“Do you have any qualifications, miss?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me them please.”
“Sure. Eleven GCSEs, three A-levels, a 2:1 honours degree in French and Spanish and a post-graduate diploma in journalism.”
The reaction that followed my response – a spontaneous chuckle and raised eyebrows – was at once unsurprising and galling.
“There isn’t an option for post-graduate diplomas on the system,” replied the worker.
At 27, signing on had never been part of the master career plan. And yet, thanks to a bunch of ill-made risks taken by so-called financial leaders of the world, the rising cost of paper and a magazine company in subsequent jeopardy, for me the benefit office has recently become a reluctant reality.
The practical side of my brain persistently tells me that I ought not to be ashamed of signing on. I’ve paid my taxes and national insurance contributions consistently for four years, and am therefore entitled to a finite amount of state benefit. Yet walking through the doors of the job centre, sitting on the scratchy blue sofa and waiting for my name to be called, the assertive voice of reason dissolves into nothing. What settled on me instead like a determined migraine was shame, a sense of failure and guilt-ridden panic.
Shame because, rightly or wrongly, this country has a certain perception of someone who lives on benefits. The mere phrase ‘signing on’ denotes images of dole queues and layabouts, and my inner middle class snob was searing to not be associated with it.
“Yes.”
“Tell me them please.”
“Sure. Eleven GCSEs, three A-levels, a 2:1 honours degree in French and Spanish and a post-graduate diploma in journalism.”
The reaction that followed my response – a spontaneous chuckle and raised eyebrows – was at once unsurprising and galling.
“There isn’t an option for post-graduate diplomas on the system,” replied the worker.
At 27, signing on had never been part of the master career plan. And yet, thanks to a bunch of ill-made risks taken by so-called financial leaders of the world, the rising cost of paper and a magazine company in subsequent jeopardy, for me the benefit office has recently become a reluctant reality.
The practical side of my brain persistently tells me that I ought not to be ashamed of signing on. I’ve paid my taxes and national insurance contributions consistently for four years, and am therefore entitled to a finite amount of state benefit. Yet walking through the doors of the job centre, sitting on the scratchy blue sofa and waiting for my name to be called, the assertive voice of reason dissolves into nothing. What settled on me instead like a determined migraine was shame, a sense of failure and guilt-ridden panic.
Shame because, rightly or wrongly, this country has a certain perception of someone who lives on benefits. The mere phrase ‘signing on’ denotes images of dole queues and layabouts, and my inner middle class snob was searing to not be associated with it.
Failure because losing my job – the job I’d recently beat over 100 hopefuls to and had dedicated my career to landing – was like Mr Monopoly plucking me from the board and putting me right back to the start, without passing go or collecting £200, needless to say.
And guilty panic because what I was going through at that very moment was being played out the length and breadth of the country. Every day, the rising numbers of unemployed face no other option but to claim benefits. Are we the ones draining government resources and subsequently stalling the recovery of the economy?
Without wanting to sound overtly vulgar, and probably failing, it is a likely fact that eight months ago, I would have been one of the most qualified people sitting on the claimant side of the cluttered job centre desks. But last week I doubt I was alone.
I strongly believe that I shouldn’t be ashamed of signing on, because the system exists precisely to help those in my position and we as a nation are fortunate to have it. And if, like me, the whole experience of signing on still terrifies you - so much so that you become hell bent on getting work - then maybe the system is working!
There's no shame in it at all. Journalism is a vulnerable career, especially now, and I'm sure you will not be claiming for long!
ReplyDeleteCan totally relate to this post, as have recently been redundant from the media myself and have had to sign on. Your blog is great, couldn't stop reading and it's good to read about someone else's experiences throughout all this. Please keep writing!
ReplyDelete