Next is an article I wrote while doing my Open College Writing course at Runshaw College, Leyland, Lancashire during 1997-8. It was published in the Chorley Guardian and drew one adverse comment that I was poking fun at the unemployed. Far from the truth. At the time I was unemployed myself.
The Job Centre
Well, here I am again at the job centre. My once a fortnight trip into town which is now a part of my life. Don't get me wrong; I quite enjoy meeting all the friends I have made in the place. At least we are all in the same boat. Well, those my side of the counter that is.
We all give each other a wave and a nod. I even have my own seat. I don't suppose I'm the only one who sits in it, but it is always empty when I arrive. I like to look through the day's papers. I go straight to the back pages, where the job vacancies are - and the racing pages. Why stand in a draughty bookies picking the day's winners, when I can sit in heated comfort, amongst friends?
Occasionally - very occasionally - I notice a face mising. Either he has got a job or is a new customer at the local undertaker. It's not that I feel morose when I'm in here, just that I am not getting any younger, you know.
I nearly had to pay a visit to the doctor last week after one of the young ladies behind her desk came over to me and said there might be a job on the notice board that may be of interest to me. Of course I went and had a look but made the excuse that I would be too old for it. I mean, could you see me as a hospital porter? Just the sight of my own blood makes me want to lie down in front of the television to recover.
Good old George, who has been coming here as long as I have. He got a job last week. A helper in an old people's home. I can just see him helping all those old ladies into their beds. Dirty old man. Dirty lucky old man. These days the only kind of jumps I enjoy are watching the 5.05 at Catterick.
I walk over and have a glimpse at the various jobs on the board. Well, you have to, don't you. Someone must have spent a lot of time typing all those cards out. at least I can give them a quick once over. What's this? A vacancy at Haydock Race Track. The heart starts to beat faster, sweat builds on the palm of my hands and my legs begin to sag. 'Highly qualified Accountant required'. Typical. Better go and have a sit down; that's enough excitement for one day.
Well, I suppose I better go and sign on and be on my way, before that young lady comes over to me again with another job offer. Two in two weeks would be more than a decent, hard working, unemployed man could stand. See you all in two weeks, God willing. Now, can I reach Ladbrokes before the 2.30 is off?
