You have all this spare time now you don't have a job. So why not volunteer and give something back to the community?
So goes the received wisdom. Usually from those who have never volunteered. Often in the Government or Civil Service.
I've done voluntary work now for some years. It was called a job and involved working much longer than my contracted hours such that the effect on my salary was to halve it if you divided actual salary by hours worked. But I digress, I'm not talking about the goodwill factor that most organisations use to exploit their workforce, or the the implied 'if you don't do it then we'll find someone who will' chat that some managers indulge in, I'm talking about good, honest doing it for free stuff, pro bono, because it makes a difference. That sort of stuff.
It's a good job that so many people are prepared to do this as our society would collapse if they didn't. Or, conversely, someone would have to pay for people to do it and reduce unemployment and not have amateurs doing professionals' jobs. I digress again.
Of course it's not easy doing doing voluntary work if you are unemployed, oh no it's not. First of all you have to convince the Guardians of the Job Seekers Allowance at the Job Centre (say this in a portentous voice and follow with roll of drums or dramatic orchestral score to get the true effect) that it will not affect your job search. In any way. They, the Guardians, have a whole list of proscribed voluntary jobs that you can't do or can't do much of. We'll avoid the weirder ones such a water divining, squirrel walking, porpoise training and manufacturing spectacles for parrots. You have to convince the G o t JSA (roll of drums) that first of all you are not getting paid. The words 'But it's voluntary isn't that a clue?' don't hold much truck here. Getting paid involves interrogation about 'expenses' - that concept so alien to the Guardians that you might give your time for free but the Volunteer-er, as it were, might actually contribute to your costs of travel or specialist equipment you may need to buy. Anyway one is clearly expected to search unceasingly for jobs 8 hours a day, 5 days a week or they want to know the reason why they should continue you to pay you £65 a week for lolly gagging around at home in a cold home scraping the ice from the monitor and unable to buy the bairns shoes to walk to the workhouse.
There are hundreds of opportunities to give your time up for free. But having said that is it just me that finds the idea of 'virtual volunteering' well, just a bit too modern (and that one really exists). I virtually volunteered to do the washing up the other night but Mrs EotP dragged me away from the computer saying 'That site is definitely not a jobs site or I'm a Dutchman.' Which she isn't or a even a volunteer Dutchman.
I convinced the Guardians that my preferred volunteering was acceptable, bodyguard for Laa Laa, Tinky Winky, Dipsy and Po and could legitimately 'work' during the day or night for free and still be considered a keen seeker after work. And so that's what I do to keep the boredom at bay when not actively seeking work which I am doing right now if any one from the Job Centre reads this. Hey I'd be delighted if anyone read this.
The problem with volunteering is the volunteers. You see there is a fundamental difference between volunteers and employees which we need to remember at all times.
Volunteers don't get paid.
That has come as a shock I know.
The whole problem with volunteering is predicated on this basic fact. You see, if you pay someone to do a job there's a reasonable expectation they will turn up at the correct time, do the job and leave at the agreed time. I say reasonable expectation - I've just finished working in the public sector for the last 18 months and shall we just say that it is a different country there. For another day.
There's also an expectation that they will do what you ask, undertake any necessary training when required and generally work as a collective team towards an overall objective.
Volunteers on the other hand tend to turn up when they like, go when they feel like it, do what they want during they the time they are there and disappear when it is convenient to them, and not tell you, despite the fact that the world might be kicking off at that very moment and their presence is vital. Words and phrases such as 'mandatory', 'must arrive at...', 'Must wear the official uniform according to policy', 'Don't touch that button that says DON'T TOUCH', 'Please leave any equipment you are not trained to use ALONE' 'You must know this information...', 'We agreed that you would commit to X hours a month' are routinely ignored. These words and phrases are, at best, treated like guidelines and, at worst, like instructions written in Cyrillic. Don't understand so don't apply to me. In fact not just ignored but regularly treated with puzzlement as if never seen or heard of such stuff before. All of them work in other organsiations so it's not as if we have just beamed them in from Planet Sector 9Alpha++ or anything. Something goes on in the brain that says 'Not paid therefore don't comply (much).'
And organising them, OMG. I look after 15 volunteers for something or other. Probably Dolphin Watch West Midlands. We have agreed that the preferred method of communication is email and that reasonable notice will be given when asking for support. We have also agreed that people will respond. Do they donner und blitzen, thunderbolt and lightning? Nope I spend a good proportion of my time herding kittens, well that would be easier I think, and trying to get responses. It is a truth universally acknowledged that if you post a comment on Facebook it gets answered in seconds but ask for a reply to an email within a week and you get the Sound of Silence. Don't misunderstand me, on the whole these are lovely, lovely people (in the main) who give generously of their time.
How far is the Government, or the country, prepared to go with this volunteer philosophy? I don't want to go into my local library and ask a volunteer librarian for advice on books only to be told 'Mills and Boon are very good, bit racy though and do try Barbera Cartland saves on palpitations.' Or have volunteer surgeons 'Pass me that sharp thing Bob, what's it called, a scalpet I think.' Or have a volunteer anesthetist 'Got the extra air whatsit here, just let me look at the instruction manual and see where it goes. Oh it goes there does it, changed since I did the training in 1966.' I don't want volunteer pilots 'Hi my name is Captain Bob I trained on Chipmunks in the CCF and don't worry. I'm sure this Airbus A330 is just the same really.' Yes I know we have retained Firefighters (but they are paid), the Territorial Army (still paid) Special Constables (ah, not paid) and so on. And we are probably able to sleep far sounder in our beds knowing that volunteer part timers are out there at on the front line because there ain't enough money to pay professionals. Actually I think many of us would sleep much less soundly if we know just how thin the thin blue line is. Spider's web thin. My advice - don't ask.
The other thing you should know about volunteers is that they are not impartial. I was a Finance Governor for a local academic institution a number of years ago. I learnt very quickly that 'We need to expand the school to meet the growing needs of the community' really meant 'My little angel is in a class with more than 15 pupils and we need lots more teachers so that the teacher/pupil ration is 1:5.' Or 'The school should expand its external educational facilities' meant 'We need a herb garden so my little angel, who has just said this very morning she likes flowers and bees, can have her own publicly funded garden in school.' I'd be pointing out the legal requirement of Governors to make sensible, defensible budgetary decisions on behalf of the school and the best part of the pack would be out hunting for the best deal for their own little Amelia/Miles and the budget could go to hell in a handcart.
But it is a good way to pass the time if you can give it and a way of contributing to the community. And, if you fight the Guardians and find a worthy role to volunteer for then do so. Potential employees appear to have absolutely no interest in the fact that you have used your time wisely and for the good of the community but that's their problem. You have to decide whether to tell them anyway. Just remember though that if does kick off and you turn around looking for immediate support from the other volunteers - they may just have gone home.
