Iain Duncan Smith & The Mystery of the Job Centre Paradox

She thinks I’m on the toilet. I’m not. I’m just sat out the back and it’s the washing machine draining. I heard a distinct change in tone of her voice. Although I have called them in the past while using the toilet. I don’t see the problem with calling someone if you’re having a pee. If you’re having a shit though it might be decent to wait until you know for certain all plops have passed. There’s nothing worse than hearing someone plop while you’re trying to talk about chicken, but then I think maybe you’d just imagine it as a big egg from a middle-aged chicken who’s just found out about holistic medicine having a water birth.

Being on the phone to the Job Centre really is my personal hell. I should probably point that out. I’m on the phone to the Job Centre. That’s who thinks I was using the toilet. I’m trying to tell them I don’t need their “services” anymore and it’s impossible. The phone call is taking so long they’re making me wish I didn’t have a job. I’m writing this in the time I’m holding. Not even holding, she’s just doing computer things. I can hear her typing and huffing. All the holding was earlier. It was about twenty, long, miserable minutes of a badly recorded 16-bar loop of Spring by Vivaldi. Something I did just find surprising though was I had to spell the word ‘shell’ to her but I didn’t have to spell ‘Llanelli’… And she’s a Geordie!

She said he wad to pass my call onto someone else because of a problem with the bank holiday(?) so I was expecting the horrible played-in-a-tin-can-with-spaghetti-instruments version of Spring but the line just went dead. She fucking hung up me! She sounded so lovely, too. Well, at least until she didn’t think I was on the shitter. I honestly though she wouldn’t dick me off. I’m not going to call them back though because that last farce took almost an hour.

I bet Iain Duncan Smith specifically, no, personally, told all the staff in Job Centre call centres to be as slow as possible. What a shit he is. For all I know, I just spend an hour to have nothing happen. And that fucking song. Why loop it? Play it all, for fucks sake. They play classical music because it’s been proven to be the most calming music, but Iain Duncan Smith has managed to find a way to use this fact as a weapon that enduces nothing but hate and rage even in the sweetest of people.

“All the money I steal I hide down here, inside my massive cunt.”

Imagine you’re sort of person who claims benefits because they spend all their time taking heroin and Valiums and listening to shitty techno music loud enough so that your neighbours can’t hear your girlfriend scream. You call up the Job Centre to make a “complaint”. You didn’t receive your last benefit payment because you thought it best to drink some white cider in a park and smoke the lowest quality hash instead of going on an NVQ training course they had put you. That seems fair enough to you and that makes everyone involved with the Job Centre bastards in your eyes. You call them up, and after twenty minutes of some automated woman that cannot understand your postcode you are finally put on hold in a queue, and what’s this? Fucking shitty classical music? You’d be pissed off. But not only is it shitty classical music, it’s shitty classical music being played on plastic trombones and cellos made of socks through a cheese-grater speaker. You be livid

Now imagine you’re the short of person that really does appreciate classical music. Before you lost your job you’d spend many an evening at the theatre, watching an opera or some shit. And guess what! Spring in Four Seasons is the best song you have ever heard. A few days ago you were at the Job Centre and you received the best customer service you have ever had anywhere in your life so you diced to call them up and give praise to the staff. You call them up, and after twenty minutes of some automated woman that cannot understand your postcode you are finally put on hold in a queue, and what’s this? You recognise that sound. That horrible, wailing sound. But what it is? “No,” you think to yourself, “it cannot be.” but it be’s alright. That is, as far as you’re concerned, the single most important piece of music that has ever blessed out earthly realm and they have the audacity not just to plat it on a short loop, but to play it on sponge violins and rubber trumpets though a speaker made of beans. You would be livid.

And now I must call them back and I too will be livid. I will be wild with fury telling them the good news of me having found work in London and no longer have to claim their shitty benifits.

Maybe in another dimension this is a nice day.

I found a recording of that hold music. The clip is only three minutes so it’s not so bad.





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