An Unhelpful Helpdesk

Been at a computer training place to sign up for an expensive but practical course to make me more ’employable’ once they’re finished with me.  There is a place that sells cakes downstairs so it’s a great location.

Course is fantastically expensive but not to worry, our welfare system does help some people in training courses so off I toddled to my shiny social welfare office with the fancy new name, to symbolise how all the welfare components are there for YOU, the unfortunate non-tax payer who shouldn’t be allowed to live because you’re not paying tax.

The upshot is that YES, you can apply for partial funding once you provide a letter of offer of employment.

No, I said, this is a TRAINING course, not a job.

Yes, they said, so as long as your employer provides a letter stating your role is dependent on you doing the course, we will pay towards it.

No, I said, the point of the TRAINING course is to train you to GET a job.

Once you have the job we will look at paying towards the course.

If I had a job I wouldn’t be on welfare asking for help with payment would I?

Is there anything else we can help you with?

Bought a scone and a ‘come on you can do it’ writing magazine afterwards.

Will get fat(ter) and poorer as writing magazine was not cheap.

 

 

I Fail to Engage This Group

Just back from a ‘group engagement’ at my local dole office, because yes, I am a loser with no job, and must be ‘engaged’ via ‘groups’.

I had to visit the dole office during the week and took the opportunity to question them about this meeting (at this stage I was not informed it was a ‘group engagement’) and was told it was to provide me with information on all the things the dole office will do to assist me find work.  I asked if there was anybody who would look at my CV and suggest tweaks to improve its layout etc and was told ‘yes’.  Great, I said in reply, I’ll bring it along with me.

‘Oh no don’t do that,’ was the (is it me?) illogical reply.

So I and my group went along, and were ushered into what must be the warmest room in Ireland, to listen to a short man repeat everything on his PowerPoint presentation.  It was good that we could see the presentation and hear him read it out, because we also had a booklet with the same information given to us on the way in, and then as we left, we were given printouts of the actual screen shots of the presentation – a quadruple whammy, I think I would call that.

Unfortunately nobody was looking at my CV, and we were actually told to make an appointment if we wished for someone to do that.  Hmmm.  When I first went on the dole I tried to make an appointment to see one of these elusive career-givers and was told that I could not make an appointment, I would have to wait to be called by THEM.  That would be in two weeks.  It’s been two and a half months and I have had no call.  In fact, according to the screen, the reader/speaker, my booklet and photocopy of the presentation screen by screen, I should have done it myself!

After the engagement of our group, I set upon the speaker/reader and asked him how to make this appointment.  He directed me to the customer service desk, which originally told me they could NOT make me an appointment.  I told him this.  He advised me very helpfully that there were walk in appointments available.  I asked could I have one now.

No, he said.

Ego and Car Pumped at the Garage

I was called ”baby”, ”honey” and ”my love”.  It was the most emotional affection I have received from a stranger in a long time and all I was doing was buying petrol.  The girl taking my money even said it was cool I was buying three scones – and I think she meant it.  No I wasn’t buying all three for me, the other two were for Mammy and Papabear.  We were all tired after our workout at the gym (me still managing to get in for about the sixth time on my three gym passes – nobody asks to see them, it’s the best gym ever!) and requiring carbs, and my car needed petrol to drive to the free gym that never demands my limited guest passes.

She even said ”have a great weekend honey, I’m sure you deserve it,” and even though I am once again jobless and have spent a lot of the last few weeks walking in the park next to my house smiling up at the mountains whilst blaring ”The Only Living Boy in New York” by Simon and Garfunkel on my headphones, I believed I did.

I get all the news I need on the weather report.

Gym Pimping

Well, it’s official, I am unemployed again.  I took the plunge and signed on at the local dole office which has been spruced up after my last unfortunate visit.  It even had a fancy new name, giving me the heebie jeebies about unemployment being outsourced – but as my ‘case’ person advised, community services, employment services and the dole people are all ”one happy family” now (she was smiling, so I am unsure if this was sarcasm or not) meaning a fancy new name and actual help to find jobs.  She even told me there was a cv service in the employment bit and I should enquire about making an appointment, which I did straight after, only to be told that they ‘do not make appointments, someone will call’ which just goes to show that fancy name or no, there is still abounding disinterest seeping through our public services.

And so!  I am feeling a little less stressed that I will now receive some food money (I have given up even trying to pay the mortgage – it’s eaten all my savings, and the cretins to whom the bank have outsourced (that dirty practice again) the arrears area to will not speak to me until Exhimself, currently missing in Australia, signs all the paperwork with me.  Em…he is missing in Australia.  Yes, can he sign the paperwork, then we will have a chat to you about attempting to work out a reasonable payment schedule based on your circumstances.  Em but I’m only in these circumstances because…em…Exhimself is currently missing in Australia.  Yes, when he signs the 5,000 forms we will talk to you at a time that suits us).

There has been a lot written about the banking system currently barely not operating in Ireland, and none of it scathing enough about how us normals are treated.  To hell with you cretinous outsourcedwithnobenefits twaddle peddlers!

Sitting at home has given way to some black thoughts, and to celebrate, I have obtained some free guest passes at Mammy and Papabear’s gym, as exercise is good for you inside and out and all that crap.  First session today, and the main excitement for Papabear and I was that nobody asked to see my guest pass!  This means a freebie for me, and there is nothing that gets people more excited than not just doing something for free, but doing it for free when you should have paid, or at least produced a guess pass.  This buoyed up my spirits and I took these spirits with me to the cross trainer, feeling that I could handle the cardio workout.  Eighty six seconds later I was gasping for air, nearly out of water, and dabbing my womanmoustache with my hairy towel.

I had intended to do some belly crunches but alas this fell by the wayside too.   Papabear discussed life with his weights buddies (you know all gyms where men gather in front of the mirror to flex, look at themselves and cackle like groups of women do in bars where they serve cheap white wine).  Then Dad sent one of his buddies over to me whilst I was engrossed about how awful I was feeling on the exercise bike to see if I needed a boyfriend.

Afterwards we came home, me with a scone, Papabear with the paper and we called Lilsister to see how her day was going and was she proud of us for attempting to exercise.  I had to dial the number because Papabear can’t see the screen on the new phone, nor the numbers, because his pink glasses (no joke) were missing.  I put in the numbers and hit ‘call’ and handed the phone to him, he attempted to speak to Lilsister but gave up as he couldn’t hear her and passed the phone to me.  It was upside down.  I righted the error, admonished my father and apologised to my sister for our heritage.  Will this stupidity trickle down to us eventually?