Tuesday, 23 November 2010
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Things that go bump in the day
This is now my 10th week of unemployment. My previous record, if that's the way to describe it and I don't think it is, was 12 weeks. I fear a new record is about to be established unless someone offers me a job PDQ. And, as there is no sign of that in the offing, it will now be the New Year at least until I find something permanent to do. It will no doubt all sort itself out in time. It's that word 'time' - troublesome that word, lacks a precision in definition.
Today I've been shopping at Tescos and, after having swopped a few words with the very pleasant but English language challenged Polish check-out lady, have not spoken to anyone since 8.30. It's now 2pm. I feel I ought to make a sound just to check my voice is still working. I find it quite strange to spend so much time in silence. I'd have made a rubbish monk. Well apart from not being able to obey any pledge of chastity I'd have failed miserably on the vow of silence as well. I don't consider myself a naturally gregarious person, needing to be surrounded by loads of people all the time, but it is good to have a chat with one or two people during the day. I reckon the Postie will get nervous soon if, as soon as she delivers the letters, I metaphorically pounce on her and try and pass the time of day.
And that reminds me.
As a student I used to have a summer job as a driver for Advance Laundry in South Wales. This was a great job. I loved it. I drove a specially converted white Transit van, 2.0 litre diesel engine mind you, with an automatic gearbox. Very much a constant speed, variable noise sort of affair with it's very own waterfall into the cab during heavy rain. I'd set off at 8am daily with the van loaded with wicker hampers of laundry for hotels and pubs, racks of clothes for the well heeled of Abergavenny, Pontypool, Brecon and so on. I'd drop the clean and laundered clothes off and collect the soiled ones for return to base. What a great way to pass the summer, driving around the glorious Welsh countryside.
I had the small town of Blaenavon on my route. Hilly it was in places. In fact so hilly that my Transit would not go up some roads - there would come a point where the engine would be revving, the automatic gearbox would be turning but the wheels wouldn't and the vehicle would be in stasis - going neither up nor down. There would always be a girl watching disdainfully. There I had two elderly gentlemen as customers who sent in two shirt collars each a fortnight to be laundered. And when I went to deliver them two weeks later both would pounce on me and try to chat about anything, anything at all, and try to get me to stop and have a drink of squash, ' Such a hot day you must be parched walking up that steep road?' I would, as an unsophisticated teenager, do my level best not to get bogged down in the conversation and leave as soon as I could without being rude - but of course I realise now, after all these years, that they were just very lonely and I was probably one of the few people that they saw during the week. Both lived up a very steep hill so it wasn't the sort of place you might casually stroll past. Crampons, pitons, oxygen and ropes were needed plus a Base camp. Their wives had died and they had no phones. How sad in retrospect that I couldn't, wouldn't chat for just a while. What little difference would have made to my day - 20 minutes later returning to base? What a difference it would have made to theirs.
The house is not quiet during the day. It creaks and groans and moves and whispers. All sorts of noises come from it. I don't mean the electrical hum of the freezer/fridge or so on, but the other noises. During the summer I don't think I hear them so much. The windows are open, you can hear the traffic, people walking past outside, music from the boys if they are around. In Winter the house is hermetically sealed behind three layers of glass, the traffic is muted to just a swish on the road. But the rest of the house lives. There's a lot of wood in the house and it's always on the move, shrinking with the cold and change in moisture and then altering again as the heating comes on. Sometimes it is a if some little thing is moving around in various places, like tiny footsteps or a change in air pressure. Not that I'm paranoid of course. No really I'm not, but the house y'know, is just noisy and sometimes I can't figure out just where that noise is coming from. And just what's making it. But I prefer the summer if I'm going to be unemployed (and it seems I am). I find winter a real constriction. The cold and poor weather keeping you in and around the house - I want to be outside but not when the rain is coming in horizontally with the temperature just above freezing. Having just read that I sound like some sort of psychotic Labrador.
I see that I contacts live on Skype - I'll have to see if my voice still works and give them a call. They couldn't even do that in Blaenavon.
Today I've been shopping at Tescos and, after having swopped a few words with the very pleasant but English language challenged Polish check-out lady, have not spoken to anyone since 8.30. It's now 2pm. I feel I ought to make a sound just to check my voice is still working. I find it quite strange to spend so much time in silence. I'd have made a rubbish monk. Well apart from not being able to obey any pledge of chastity I'd have failed miserably on the vow of silence as well. I don't consider myself a naturally gregarious person, needing to be surrounded by loads of people all the time, but it is good to have a chat with one or two people during the day. I reckon the Postie will get nervous soon if, as soon as she delivers the letters, I metaphorically pounce on her and try and pass the time of day.
And that reminds me.
As a student I used to have a summer job as a driver for Advance Laundry in South Wales. This was a great job. I loved it. I drove a specially converted white Transit van, 2.0 litre diesel engine mind you, with an automatic gearbox. Very much a constant speed, variable noise sort of affair with it's very own waterfall into the cab during heavy rain. I'd set off at 8am daily with the van loaded with wicker hampers of laundry for hotels and pubs, racks of clothes for the well heeled of Abergavenny, Pontypool, Brecon and so on. I'd drop the clean and laundered clothes off and collect the soiled ones for return to base. What a great way to pass the summer, driving around the glorious Welsh countryside.
I had the small town of Blaenavon on my route. Hilly it was in places. In fact so hilly that my Transit would not go up some roads - there would come a point where the engine would be revving, the automatic gearbox would be turning but the wheels wouldn't and the vehicle would be in stasis - going neither up nor down. There would always be a girl watching disdainfully. There I had two elderly gentlemen as customers who sent in two shirt collars each a fortnight to be laundered. And when I went to deliver them two weeks later both would pounce on me and try to chat about anything, anything at all, and try to get me to stop and have a drink of squash, ' Such a hot day you must be parched walking up that steep road?' I would, as an unsophisticated teenager, do my level best not to get bogged down in the conversation and leave as soon as I could without being rude - but of course I realise now, after all these years, that they were just very lonely and I was probably one of the few people that they saw during the week. Both lived up a very steep hill so it wasn't the sort of place you might casually stroll past. Crampons, pitons, oxygen and ropes were needed plus a Base camp. Their wives had died and they had no phones. How sad in retrospect that I couldn't, wouldn't chat for just a while. What little difference would have made to my day - 20 minutes later returning to base? What a difference it would have made to theirs.
The house is not quiet during the day. It creaks and groans and moves and whispers. All sorts of noises come from it. I don't mean the electrical hum of the freezer/fridge or so on, but the other noises. During the summer I don't think I hear them so much. The windows are open, you can hear the traffic, people walking past outside, music from the boys if they are around. In Winter the house is hermetically sealed behind three layers of glass, the traffic is muted to just a swish on the road. But the rest of the house lives. There's a lot of wood in the house and it's always on the move, shrinking with the cold and change in moisture and then altering again as the heating comes on. Sometimes it is a if some little thing is moving around in various places, like tiny footsteps or a change in air pressure. Not that I'm paranoid of course. No really I'm not, but the house y'know, is just noisy and sometimes I can't figure out just where that noise is coming from. And just what's making it. But I prefer the summer if I'm going to be unemployed (and it seems I am). I find winter a real constriction. The cold and poor weather keeping you in and around the house - I want to be outside but not when the rain is coming in horizontally with the temperature just above freezing. Having just read that I sound like some sort of psychotic Labrador.
