this blog as yet again they provided me with some fantastic material for these posts.

The first man I spoke to there was called ... wait for it ... Ronald MacDonald (you can see from the picture just how welcoming he was). Feel free to make your own jokes at Ronnie's expense - I'm sure he's heard them all before but if anyone can come up with something original, answers on a postcard to the usual address. Next up was not The Hamburgler but a very pleasant woman who, unless I'm very much mistaken, actually had a sense of humour. I'm not sure how she got through the screening process humouro intacto, but it proves that it can be done. Spent about half an hour with her detailing what I'm doing to find work (didn't mention the blog) and then went off on my merry way into yet another miserable January afternoon.

As far as the nine million applications I've made so far it's been more of the same. I was quite impressed by one rejection so I'll quote it in its entirety:

Thanks for your details. Unfortunately your experience is not right for
this role.

Short and to the point. It makes a change from the usual guff about the quality of the candidates and so on. If only it were possible to write cover letters in a similar style:

I'm fucking ace. I want this job. Here's my CV.

Perhaps this could be the beginning of some kind of recruitment revolution.