Wake up call

When I got the letter telling me I had to attend a ‘Back to Work’ session at the job centre I literally laughed out loud. Guffawed into my porridge. The very thought of sitting with a bunch of unskilled, lazy and let’s face it, probably grimy, people was, in my mind, entirely absurd. Without delay I called the office and explained in my most well-spoken manner that I really didn’t think there was any reason why I - a well-qualified graduate no less - needed to attend, and that I was quite alright searching for work on my own, many thanks all the same.

“It’s mandatory,” replied the voice. Ah, right then, better brace myself in that case.

I marched into the waiting area, praying that it would be a one-to-one so that I could quickly explain my situation and leave, only to be told gleefully by a ‘greeter’ that today’s was a group session. Great. I promptly dodged the camouflage-clad TA who were in situ trying to lure unsuspecting victims into a life of war games, and swiftly found a seat opposite a scruffy John Lennon look-alike. I could see the others out of the corner of my eye, all casually dressed, some sniffing into tissues – I almost had to ask for one, but managed to stifle the tears of humiliation.

When the session began I kept my head down and avoided all eye contact. It progressed well, just a bit of easy listening and stating of the obvious, nothing too taxing, over soon, I told myself.

Then a bombshell. The cheery women taking the session asked if anyone would like to share their work action plans with the rest of the group. Not one for sharing at the best of times, and certainly not under these circumstances, I kept schtum. “I’ll share,” piped up John Lennon. “Oh god this is going to be so depressing,” I inwardly moaned.

“I work in social care and I’m also an artist, so I’m looking for work within the voluntary sector. I’m currently volunteering for a charity and hopefully they will be able to give me some paid work soon. In my spare time I teach art to youth groups in the city.”

My head slowly rose so I could take a long look at this man. What did he just say? Before I could think anymore about it a second voice:

“I’ll go next,” said the guy sitting next to me, whom I’d written off as an out of work bouncer about 20 minutes ago. “I’m a gas engineer, so I lay new gas pipelines and do maintenance work on existing ones. I’m also a qualified builder, so my next plan is to contact the 2012 Olympic contractors to try and get some work on the site.”

Wow, I didn’t see that coming. “I’ll read,” hollered another man sitting at the end of the table. “I used to work in public procurement, but work has dried up of late, so now I’m looking to be a project manager in a related field. I’m still in touch with my old employers and they are helping me find work.”

I continued to hold my head up for the remainder of the hour.

The three men who were gracious enough to speak to the rest of us were qualified, articulate and humble. And I was surprised. Then ashamed.