I see that I contacts live on Skype - I'll have to see if my voice still works and give them a call. They couldn't even do that in Blaenavon.
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
No sacks please I'm British
Well it's back to the future and I'm spending more time with the family.
Actually I'm not as Mrs EotP works (thank God), one is in school and the other at University.
This means that me and the house are rediscovering each other all over again. That took about a morning and I can reliably inform you that there are no priest holes (though there is an unexpected gap where John the builder accidentally broke through the wrong internal wall two years ago with a lump hammer and I learnt a new word), no hidden cellars connecting the houses on the street up in some long forgotten secret tunnel, no bat colonies in the eaves and no asylum seekers living in the garden shed. We did have a Polish 'neighbour' living in our then neighbour's garden shed for a quite some time a few years back but then they were, shall we say, bohemian in their outlook. Sadly missed too since they moved, as it is not often that you bump into Ben Kinglsey and Kenneth Brannagh at someone's summer barbecue. Or have your garden fence set alight when a bespoke New Year's rocket made by a 'friend' in a film studio SX department fires horizontally and not vertically. How we laughed. How we dived for cover. How we wished we'd had an Anderson shelter.
I'm at home for a good proportion of the working week again. And doesn't some crap come through the letter box? In an attempt to be a reasonably environmentally responsible person I try and do as much as I can on-line. Y'know bank statements, payments, email, begging letters for jobs, virtual driving so I don't have to use real petrol, that sort of thing. But still stuff comes winging through.
My pet hate at the moment is/are collection sacks for clothes for charities. I can't say I've noticed these in the past - perhaps the kids picked them up as they came home from school and said 'Oh look letters from Estate agents saying they are desparate for properties just like ours/free newspapers/junk mail//actual mail here on the mat as I come in. Let me just pick them up and place them in a handy and accessible place where my beloved parents can review them later at their leisure and not be trampled by everybody else's muddy shoes.' You know I made that last bit up didn't you? Never, never have they done that - well of course. And, whilst I think of it, we have double the glass tumblers we actually need as the kids fill them with squash, partially drink them and them abandon them all over the house. I feel as if we should have them linked by a mechanism that requires a coin-in-slot to release them to encourage repatriation and not a game of parent hide and seek as we attempt to get them all back together.
These plastic sacks though. 'We are collecting for {insert Charity here} please fill with unwanted designer and famous branded clothes worn only once and leave on the doorstep and [Charity] will benefit with 0.000000001 % of the amount donated'. Ah, I see we are at home to Mr Sceptical today. This week, and it's only Tuesday, we've had two pushed through the door already. How many clothes do they think we have in this street? If I put something in each sack that came through, even if it was one sock each time, I'd be practically naked after 10 days and have run out of clothes. Look guys I'm a man and not interested in clothes that much, as Mrs EotP will endorse. If I can't order them on-line or chose within 1 minute of entering a shop then, frankly, I'm well passed my boredom threshold. What is the point of paying more than £10 for a pair of jeans? I mean Tesco sell them for £3 a pair and they last at least a week and fit where they touch. The instructions on the sack then tell you that 'they' are collecting on a certain day of the week and to leave them at the threshold of your drive just outside of the armed response boundary (neighbourhood just a tad concerned about security round here and the butler can only run so far).
And then...the sacks just sit there. For days. There seem to be three states of being for these sacks.
State A. No sacks on the street whatsoever. Ever. Doesn't matter whether the sacks have pictures of air ambulances, puppies, kittens or cute kids on them, no one puts them out.
State B. Nothing ever happens to them and they get taken back in surreptitiously by the householder, the way people do when they realise they've put the bins out on the wrong day and were 'just putting them at the front to give them a bit of variation in their bin lives before putting them away again and of course I know what day the bins come I'm not senile you know.'
State C. A nondescript dirty, white, battered Transit van with two lads in it races up and down the road grabbing the sacks and flinging them into the back of the van. Whether these are the official collectors or savvy opportunists who, like seagulls following a ship for scraps, just turn up on the appropriate day and grab the bounty before the official collectors arrive is not possible to say.
So into my recycling bin goes yet another unused plastic bag with a picture of a distressed horse on it. Could be a hamster but I didn't look too closely.
Or care at all.
Actually I'm not as Mrs EotP works (thank God), one is in school and the other at University.
This means that me and the house are rediscovering each other all over again. That took about a morning and I can reliably inform you that there are no priest holes (though there is an unexpected gap where John the builder accidentally broke through the wrong internal wall two years ago with a lump hammer and I learnt a new word), no hidden cellars connecting the houses on the street up in some long forgotten secret tunnel, no bat colonies in the eaves and no asylum seekers living in the garden shed. We did have a Polish 'neighbour' living in our then neighbour's garden shed for a quite some time a few years back but then they were, shall we say, bohemian in their outlook. Sadly missed too since they moved, as it is not often that you bump into Ben Kinglsey and Kenneth Brannagh at someone's summer barbecue. Or have your garden fence set alight when a bespoke New Year's rocket made by a 'friend' in a film studio SX department fires horizontally and not vertically. How we laughed. How we dived for cover. How we wished we'd had an Anderson shelter.
I'm at home for a good proportion of the working week again. And doesn't some crap come through the letter box? In an attempt to be a reasonably environmentally responsible person I try and do as much as I can on-line. Y'know bank statements, payments, email, begging letters for jobs, virtual driving so I don't have to use real petrol, that sort of thing. But still stuff comes winging through.
My pet hate at the moment is/are collection sacks for clothes for charities. I can't say I've noticed these in the past - perhaps the kids picked them up as they came home from school and said 'Oh look letters from Estate agents saying they are desparate for properties just like ours/free newspapers/junk mail//actual mail here on the mat as I come in. Let me just pick them up and place them in a handy and accessible place where my beloved parents can review them later at their leisure and not be trampled by everybody else's muddy shoes.' You know I made that last bit up didn't you? Never, never have they done that - well of course. And, whilst I think of it, we have double the glass tumblers we actually need as the kids fill them with squash, partially drink them and them abandon them all over the house. I feel as if we should have them linked by a mechanism that requires a coin-in-slot to release them to encourage repatriation and not a game of parent hide and seek as we attempt to get them all back together.
