There are millions in the same situation... "There must be something better

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returning home, he threw THE ALARM rings, it's 7.30 a.m. He knocks it off and drifts back to sleep, then wakes saddenly in a sweat remembering he has a job interview later that day. He recalls when he lived at home, "Graeme" his Inother woulá call 'are ewake - time is getting on « Jou Then he remembers waking a lot during the night. One of those restless nights that often occur now, before an interview.

Shall I shave? What shall I wear? Bloody hell, what does it natter, it's only a warehouse job!

He looks at the clock. It's ten io eight. Even though he's unemployed he still rises early to be outside the Job Centre fifteen minutes before it opens at 9 o'clock. But there's always one or two there before him.

Only today he's not going down the Job Centre, today is different. It's always i different when he has a job interview.

This reminds him of the time he went to "Tech' . Every day, bar Tuesday, there would be the unnatural horror of rising at 6.30 a.m., to be early for work, doing his apprenticeship. But on Tuesdays he went to Technical College, which meant he could lay in bed another hour. Then he would rise, shave, take a shower and dress smart in his second best suit, so he'd be ready for an early date that evening.

But he's not going to 'Tech' nor does he have a date. So why ahould he shave? He's been trying to grow a beard on and off for the last three months. So why shouldn't he have his interview with a week's growth on his ace?

He remembers a conversation se had in the pub on the eve of is redundancy. This zuy Jot aid to him, "You want to know amraai Grame, vou car 'i grow _ beard on the dole." Greene -plied "Balls, what ys talking bout?' I's eight e' clock - thought anxiety reappeat. Id belta: de getting up. bur why should " have and why arould 1 cower down to their stupid values? fuck them. Then again: I do need a job. But not this particular job. Who wants to work in a warehouse for the rest of his life?

He thought back to the day he'd had an interview for a seasonal job as a Courier in Spain. English speaking for English tourists.

It was a Friday. It had been 50p for a single copy, 40p per copy for 5 or more, and 30p per cop for 20 or more, from Employment Unit, Southwark CVS, 135 Rye Lane, London SE15. Cheques payabl to Southwark CVS.

Please add an amount for postage: Тоц PROPERTY 'piss-up'. There was another. In fact he'd nearly blown the entire loan on booze and fags. And the high period was shortlived.

It was then that he decided to grow a beard, this coupled with sioth.

He attended that interview after scrambling enough money together, travelling by bus instead.

Returning that same evening, he dropped in at the pub.

He sees Joe and calls to him, 'Hey Joe. Gizza pint, I'm skint.

'Skini again, whatya spent it on this time?' Joe asks.

'Well, it's like this, I've just got back from that job interview I was telling you about and spent out getting there.

"You've not been to job interview like that, have you?" Joe asks.

'Like what?' replies Graeme.

"You know what,, with that stubble over yer face.

"Yeh, why not? Anyway Joe are you gonna gizza pint or not?"

Joe gives him a quid, ' 'ere y'are and don't forget the change."

Graeme's blase attitude belied his feelings of anxiety and doubt, but he didn't hide them from himself. He knew what he felt when he saw the down and outs on "Dosser's Triangle" -Town Hall Square, Market Place, Woolies Cafe.

When he returned with his pint Joe asked: "How was your interview?"

"Huh, not bad. There was a couple of sticky questions, they are letting me know within a week," he replied, realising now that he should have been better prepared. Although he had been polishing up on his Spanish, he'd given little thought to any hypothetical questions relating to the requirements of the passengers.

Later his brother and sisterin-law had dropped in, bought him a pint and lent him a fiver. He felt amorous so he decided, it being Friday and him already dressed from the interview, to go to the Palais.

It tumed out to be a disappointing experience. After he'd built up his "dutch courage" to dance, it only took the one indow and refusal to put him in a transient mood, spending the rest of the evening drinking. Returning home in the early hours, he threw a brick through the Job Centre window and ran.

Within the week, as promised, he received a letter about the Courier job - and sure enough it was the all too familiar kind of reply. Regret to inform you... that on this occasion...

It was now half eight and he was thinking: Joe's right. You can't grow a beard on the dole. So he gets up and decides to shave. Feeling low he prepares himself for yet another interview.

