CROSSHIRE:

HARD WORK AT THE JOB CENTRE

To help the economy and reduce unemployment, I have increased our workforce. My frontline staff, Big Fred and Samantha, had both been wittering for some time that we need a gopher, and our driver, Rocket Raymond, suggested I give his nephew a chance. Fearing any appearance of favouritism might be frowned upon in this politically correct age, I said I would interview the lad but would also throw the job open to the wider market.

I rang the Job Centre, which has a shiny new emporium on the high street where useful shops once stood, but now only the Government can afford the rent. A helpful young lady took the details, but said she didn’t really understand what ‘tool and equipment hire’ was, as it was not a category on her system (industry associations please note: we are invisible to the labour exchange). I suggested she tried ‘plant hire’; after a long pause she said she had looked under ‘garden centres and horticulture’ but couldn’t find plant hire!

I asked if she could just put a postcard up somewhere in her offices but apparently it’s different now in the IT era. Our schools are releasing an increasing number of illiterate, uncommunicative and uncooperative teenagers into the labour market and they are then expected to sit in front of a screen to select a job! Evidently, we need the bigger Job Centres because they employ more staff to help ‘clients’ navigate the system, dream up CVs and let them loose on unsuspecting employers, who basically want someone who can add, write legibly and speak in clear, polite English on the telephone.

Eventually, a couple of candidates turned up for an interview. One had a large bluetooth gadget growing out of his ear and demanded the salary of a brain surgeon, while the other was very late as he had difficulty getting out of bed. When I told him our starting time, he asked if I was “for real”. I replied that in the old days the impact of my boot would have been forthcoming, and that he was in danger of me taking a trip back in time if he didn’t leave quickly.

So, Raymond’s nephew is now on trial. And, yes, he has been christened with a well-deserved nickname. After a couple of days, Sam was heard calling him Lefty. She suggested I ask him where his lunchbox was, and he replied “I left it on me Mum’s table, boss”. I noticed he was not wearing his hi-viz jacket that our safety supremo insists must be worn in the yard, eliciting the response “I left it in the van, boss”. What about the delivery docket for the mixer he had delivered that morning? “I left it on the roof of the van - and it’s not there now”. As the delivery note was attached to a piece of plywood and secured with a large clip I had visions of it flying off in the town centre with more effect than a cluster bomb.

I was worried that, as I had not envisaged such an occurrence in our risk assessment, any incident caused by an errant lump of plywood would surely cause extreme grief from officialdom. Fortunately, our customer rang to say that the board had flown off the van roof on site, nearly amputating their labourer’s ear. Thankfully, the site agent was from the old school and simply wished Lefty better luck next time.

Well, he had better get his act together. Fred and Sam assure me they can knock Lefty into shape, although my safety supremo has misgivings. What I do know is that, in his first couple of weeks, he has turned up before time every day, carries out instructions to the letter (as long as you only give him one at a time), can operate a broom and is willing to have a go and ask questions. Perhaps the lady at the Job Centre should find a few more Lefties, preferably without a CV.

Executive Hire News › Archives › June 2008 › Crosshire › Hard work at the job centre

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