These plastic sacks though. 'We are collecting for {insert Charity here} please fill with unwanted designer and famous branded clothes worn only once and leave on the doorstep and [Charity] will benefit with 0.000000001 % of the amount donated'. Ah, I see we are at home to Mr Sceptical today. This week, and it's only Tuesday, we've had two pushed through the door already. How many clothes do they think we have in this street? If I put something in each sack that came through, even if it was one sock each time, I'd be practically naked after 10 days and have run out of clothes. Look guys I'm a man and not interested in clothes that much, as Mrs EotP will endorse. If I can't order them on-line or chose within 1 minute of entering a shop then, frankly, I'm well passed my boredom threshold. What is the point of paying more than £10 for a pair of jeans? I mean Tesco sell them for £3 a pair and they last at least a week and fit where they touch. The instructions on the sack then tell you that 'they' are collecting on a certain day of the week and to leave them at the threshold of your drive just outside of the armed response boundary (neighbourhood just a tad concerned about security round here and the butler can only run so far).
And then...the sacks just sit there. For days. There seem to be three states of being for these sacks.
State A. No sacks on the street whatsoever. Ever. Doesn't matter whether the sacks have pictures of air ambulances, puppies, kittens or cute kids on them, no one puts them out.
State B. Nothing ever happens to them and they get taken back in surreptitiously by the householder, the way people do when they realise they've put the bins out on the wrong day and were 'just putting them at the front to give them a bit of variation in their bin lives before putting them away again and of course I know what day the bins come I'm not senile you know.'
State C. A nondescript dirty, white, battered Transit van with two lads in it races up and down the road grabbing the sacks and flinging them into the back of the van. Whether these are the official collectors or savvy opportunists who, like seagulls following a ship for scraps, just turn up on the appropriate day and grab the bounty before the official collectors arrive is not possible to say.
So into my recycling bin goes yet another unused plastic bag with a picture of a distressed horse on it. Could be a hamster but I didn't look too closely.
Or care at all.
Monday, 18 October 2010
94520 jobs added in the last 7 days
Right then.
94000 jobs. Added.
To what?
To Father Christmas's present list? Because all I can find is a sous chef post in Dundee.
And hallo blog. Back again and rather sooner than I'd hoped. Well, actually I'd hoped that I wouldn't need to be back at all but then there was the recession. There is the recession and, as far as I can tell, there will continue to be the recession. Look it's quite easy. I had a job, a job I liked very much and then the recession hit. They couldn't renew my contract and that was that but...three weeks later I got a fixed term contract that lasted for, well the fixed term. That was OK'ish, 60% eye wateringly less salary than I had been earning, but it was in the public sector and I thought, clearly naively as it happens, that I'd be able to find a full time position before the fixed term was up.
The Gods said 'Did you hear that, he said he'd be able to get a full time position?' and showed me the error of my ways. During that 15 month fixed term I applied for 27 jobs, had 3 interviews and, as you can deduce if anyone is reading this, no offers of employment. So here I am again 6 weeks into my umpty umpth period of unemployment and it's still the recession. And will continue to be the recession. It feels as if there is always a recession but is that just me?
Back in my favourite chair in the Job Centre I continue to sign on with quite a bit less condescension from the staff there than in the past. Gary, who 'served' me on my first signing this time round, commutes 120 miles a day to get to the Job Centre. He's a graphic designer in his mid 30's who couldn't get a job where he lives. Steve, who signed me on last Thursday, is a purchasing manager in his mid 50's who was unemployed for over 8 months before he got the part time job of inflicting pain from the other side of the counter. This still doesn't stop them making you go on the mandatory 'How to write a CV' and 'You really need to get a job now you know or things will get sticky for you have you seen our cattle prods?' hour long courses. Remember Pauline from 'League of Gentlemen'? Just like that. Like medical interns they've had to do it so now you've got to do it. This time they say, because they know 'Of course it's a complete waste of time.' Gee thanks, there's another hour of my life gone that I won't get back.
Because, sadly, I've been here before then I know the routine. Upload CVs to Monster, TotalJobs, TotalWasteofTime, WeignoreyourCVbutpostitmonlineanyway and so on. Scour Reed everyday for a position that pays more than minimum wage and doesn't involve being an IFA or self employed employment consultant (sound of snigger coming from EotP). Why so many IFAs? I thought we were all skint? I don't need advice on where to put my £65 Job Seekers' allowance thank you I just hand it over to Tesco. Scour every on line job resource until my eyes are red raw and my heart has sunk so low I'll need help from the Chilean miners' rescuers to recover it.
And then you get the email from some aggregator jobs site that proudly proclaim 94520 jobs added in the last week. As I ask right at the beginning just where are these jobs added? To the German economy perhaps? When I look at these proud posts I find jobs in Perth, or London or possibly Reading, but NOT where I live. Not even commutable from where I live.
I haven't yet reached the point of 'I'll do anything rather than sit in the house all day long' but it's not far off. But, and this is a good but, just whose going to employ me when they know that I'll leave as soon as a reasonable job elsewhere comes up - in about 8 years at this rate?
So back in the blog. Swept out the dust and leaves that had blown under the door, plumped up the cushions and assumed the position.
I'll be back.
Eyes on the Prize
94000 jobs. Added.
To what?
To Father Christmas's present list? Because all I can find is a sous chef post in Dundee.
And hallo blog. Back again and rather sooner than I'd hoped. Well, actually I'd hoped that I wouldn't need to be back at all but then there was the recession. There is the recession and, as far as I can tell, there will continue to be the recession. Look it's quite easy. I had a job, a job I liked very much and then the recession hit. They couldn't renew my contract and that was that but...three weeks later I got a fixed term contract that lasted for, well the fixed term. That was OK'ish, 60% eye wateringly less salary than I had been earning, but it was in the public sector and I thought, clearly naively as it happens, that I'd be able to find a full time position before the fixed term was up.
The Gods said 'Did you hear that, he said he'd be able to get a full time position?' and showed me the error of my ways. During that 15 month fixed term I applied for 27 jobs, had 3 interviews and, as you can deduce if anyone is reading this, no offers of employment. So here I am again 6 weeks into my umpty umpth period of unemployment and it's still the recession. And will continue to be the recession. It feels as if there is always a recession but is that just me?
Because, sadly, I've been here before then I know the routine. Upload CVs to Monster, TotalJobs, TotalWasteofTime, WeignoreyourCVbutpostitmonlineanyway and so on. Scour Reed everyday for a position that pays more than minimum wage and doesn't involve being an IFA or self employed employment consultant (sound of snigger coming from EotP). Why so many IFAs? I thought we were all skint? I don't need advice on where to put my £65 Job Seekers' allowance thank you I just hand it over to Tesco. Scour every on line job resource until my eyes are red raw and my heart has sunk so low I'll need help from the Chilean miners' rescuers to recover it.
And then you get the email from some aggregator jobs site that proudly proclaim 94520 jobs added in the last week. As I ask right at the beginning just where are these jobs added? To the German economy perhaps? When I look at these proud posts I find jobs in Perth, or London or possibly Reading, but NOT where I live. Not even commutable from where I live.
I haven't yet reached the point of 'I'll do anything rather than sit in the house all day long' but it's not far off. But, and this is a good but, just whose going to employ me when they know that I'll leave as soon as a reasonable job elsewhere comes up - in about 8 years at this rate?
