Working For Change

It’s autumn. I’m in your bedroom lying on your bed. Looking straightforward all I can see is woodchip wallpaper covering your ceiling. I stare at the woodchip until characters begin to emerge and chatter along with the roadwork hammering away outside.

You come into the room with toast. In an hour and a half I need to be at the job centre for my twice-weekly interview. I go online and look for jobs then begin to fill out my book with these jobs, pretending that I have applied for them. I eat toast.

***

When I get there there’s a security guard at the door. He asks if he can help me and shows me to the reception desk. A man takes my book, looks at it and asks me to take a seat – it’s the same thing every week.

I sit down next to two women that are there together. One of them is showing the other pictures on her mobile phone. From where I am sitting, I can see the pictures as well. She is flicking through the pictures casually and then suddenly a picture of a mans naked crotch appears on the screen, his engorged genitalia pointing at the camera. They both laugh and look embarrassed. She goes to the next picture before going back to the naked crotch and starts laughing again, even more. The other woman is not laughing now, she just looks embarrassed.

My name gets called by a woman sitting behind a desk. She doesn’t ask me any questions or attempt to make eye contact with me. She doesn’t ask me any questions or make eye contact with me. She tells me to sign a piece of paper and says “good luck” or something. I get up and leave the room. The money will go into my account sometime next week.

***

You make pasta for dinner and I look for jobs online. I tell you what I want to do and why I can’t. You tell me I can and what I need to do to do it. I send off a job application for something I’m not too fussed about, then we eat pasta.