You Wait Eleven Weeks For One Job…

As most of you will know, I’ve been having about as much luck on the jobs front as big T.

Until now that is. Yes, it would appear that I have secured not one but two jobs – sort of.

In a prefect illustration of how life can never just be simple, I agreed to take a part time job on Monday there after a couple of days “work trial”. Work Trial of course means that you turn in and don’t get paid. Magic.

Well, no sooner had I called the Breu to tell them I was coming in to sign off than I got another call telling me I had another, better job pending background checks and references.

Cracking eh?

I have to go in and tell my new boss that he’s in fact my new former boss the morra.

He’ll not be chuffed, as he was training me up to cover a holiday he’d booked for the end of August, so I’m not sure whether he’ll want me to work on ‘til he finds someone else or just punt me on the spot.

Of course, there is also the worst case scenario that I’ll burn my bridges with this guy and end up having some sort of problem with the other job, but I feel I have to give him as much notice that I’m offski as possible.

Then of course I’ll have to sort out the whole mess with the Breu, who seem to be full of earnest enough but not-very-bright people who generally haven’t a clue what they are doing.

Setting up my two-day work trial took about 10 phone calls and a visit for example, a process during which simple things like notes on my file that I was told had been made weren’t.

Of course, they also managed to fuck up my money, leaving me more penniless now I’m back working than I was when living the life of a dole king.

Reading Tom’s posts about looking for work and agencies and the like, I have to concur with most of his experiences.

It would appear that recruitment has become the new marketing in as much as every employer has an unnecessarily complex recruitment system that acts to divest management of the genuine responsibility of hiring and is an extremely wearing and awkward process for people seeking work.

It would also appear that the business is full of people phoning it in who are abysmal at what you’d consider a key component of the job – communication.

Like Tom, I’ve had "interest" from agencies that has dissipated despite numerous attempts to follow up.

The job I’ve landed isn’t exactly a dream, but compared to my last full time job, it’s like winning the lottery.

But by far the most satisfying aspect of landing a half decent job is the thought of not having to deal with scam agencies, an inbox full of "job alert" emails and a Jobcentre Plus advisor huckling me out the door so she doesn’t miss her coffee break.

Plus being able to afford comics, food and clothes will be great.

Phew!

Who Wants to Spot Me?

I joined a gym yesterday. Another benefit of being on the burro. Cheap access to fitness. I’m not really what you would call a fit guy and this was the first time I’d been in any sort of gym since I was in the BB.

I did fear some Frank Spencer style mishaps as I attempted to negotiate some of the equipment, but for the most part I seemed to know how to use it all. Or I made a fair attempt at looking like I did at least. The locker was the only thing I seemed to have any sort of trouble with.

The gym of course offers social interaction in enclosed spaces and it wasn’t long before I was sat in the saunarium with two girls who looked about 14 discussing all-you-can-drink holidays in Lanzarote, a guy talking about publicly hanging paedophiles and an old guy offering his thoughts on Rock Hudson. “You wouldn’t think to look at him. He made some good pictures too.”

For the most part I quite enjoyed it and as I didn’t die of heart failure I’ll probably be back.

A Day In the Life Of A Dolie

One of the few good things about being on the scrap-heap at 38 is that your day can end up quite varied. Take today for example.

I got up about 10am, which is fairly late for me, had my coffee and had my usual half hour of fannying about the net looking for football news etc.

I spend a few minutes looking for jobs on the job websites - nothing doing.

Hung out the washing.

Had a wee half hour on the Playstation.

Made myself braw for signing on. Headed out to the Breu, signed on, came home.

Now here's where it really starts to pick up pace.

After a lunch of microwaved mac and cheese while watching Kids in the Hall, I got cracking with a range of pressing tasks.

First I did the lawn. It was really needing it. Did a wee bit of weeding as well.

Came in, finished off a spooky Western comic I'd been writing. That took a couple of hours.

I then had a wee bit more of a go on the Playstation.

Then I dusted while listening to Frank Zappa, swept the kitchen floor, swept the bathroom floor, hoovered the hall and the spare room, washed the bathroom floor, hoovered the living room before going upstairs to hoover the bedroom and wash the upstairs toilet floor.

Visitors the morra you see.

Then I watched a wee bit of "The Henry Rollins Show" before the missus and the wee one came back in from their lives in the real world.

I, of course, got off my mark and got the tea straight on for them.

I'm no long sat down let me tell you.

I suppose if you'd told me five years ago that I'd one day be dividing my time between sweeping, mowing and writing supernatural cowboy stories I'd have said you were daft, but I've had worse days. Most of them in an office.

Security Alert at the Dole

I've just been to sign on. I got to see those Group 4 security boys in top class action. Lining up to wait to see a 'floor manager' was a young Asian girl, and a white Glesca stoater.

As he took his place in the queue behind her, he said something along the lines of,

"Why aren't you working in your shop?"

Taken aback by this the girl asked him what he meant.

"You know what I mean," the stoater replied.

I think that was the last word he got in as the girl voiced her objections to his patter in no uncertain terms. So much so that a security guy attempted to step in. He radioed for his pal to come through from the back, while asking the stoater to step away.

When his younger assistant arrived he was in the process of telling the girl to calm down. The second security guy thought it was her that was getting chucked out and made to launch her.

"Naw, it's no' actually her. It's this guy."

The stoater was then asked repeatedly to leave.

"But I've got a giro to collect."

"I'm sorry sir."

"Can I just get my giro?"

"Sorry sir."

"Can I get my giro after that lassie's away?"

"You're going to have to leave sir."

Eventually he left. Then came back. Was told to leave, this time by practically the whole staff and some folk signing on. Then left again. The girl was literally shaking and announced that the incident would bring on her epilipsy.

Perhaps the guy had seen her working in a shop and was ready to do what the posters in the buroo say and shop her. But more than likely it was that casual racism that Glasgow's managed to develop a reputation for.

The Boys From the Blackstuff

What I have to say in not unlike what Fraser has already posted. I went in to sign on this morning in Partick.

I too spent an hour on the phone a few days ago with a lassie in a call-centre, as she asked me a load of questions to inaccurately fill out a form for me. Among the major mistakes that she made was multiplying my final wage by ten, making it appear to the dole that I would shortly be in receipt of several thousand pounds, rather than a few hundred.

There were also a few questions on the form marked as 'UNANSWERED' when more accurately they could have been termed 'UNASKED'.

At the buroo I was met by a lot of Group 4 security guys who radio-controlled my appointment by letting each other know I was coming. "Mr. Brogan coming up to see Mr. Brown..."

"Check."

This was after two of them had a lengthy chat about the army.

My appointment itself went a lot smoother than Fraser's. I was met first of all by a charmless lassie who checked through the form for the obvious errors the call-centre lass made.

One thing I did discover during my interview was that the first 3 days of my claim don't count as they are deemed 'waiting days'. How many millions is that saving them over the course of a year? If I claimed for 3 days I wasn't unemployed for, would that not be termed 'fraud'?

I then spoke with quite an efficient guy who just really wanted all the details on my jobseeker form filled out so he could send me on my way.

And send me on my way he did, armed with a couple of phone numbers to call about jobs I'm not really interested in. Still every job he showed me paid more than the job I've just been kicked out of and a fortnightly trip into Jobcentre Plus offers more prospects than the scumbag company I was with ever did.