So back in the blog. Swept out the dust and leaves that had blown under the door, plumped up the cushions and assumed the position.
I'll be back.
Eyes on the Prize
Sunday, 14 June 2009
Making introductions
And so you start your first day at the new job.
There are two sorts of starts.
The informal induction.
It goes like this.
'Here's your desk, here's your PC, there is some paperwork for you to complete, see you in November'.
IT haven't set your log in, you therefore do not officially exist, you can't access your email and your default printer is set to print in another office on another floor but no one tells you for a week. As you do not exist you cannot book holidays and the IT help line is always on answerphone. HR do not seem to have heard about you joining and ask for your bank details five times.
You now spend six months trying to find out what your job is, what it is you do and what you do does. Forget it, you'll never find out, just fill in forms A/11/C1957 and fax them to 5543 as soon as you have done so and don't forget the pinks go to ACCAT7 and the blues in that tray there.
You never find out what or who is ACCAT7 or whether there is a 1 - 6 version either.
You spend the first four months walking half a mile to the nearest loo and then find out that there is one around the corner.
You are startled by the fire alarm once a week, looking around to see if any other members of staff are making any attempt to leave only to find out it is the regular test. Then, when the fire alarm goes off on a different day and time you look around to see if any of the other members of staff are making any attempt to leave and can't hep feeling concerned that they aren't when you can hear approaching sirens and notice there does seem to be a lot of smoke coming from the stationery cupboard.
For the first year you can only navigate your way from the entrance to your desk and back and do not realise that there are 1500 other members of staff on the same site, on different floors only nobody has told you anything about them.
You are told that there is a probationary period before you become a full member of staff and that performance objectives will be set. You never hear anything more about either.
You hear stories about a staff canteen but never find it. You eat your sandwiches at your work station whilst all around you your colleagues disappear for two hours, for lunch, but you don't know where they go.
You have never seen the MD of the organisation but see his/her car park space immediately outside the main door. You however have a quarter mile trek from the staff car park along a muddy path. You believe the MD is the one whose presence causes everyone to quit looking at the BBC news site and eBay on their PCs and look intensely busy as he/her strides through the office looking neither left nor right
You finally make contact with the two key people in the whole organisation - the keeper of the stationery cupboard and the one person in IT who can actually make your PC work without first asking you to reboot it.
The formal introduction.
It goes like this.
You have four days of tightly scheduled presentations from members of staff who you never see again in your whole time with the organisation.
The presenters never start or finish on time and about 33% mysteriously never turn up causing the over jolly person from HR to go into meltdown and end each day session early.
You are given an introduction to the aims and goals of the organisation by the highest member of the senior management team HR have convinced to turn up. This could be the cleaner, though their introduction is usually an improvement on the one given by the senior manager who clearly thinks that achieving his/her performance bonus is the major aim of the business. They tell you about the structure of the business. It looks like someone has upturned a bowl of spaghetti but presume it makes sense to someone somewhere. Actually it never does.
85% of the presenters start off by apologising for the boring nature of their subject. They do not lie. 95% then go on to overrun their alloted slot causing you to think longingly of blunt objects with which to strike them and thinking maybe signing on once every two weeks wasn't that bad after all.
90% of presenters believe that a good presentation depends on them standing in front of the new staff with their back to them reading directly from 173 densely written Powerpoint slides which they use as their script. They do not notice they lose their audience from slide 2 and neither do they understand why, after two long deadly dull hours of talking in a monotone no one has a question. Everyone is now comatose. The new staff only have one question - how long before I can go home and tell myself this is all a horrible dream.
IT haven't set your log in, you therefore do not officially exist, you can't access your email and your default printer is set to print in an office in France but no one tells you for a month as you frantically try to find the scurrilous emails your friend has sent you and you have sent to print. As you do not exist electronically you cannot book holidays and the IT help line is always on answerphone.
You finally make contact with the two key people in the whole organisation - the keeper of the stationery cupboard and Kevin in IT who can actually make your PC work without first asking have you rebooted it. You have, 26 times that day for a start.
You are required to sign an additional 23 forms telling you about data protection, eating at your workstations, staff socials, joining a Trades Union ('We welcome it.' They don't.), DSE, GSE, ABH, DDT, ABAGH and other abbreviations and acronyms you can't understand.
Then, on the first day at real work, you get a 'local' induction. 'Here's your desk, here's your PC, there is some paperwork for you to complete, see you in November'.
You are told about PDRs or PDPs leading to NVQs or possibly RACs and NFIs. You are so full of information after the first five days you can no longer absorb any more. You stagger back to the staff car park and drive home, exhausted.
Welcome back to work.
There are two sorts of starts.
- The informal induction
- The formal induction.
The informal induction.
It goes like this.
'Here's your desk, here's your PC, there is some paperwork for you to complete, see you in November'.
IT haven't set your log in, you therefore do not officially exist, you can't access your email and your default printer is set to print in another office on another floor but no one tells you for a week. As you do not exist you cannot book holidays and the IT help line is always on answerphone. HR do not seem to have heard about you joining and ask for your bank details five times.
You now spend six months trying to find out what your job is, what it is you do and what you do does. Forget it, you'll never find out, just fill in forms A/11/C1957 and fax them to 5543 as soon as you have done so and don't forget the pinks go to ACCAT7 and the blues in that tray there.
You never find out what or who is ACCAT7 or whether there is a 1 - 6 version either.
You spend the first four months walking half a mile to the nearest loo and then find out that there is one around the corner.
You are startled by the fire alarm once a week, looking around to see if any other members of staff are making any attempt to leave only to find out it is the regular test. Then, when the fire alarm goes off on a different day and time you look around to see if any of the other members of staff are making any attempt to leave and can't hep feeling concerned that they aren't when you can hear approaching sirens and notice there does seem to be a lot of smoke coming from the stationery cupboard.
For the first year you can only navigate your way from the entrance to your desk and back and do not realise that there are 1500 other members of staff on the same site, on different floors only nobody has told you anything about them.
You are told that there is a probationary period before you become a full member of staff and that performance objectives will be set. You never hear anything more about either.
You hear stories about a staff canteen but never find it. You eat your sandwiches at your work station whilst all around you your colleagues disappear for two hours, for lunch, but you don't know where they go.
You have never seen the MD of the organisation but see his/her car park space immediately outside the main door. You however have a quarter mile trek from the staff car park along a muddy path. You believe the MD is the one whose presence causes everyone to quit looking at the BBC news site and eBay on their PCs and look intensely busy as he/her strides through the office looking neither left nor right
You finally make contact with the two key people in the whole organisation - the keeper of the stationery cupboard and the one person in IT who can actually make your PC work without first asking you to reboot it.
The formal introduction.
It goes like this.
You have four days of tightly scheduled presentations from members of staff who you never see again in your whole time with the organisation.
The presenters never start or finish on time and about 33% mysteriously never turn up causing the over jolly person from HR to go into meltdown and end each day session early.
