The Job Centre is possibly one of life's most depressing places. You walk into this dingy, dirty, luminous green building through a fuge of unemployed, dirty smokers. You then report here, to be sent there, to then sit and wait until someone who I am definitely better educated than calls you forward for the most patronising 30 minutes of your life.
As I sit waiting, I look and see Random Man and Random Woman, both in their joggers, tucked into their socks and checked shirts and puffa jackets. I have to hold back the urge to shout "This is essentially a job interview, dress better," as I sit there in my suit, freshly straightened hair and notebook containing all essential documents.
Eventually, after some time spent staring desperately around this hole of disappointment, I am called forward by a chippy gentleman named Chris. Chris seems to target his particular pitch at the most stupid, least driven. He was just awful and patronising. I shouted. Do not shout at the Job centre man. He will look at you funny yet will continue with his epically patronising JSA approach. I hate Chris. Chris is the most awful part about being unemployed. What did not help this whole situation was Chris' long monologue about what the world has come to when lawyers are signing on for Job Seekers' Allowance.
The only upside to my shouting was that he sped up every so slightly and I managed to escape after 35 minutes rather than 45. Small compensation!
