Yesterday took me to a place that conjours up feelings of shame. Guilt. Fear and frustration. Of feeling slightly grubby. Yesterday I went to The Job Centre. AKA Job Centre Plus – it’s the same Job Centre vibe of bygone years PLUS nicer desks and seats.
I like to think of myself as a down to earth but slightly yummy mummy. So the thought of applying for Income Support, should a job not come through in the near future, had brought me out in a cold sweat.
“I’m no cliché,” I thought to myself “single mum on benefits, me? Whatever next!”
Recent events as posted on this blog have really brought home the reality of my situation in the past few days however. Plus my part time job as a Photoshop Tutor came to an end last night and I realised that April = no income. So I bit the proverbial bullet and applied online for IS (I’ve written it in full once and I just can’t write it again), in the hope that I wouldn’t have to go near the JCP (nope sorry, I just can’t write those words in full either).
It was an easy process. I filled the forms in online and I received a telephone call the very next day from a nice lady asking me if it was a good time to call. It wasn’t so I phoned back the following morning. I got pretty much straight through, no waiting on hold and spoke to a firm but amiable chap who asked me a few more questions about myself, my income and my situation. Then he said these words:
“OK, thanks Ms Positively Divorced. To process your application we would like you to attend a work based interview”
“Oh right, where would that be then, at the job centre?” I tentatively asked (thinking “oh please oh please oh please say No!”).
“That’s right Ms Positively Divorced. Would tomorrow be OK, about 1.40pm? If you don’t attend it could affect your application”
“Oh……..OK” I said in a slightly squeaky voice, trying to hide my disappointment.. It was clearly time to conquer my fears.
So being the independent and professional woman of the 21st century that I am, the first thing I had to tackle was what I was going to wear…
Now you don’t know me, so I’m going to admit that, this was quite a concern. Why? I didn’t want to look like an un-deserving case even though yes I’m skint and won’t be able to eat next month if things carry on as they are. Also I wanted to blend into the background because I’m embarrassed. Anyway enough of the whole whoa is me thing, I’m trying to be positive here. I like dressing appropriately for an occasion and so instead saw this as a creative challenge.
So on the day of reckoning I pulled on my black skinny jeans straight from the dirty washing basket, which still had a couple of crusty dried baked bean stains left on them from the kids dinner the day before. Taking inspiration from Hugh Grant in ‘About a Boy’, I sprinkled a few crumbs from the bread bin onto my top for good measure. I then swapped my beloved Gianni Versace sunglasses that I’d received from Ma for my 30th birthday, and donned a rather nice pair from Accessorise onto the top of my head and my unwashed crop of hair.
Slinging on my DM boots and leather jacket I gathered my ID and mortgage papers and put them in a carrier bag. I think the fact that my bag was actually a canvas tote from Marks & Sparks and I’d picked up a bite to eat from my local Waitrose might have given the game away to the trained eye, so I chewed some gum for additional effect.
I parked my newly cleaned car a safe distance from the JCP and began the walk of shame. Those same spongers we so fondly associate with the JC, were hanging out nearby drinking cider bought with their hard earned giro cheques. Teenage mum’s smoking rollies and swearing at their kids adorned with gold rings and bracelets (and that was just the kids) delighted the swarm of male immigrants chatting animatedly. I was getting nervous.
I have to say that from the moment I walked in, the whole experience was very positive. I was greeted with a ‘Good Afternoon’ a smile and shown where to sit. After only a few minutes I was called up to see a lovely advisor called ‘Clive’, an older gentleman dressed in Blue Harbour shirt and slacks, with very cheeky eyes and even cheekier sense of humour.
“Suppose I’d better put my badge on or I’ll get into trouble” announced Clive “So you’re here about your application for the Lone Parent IS?”
Oh wow – that was the first time I’d heard ‘lone parent’ said to me in public and it felt very strange indeed.
However he was neither judgmental or negative but quite the opposite and made me giggle with his amusing quips. I signed a declaration about the information I had supplied, to be processed by the IS People. He then led me up a flight of stairs to see Celia the Lone Parent Advisor. Oh gawd there were those words again.
Like Clive, Celia, a South African lady with gorgeous black curly hair, was incredibly helpful, friendly and full of advice. I openly stated I want to work and she very clearly explained the ins and outs of my claim and situation. (She has in fact called me up to tell me about some opportunities in the last 24 hours which I’m following up.)
What was immediately apparent though, is there’s no grey area for somebody like me. To survive financially, it’s full IS or a full time job. Part time work won’t work, even with tax credits because, although the money is dreadful on IS, they’ll pay my council tax and the interest on my mortgage, so I’ll be able to survive. If I rented my property it would be slightly different because on a low/part-time wage I could get some kind of housing benefit. Surprisingly, being a home-owner is proving to be a negative factor. I just can’t afford to work part-time, pay all the bills and the mortgage.
At the end of the interview Celia shook my hand and wished me luck. On the way out I saw Clive, who once again shook my hand and wished me all the best. Maybe I’m a soft touch at the moment but this made me feel good about myself for a change. It also made me more determined that I don’t want to use this service for long.
As I walked out of the JCP I became more aware that my preconceived notions were just that – preconceived and wrong. Not only were the staff very helpful and friendly but there were people there ‘just like me’. There perhaps due to pure bad luck, the recession or just an unfortunate change in circumstances, wanting to work but in need of a bit of extra help.
Yes, just like me, only, minus the baked bean stains on their jeans.
Positively Divorced 