You are given an introduction to the aims and goals of the organisation by the highest member of the senior management team HR have convinced to turn up. This could be the cleaner, though their introduction is usually an improvement on the one given by the senior manager who clearly thinks that achieving his/her performance bonus is the major aim of the business. They tell you about the structure of the business. It looks like someone has upturned a bowl of spaghetti but presume it makes sense to someone somewhere. Actually it never does.
85% of the presenters start off by apologising for the boring nature of their subject. They do not lie. 95% then go on to overrun their alloted slot causing you to think longingly of blunt objects with which to strike them and thinking maybe signing on once every two weeks wasn't that bad after all.
90% of presenters believe that a good presentation depends on them standing in front of the new staff with their back to them reading directly from 173 densely written Powerpoint slides which they use as their script. They do not notice they lose their audience from slide 2 and neither do they understand why, after two long deadly dull hours of talking in a monotone no one has a question. Everyone is now comatose. The new staff only have one question - how long before I can go home and tell myself this is all a horrible dream.
IT haven't set your log in, you therefore do not officially exist, you can't access your email and your default printer is set to print in an office in France but no one tells you for a month as you frantically try to find the scurrilous emails your friend has sent you and you have sent to print. As you do not exist electronically you cannot book holidays and the IT help line is always on answerphone.
You finally make contact with the two key people in the whole organisation - the keeper of the stationery cupboard and Kevin in IT who can actually make your PC work without first asking have you rebooted it. You have, 26 times that day for a start.
You are required to sign an additional 23 forms telling you about data protection, eating at your workstations, staff socials, joining a Trades Union ('We welcome it.' They don't.), DSE, GSE, ABH, DDT, ABAGH and other abbreviations and acronyms you can't understand.
Then, on the first day at real work, you get a 'local' induction. 'Here's your desk, here's your PC, there is some paperwork for you to complete, see you in November'.
You are told about PDRs or PDPs leading to NVQs or possibly RACs and NFIs. You are so full of information after the first five days you can no longer absorb any more. You stagger back to the staff car park and drive home, exhausted.
Welcome back to work.
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on*
So where did it go right? Why, after 2 years, 82 applications and six interviews did I finally get a job?
I have no idea. It's a mystery.
That is not very helpful is it?
But it's true.
Why my carefully constructed, honed and polished CVs made no impact when applying for jobs that you'd have thought I absolutely must be the best candidate for the job got nowhere, yet I managed to get a job in a totally different business sector will, for ever, be a mystery to me.
However I have learned somethings along the way (covering all 5 redundancies, we must learn from history) that I feel impelled to inflict on you. It may help, it may stop you making the same mistakes or you could always print them out and make a draught excluder from them.
Prepare for rejection (and more rejection).
Did I mention rejection?
Expect to be out of work for some time. Expect rejection, many rejections. Expect not to hear anything from most applications. Move on immediately - remember the HOE curve (yes rejection is very hard you don't have to tell me about it, now a fully qualified Master of Being Rejected) and keep looking. Keep a file of jobs applied for - you may need it as proof that you are actively job seeking.
Stay positive.
There will be good days, there will be bad days and there will be mind bendingly awful days. However there is a lot of silliness in the world. Sometimes it is very hard to see it but it’s there. And it can make you laugh. Well it made me laugh. Whatever happens try and bounce back. And there is life after redundancy. It may not be the life you had but it might very well be better. It might have more kittens and yawning puppies.
Use every way you can to find a new job.
Use every channel you can think of to find a job and keep scouring them. Do not stop using them even if you think they may not be working. You will not be able to predict easily where a job might be found. There are many channels: on-line jobs (Monster, Total Jobs, Fish4jobs), national newspapers (Times on line, Daily Telegraph, Guardian), local papers, local library, notices in shops, referrals, information from your friends and acquaintances and so. Get creative and think of any others that may work for you. Use them. Don’t stop. And if you keep doing the same thing you will keep getting the same result. Evolve and adapt.
Stop spending.
Now.
You may have a reasonable redundancy payout, statutory redundancy pay or even nothing. What ever you have you need to stop spending now because you do not know how long this is going to last. Cancel all non-essential spending and start budgeting and get real. The kids may hate it, your partner may hate it, it may put you in a difficult position with your employed friends but that’s their problem. If they are that insensitive then have nothing to do with them because they will only vex you more - or ‘get in your grill’ as my kids say. You can do without many things - stay solvent and, if you have any money left when you get the new job, then is the time to spend.
Keep fit. Learn something new.
This time may be gruelling, will sap your motivation and test your sense of humour. Don’t sit in the house all day telling yourself life is crap, get fit, walk, go running, do something, get creative, learn something new. You’ll feel a whole lot better and able to face the job hunt. And it is a way of demonstrating a positive response to this difficulty to a potential employer. Believe me chewing endlessly over and over the subject of 'no one replies to my job applications' tends to empty the room you are currently sitting in quite effectively.
Respect your partner’s space.
Your partner might be at home or still doing whatever they were doing before your job loss. Respect their position and their space. You are going to need them for lots of support and it won’t help trailing after them all day around the house like a demented toddler following their mother. They will not want to hear your ills and moans all the time - try and remember that and be supportive to them.
Don't pay good money to snake oil merchants.
There are many organisations that are waiting to take your severance pay, savings or JSA. They are very seductive and promise much - some are very expensive. But none of them will find you a job, that's always down to you. So you might as well save your money.
Sign on. Don’t be proud.
This is, admittedly, not the most rewarding experience you will ever have. Be prepared for quite a demeaning process which may include giving all your private financial details to a complete stranger in an open office. However you are entitled to State Support (subject to a means test) and your National Insurance will be paid. There is some help in retraining available and there may be jobs available that the Job Centre Team can put you in touch with though usually in Fife I found as a sous chef or CNC operator.
Sell yourself properly with your CV.
Employers and or agencies will be inundated with CVs for most jobs - their first task is to carry out a paper sift on the applications - and they will be ruthless. Your CV is your only opportunity to get through that first filter so make it count. Can you describe what you do and the benefits you could bring to an organisation in one minute? Well make sure you can - the question you have to be able to answer is ‘what benefits to the company could hiring this person bring?’ And they don’t want to know about your hobbies and they certainly don’t have any right to ask for your age. If you haven’t updated your CV then do so now. Remember: contact details, profile, relevant competencies, examples of tasks (plus problem solving and outcomes), list recent employers (but you don’t have to list them all), qualifications - in my experience hobbies, interests, pictures of your cat, holiday photos and gold star from Mrs Edwards in primary school for making a paper mache dinosaur are not required but suprisingly often included.
Treat finding a new job as a job in itself.
Set aside time every day to look for a job or do something positive in finding a new position. There is always something that you can do .
Don’t apply for jobs you’re not qualified for.
This is difficult but unless you want more rejection then do not apply for jobs you are patently not qualified for. Remember there are many more applicants who really will be better qualified so why beat yourself up?
Three steps backwards to go forwards.