His thoughts turned to his school days at the local Technical Grammar School and his father's words, "Son, take my advice, you won't go far wrong if yuu Too er belt, set a trade under your passed the relevant 'O' levels, taken a craft apprenticeship, attained his City and Guilds. But the prospects of continuing his trade in the city were now dead. He wondered what went wrong and whether it was all worth it.

He remembered last night's telly. The Money Programme. a car plant run by robots - spot welding and fitting components, and not a worker in sight.

He thought he'd like to have a robot to take his interview for him, rather than have to go through the ordeal of psyching himself up every time.

Though his trade was broken down and somewhat de-skilled and lacking in stimulation, it had its compensations. It was relatively well-paid, unlike the few crummy jobs that are on the market at the moment yielding only half to two-thirds of the wage that he'd been used to.

So his preparation for this warehouse job interview was without enthusiasm.

"Not suitable"

He felt it was all futile -being in competition with, maybe, a couple of dozen other wretched workers chaslig same job. Often he was "not suitable" , because he didn't have the right qualifications. Sometimes he was "not suitable" because he was overqualified.

Like the time he went after a job that was advertised in the Mercury foi someoné ablebodied. This job he really wanted, to enable him to clear some debts. He'd answered the application form correctly, declaring his educational qualifications. Consequently he didn't get the job, because it was thought that he wouldn't stick to it - he would leave as soon as he found something better (which was probably true).

After that disappointment,

he got a 'moonlighting' job the market, two days a week.

He was conscious of it being unlawful, and bothered by that because of his moralistic upbringing - church on Sundays, Boy Scouts during the week. But due to financial pressure he took it.

Then he watched an episode of "Boys from the Black Stuff" on telly - the one where the principle characters were chased by the DHSS officials across the building site and one of them, panicked by the chase, falls and kills himself. After that he started having feelings of "paranoia' So he packed up 'moonlighting' after he'd cleared his debts, only to be told that if he could hang on a little longer, there might be a permanent job.

Anyhow, what's in front of him now is another interview.

He sits down to his breakfast, switching on the radio for some music to lift his spirits. "Thought for the Day'. Then the news, announcing record unemployoment figures, Thatcher's voice talking about the economy: "We've about got it right" "We are on target". Followed by the Opposition spokesman, extolling the virtues of Labour's Alternative Economic Strategy. It didn't sound much of an alternative to Graeme. He wipes his face, puts on his tie and his brightly polished shoes, puts on his coat, and steps out from his flat, to face yet another day on the dole.

It's raining, a typical Monday morning. As he waits at the busstop, thinking he must get himself one of those cheap-fare bus passes, he pulls up his collar and sinks his hands deep into his pockets to keep them warm. He discovers a folded newspaper which this guy tried to sell him but finally just gave him outside che Job Centre last week.

The bus comes, he gets on it, his mind now concentrating on the interview. It wasn't much of a job - but it was a job. He was looking amar. He felt he would do alrighi, despite his low attitude But it': curly. He still has forty minutes to kill, so he makes for a cafe nearby, for s eup o ten Cntside a drop-out' asks him ::: 10p. Grame hee to tur him down. feltre hiro char he's on the dole nimsel He enters he cafe. bas e cup ot tes, ter pistes for his interview. Al die interview he is informed sat he will be fold the result aiter the rest of the applicants have been seen.

On returning to the street, a good feeling comes over him; the rain has stopped, the sun is out, the pre-interview anxiety has lifted.

He's walking by the Town Hall Square and notices quite a tew people in there, so he makes his way over, sees the seats are dry, sits down. Reading the paper he'd discovered earlier, he hadn't been there many minutes when another 'down and out' plonked himself beside him. Only this time it was an offer - not a take. He offered Graeme a swig of cider, but Graeme declined, saying that it was a bit early for him.

Then the 'cider-drinker' shuffles off, mumbling something. Graeme is thinking, I hope I don't degenerate to that. There must be something better for both of us.

Turning back to the paper he reads something about an unemployment march from Scotland to London, passing through Leicester in a month' s time. He realises that he's not alone, there are millions of others in the same situation, so he decided to find out more about it...

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