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Part-Time Joy.

In Life, Work on September 30, 2010 at 9:55 am

I officially have a job.

There go my plans to transform this blog into a prolific archive of docu-prose about the strife of the unemployed, fiercely battling against the tide of the ‘benefit leech’ stereotype and the onslaught of readily available door-to-door marketing jobs. I heard that term – ‘benefit leech’ – for the first time the other day. It gave me a niggling sense that I should feel dirty and socially despicable, as if I’m the naughty child; the kid with no ambition other than to, as those highly knowledgeable somebodies put it, leech.

I signed onto jobseekers shortly after graduating and I persisted with it for around two months; my attempts to claim housing benefit were so arduous that I gave up, determined to find a job before I got through the mass of crisp and belated paperwork. Previously, my most recent blogs indicate quite potently my opinion towards having to resort to benefits, not that I’m not fully appreciative of the help; god knows I needed it, since the cleaning jobs wouldn’t give me a chance.

The brother of a friend recently offended not only his recently graduated and unemployed sibling but, inadvertently, every student who has been pissed out into the street following completion of  whatever qualification they’ve gained; he likened his brother to the colourful and highly intriguing characters that grace the stage of Jeremy Kyle. What an interesting thing to say. I would love to hear the reasoning behind such a comment but thought it wise to consider it internally from a safe distance. Plus, you know, now I’m a working girl and I don’t have time to construct a coherent retaliation – let alone to blast it towards said sibling and his feisty mouth – what with my 10-20 hours a week and all that (joke, obviously).

I am finding working part time a very strange thing. On my days off I become excruciatingly bored and mope about whilst desperately seeking things to do. So far I’ve filled most of my time with calls to various government-led organisations (word to the wise: it’s best to check that the jobcentre actually sign you off when you ask them to. I’m already facing the snarling clutches of emergency tax) and learning the first eight bars of various Chopin waltzes before dreamily wandering downstairs to make yet another cup of coffee. My diet now mostly consists of caffeine, which is quite unusual when you consider the fact that I never have anything particularly exerting to do.

The other strange thing about working part time is that, despite the mind-numbing boredom of my work-free days and the fact I wake at 7am every day anyway, I begrudge each morning when I have to go to work. How dare they ask me to come in two hours early? How dare they ask me to work when the Cardiff Cheese Festival is taking place? It’s not as if I need the hours or anything (witty joke, yet again). Is this idiocy just me or is it a universal folly of the human brain? At least I have the opportunity to clarify that once I’m at work I generally enjoy my time there very much. See how I just jinxed myself?

So, I hear you lovely, imaginative people calling to me through cyberspace: can you get another job? Yes! I’ve been offered one, but I don’t think you can accept a job if the one you already work at changes your rota each week. Damn (not a joke). Surely this just gives me time to pursue my hobbies during my free time? You’d think, wouldn’t you? I’m beginning to wonder if the only environment that I’ve ever felt accommodated by is the heavily social education system that allows me to simultaneously work my arse off whilst committing heinous bouts of self-indulgence. If so then this must be what a repeated metaphorical slap round the face feels like. I suppose it’s not as if I don’t deserve it.

  1. Very interesting read. I am glad you found a job, better than nothing. Your struggles also highlight what many are going through. Thanks for sharing.

  2. I know what you mean about working part time. Wasted days seem to happen more yet you feel worse for having them.

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