There comes a time when you might have to accept the lesser paid job, take a considerable drop in salary and perks. That was then, this is now. Ask yourself do you want the money and see it as a way of fighting back up the ladder. Or do you continue to wait for the 'right job'. Ask yourself 'Do you feel lucky?' Well do you?
Voluntary contributions
Almost the subject of a blog in its own right, local voluntary organisations are looking for volunteers to muddle through the many layers of impenetrable bureaucracy as we speak. If you'd like to spend time helping others, just jog on down to your local volunteer centre, making sure it's not an Army recruiting office and ending up in Helmand Province.
With a little help from your friends...
Keep in contact, don't become isolated - contact by email, Skype, iChat, smoke signals, two tin cans with a piece of taut string. What ever it takes don't become isolated and, whilst I'm at it, thanks Neil, Dennis and Dick for your invaluable support.
And that's it, down to the irreducible level - forget the books, forget the seminars, this is what it comes down to.
And don't give up.
*Robert Frost
I have no idea. It's a mystery.
That is not very helpful is it?
But it's true.
Why my carefully constructed, honed and polished CVs made no impact when applying for jobs that you'd have thought I absolutely must be the best candidate for the job got nowhere, yet I managed to get a job in a totally different business sector will, for ever, be a mystery to me.
However I have learned somethings along the way (covering all 5 redundancies, we must learn from history) that I feel impelled to inflict on you. It may help, it may stop you making the same mistakes or you could always print them out and make a draught excluder from them.
Prepare for rejection (and more rejection).
Did I mention rejection?
Expect to be out of work for some time. Expect rejection, many rejections. Expect not to hear anything from most applications. Move on immediately - remember the HOE curve (yes rejection is very hard you don't have to tell me about it, now a fully qualified Master of Being Rejected) and keep looking. Keep a file of jobs applied for - you may need it as proof that you are actively job seeking.
Stay positive.
There will be good days, there will be bad days and there will be mind bendingly awful days. However there is a lot of silliness in the world. Sometimes it is very hard to see it but it’s there. And it can make you laugh. Well it made me laugh. Whatever happens try and bounce back. And there is life after redundancy. It may not be the life you had but it might very well be better. It might have more kittens and yawning puppies.
Use every way you can to find a new job.
Use every channel you can think of to find a job and keep scouring them. Do not stop using them even if you think they may not be working. You will not be able to predict easily where a job might be found. There are many channels: on-line jobs (Monster, Total Jobs, Fish4jobs), national newspapers (Times on line, Daily Telegraph, Guardian), local papers, local library, notices in shops, referrals, information from your friends and acquaintances and so. Get creative and think of any others that may work for you. Use them. Don’t stop. And if you keep doing the same thing you will keep getting the same result. Evolve and adapt.
Stop spending.
Now.
You may have a reasonable redundancy payout, statutory redundancy pay or even nothing. What ever you have you need to stop spending now because you do not know how long this is going to last. Cancel all non-essential spending and start budgeting and get real. The kids may hate it, your partner may hate it, it may put you in a difficult position with your employed friends but that’s their problem. If they are that insensitive then have nothing to do with them because they will only vex you more - or ‘get in your grill’ as my kids say. You can do without many things - stay solvent and, if you have any money left when you get the new job, then is the time to spend.
Keep fit. Learn something new.
This time may be gruelling, will sap your motivation and test your sense of humour. Don’t sit in the house all day telling yourself life is crap, get fit, walk, go running, do something, get creative, learn something new. You’ll feel a whole lot better and able to face the job hunt. And it is a way of demonstrating a positive response to this difficulty to a potential employer. Believe me chewing endlessly over and over the subject of 'no one replies to my job applications' tends to empty the room you are currently sitting in quite effectively.
Respect your partner’s space.
Your partner might be at home or still doing whatever they were doing before your job loss. Respect their position and their space. You are going to need them for lots of support and it won’t help trailing after them all day around the house like a demented toddler following their mother. They will not want to hear your ills and moans all the time - try and remember that and be supportive to them.
Don't pay good money to snake oil merchants.
There are many organisations that are waiting to take your severance pay, savings or JSA. They are very seductive and promise much - some are very expensive. But none of them will find you a job, that's always down to you. So you might as well save your money.
Sign on. Don’t be proud.
This is, admittedly, not the most rewarding experience you will ever have. Be prepared for quite a demeaning process which may include giving all your private financial details to a complete stranger in an open office. However you are entitled to State Support (subject to a means test) and your National Insurance will be paid. There is some help in retraining available and there may be jobs available that the Job Centre Team can put you in touch with though usually in Fife I found as a sous chef or CNC operator.
Sell yourself properly with your CV.
Employers and or agencies will be inundated with CVs for most jobs - their first task is to carry out a paper sift on the applications - and they will be ruthless. Your CV is your only opportunity to get through that first filter so make it count. Can you describe what you do and the benefits you could bring to an organisation in one minute? Well make sure you can - the question you have to be able to answer is ‘what benefits to the company could hiring this person bring?’ And they don’t want to know about your hobbies and they certainly don’t have any right to ask for your age. If you haven’t updated your CV then do so now. Remember: contact details, profile, relevant competencies, examples of tasks (plus problem solving and outcomes), list recent employers (but you don’t have to list them all), qualifications - in my experience hobbies, interests, pictures of your cat, holiday photos and gold star from Mrs Edwards in primary school for making a paper mache dinosaur are not required but suprisingly often included.
Treat finding a new job as a job in itself.
Set aside time every day to look for a job or do something positive in finding a new position. There is always something that you can do .
Don’t apply for jobs you’re not qualified for.
This is difficult but unless you want more rejection then do not apply for jobs you are patently not qualified for. Remember there are many more applicants who really will be better qualified so why beat yourself up?
Three steps backwards to go forwards.
There comes a time when you might have to accept the lesser paid job, take a considerable drop in salary and perks. That was then, this is now. Ask yourself do you want the money and see it as a way of fighting back up the ladder. Or do you continue to wait for the 'right job'. Ask yourself 'Do you feel lucky?' Well do you?
Voluntary contributions
Almost the subject of a blog in its own right, local voluntary organisations are looking for volunteers to muddle through the many layers of impenetrable bureaucracy as we speak. If you'd like to spend time helping others, just jog on down to your local volunteer centre, making sure it's not an Army recruiting office and ending up in Helmand Province.
With a little help from your friends...
Keep in contact, don't become isolated - contact by email, Skype, iChat, smoke signals, two tin cans with a piece of taut string. What ever it takes don't become isolated and, whilst I'm at it, thanks Neil, Dennis and Dick for your invaluable support.
And that's it, down to the irreducible level - forget the books, forget the seminars, this is what it comes down to.
And don't give up.
*Robert Frost
Monday, 25 May 2009
Life, but not as we know it. Hmmm
Sometimes you need to count the number of buses at the bus stop.
I'd walked into town last week to photostat all the documents required to prove that I exist for the new job. We'll ignore the rather obvious one of actually being in the room at the time of the interview which suggested to me that, unless I was some phantasm, my corporeal existence could be taken for granted.
No we wanted, or rather they wanted: birth certificate, driving license, passport, evidence of NI number, copies of educational certificates (I just knew someone would want to see my 'O' level in Agriculture), photos of me as a baby, saliva sample, DNA, palm prints, iris shots, and my Cub Scout badge for using a phone box with a 'Push button A' and 'B' (I cheated, I asked a passerby to phone Akela for me). Then, just as I was about to post the signed T&Cs I thought 'Sod this, I'm vastly overqualified for this job, I'm going to ask for more money' and walked home. There, on the door mat, was an invitation for an interview for a BETTER job with MORE money but two days after I potentially start the new job.
OMG, two years, over 75 applications, five interviews the last one being six months ago and now, in the space of just three weeks two interviews and a firm job offer. Now what do I do? It's true what they say about buses you don't see one for ages and then you find out they are big, run on diesel and carry upwards of 60 passengers to somewhere where you don't really want to go at a time that is massively inconvenient.
Well the first thing to do was to dither. Then procrastinate, then consider the HOE curve and finally cry hot tears of frustration. OK not cry, but is that frustrating or what?
I felt the only course of action was to first swear loudly, and for some time, in the fortunately empty house then call them to ask for more money...and I got it. So I decided to take the job where there was a firm job offer (and therefore money, even more since I asked) and sadly turn down the interview for the other where I might not get it - wouldn't I feel foolish then? After two years of determined searching that hurt I can tell you.
And now work. Next week.
But this feels odd.
I've had to check I've got enough shirts to wear during the week. I haven't.
I had to check if my ties were still in the proximity of fasionable. They are not, they are not even in the same neighbourhood.
I had to check if my suits still fitted. They don't, I've lost so much weight during the last two years.
It is going to cost a small fortune going to work just in buying clothes.
I hate buying clothes.
Then, as Mrs EoTP also has a job we will, for the first time in our married lives, be out at work at the same time. So in our ever changing world we are having to evolve and adapt once again to deal with this. We've managed to fit our respective requirements for Mrs EoTP's little blue car (lbc) around our lives over the last two years but it now seems that I will also have to have a lbc of my own. Good grief that's a quarter of my yet to come salary already gone and I haven't actually started yet.
That can't be correct, can it? My WIGAJ list involves lots of expensive electrical gadgets for me and not necessary transport.
And yet it is. For the cruel fact is that it costs to go to work.
And yet I am not complaining. Not yet anyway, that will come after five months when the halo effect of having a job has worn off, when I discover that most of my colleuagues are paid at least as twice as much as me but collectively have half the qualifications and that I could do all their jobs without even breaking into a sweat. At least I think that is what happens at work, it is all in the distant past.
In the end I don't think there was a choice. Yep, I'd have loved to have a job with a salary near to one I enjoyed two years ago and all the rest of the 'package' but it's a very tough world out there right now as we all know and this might very well be the career change that gets me out of the industry that keeps making me redundant. I'd quite like a spell away from the Job Centre where they will be buying me my own seat soon, I've been such a regular visitor over the last few years.
So the JSA back-to-work form has been completed and posted to Fife - well that's where all the jobs ever seemed to be on the Job Centre Plus site, the contract of employment has been posted to the new employer, I've bought some shirts and ties (and Mrs EoTP has returned them and bought something more suitable) and we are good to go.
Once I've negotiated the use of the lbc before I buy my own.
I'd walked into town last week to photostat all the documents required to prove that I exist for the new job. We'll ignore the rather obvious one of actually being in the room at the time of the interview which suggested to me that, unless I was some phantasm, my corporeal existence could be taken for granted.
No we wanted, or rather they wanted: birth certificate, driving license, passport, evidence of NI number, copies of educational certificates (I just knew someone would want to see my 'O' level in Agriculture), photos of me as a baby, saliva sample, DNA, palm prints, iris shots, and my Cub Scout badge for using a phone box with a 'Push button A' and 'B' (I cheated, I asked a passerby to phone Akela for me). Then, just as I was about to post the signed T&Cs I thought 'Sod this, I'm vastly overqualified for this job, I'm going to ask for more money' and walked home. There, on the door mat, was an invitation for an interview for a BETTER job with MORE money but two days after I potentially start the new job.
OMG, two years, over 75 applications, five interviews the last one being six months ago and now, in the space of just three weeks two interviews and a firm job offer. Now what do I do? It's true what they say about buses you don't see one for ages and then you find out they are big, run on diesel and carry upwards of 60 passengers to somewhere where you don't really want to go at a time that is massively inconvenient.
Well the first thing to do was to dither. Then procrastinate, then consider the HOE curve and finally cry hot tears of frustration. OK not cry, but is that frustrating or what?
I felt the only course of action was to first swear loudly, and for some time, in the fortunately empty house then call them to ask for more money...and I got it. So I decided to take the job where there was a firm job offer (and therefore money, even more since I asked) and sadly turn down the interview for the other where I might not get it - wouldn't I feel foolish then? After two years of determined searching that hurt I can tell you.
And now work. Next week.
But this feels odd.
I've had to check I've got enough shirts to wear during the week. I haven't.
I had to check if my ties were still in the proximity of fasionable. They are not, they are not even in the same neighbourhood.
I had to check if my suits still fitted. They don't, I've lost so much weight during the last two years.
It is going to cost a small fortune going to work just in buying clothes.
I hate buying clothes.
Then, as Mrs EoTP also has a job we will, for the first time in our married lives, be out at work at the same time. So in our ever changing world we are having to evolve and adapt once again to deal with this. We've managed to fit our respective requirements for Mrs EoTP's little blue car (lbc) around our lives over the last two years but it now seems that I will also have to have a lbc of my own. Good grief that's a quarter of my yet to come salary already gone and I haven't actually started yet.
That can't be correct, can it? My WIGAJ list involves lots of expensive electrical gadgets for me and not necessary transport.
And yet it is. For the cruel fact is that it costs to go to work.
And yet I am not complaining. Not yet anyway, that will come after five months when the halo effect of having a job has worn off, when I discover that most of my colleuagues are paid at least as twice as much as me but collectively have half the qualifications and that I could do all their jobs without even breaking into a sweat. At least I think that is what happens at work, it is all in the distant past.
In the end I don't think there was a choice. Yep, I'd have loved to have a job with a salary near to one I enjoyed two years ago and all the rest of the 'package' but it's a very tough world out there right now as we all know and this might very well be the career change that gets me out of the industry that keeps making me redundant. I'd quite like a spell away from the Job Centre where they will be buying me my own seat soon, I've been such a regular visitor over the last few years.
So the JSA back-to-work form has been completed and posted to Fife - well that's where all the jobs ever seemed to be on the Job Centre Plus site, the contract of employment has been posted to the new employer, I've bought some shirts and ties (and Mrs EoTP has returned them and bought something more suitable) and we are good to go.
Once I've negotiated the use of the lbc before I buy my own.
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