Workstep

Every two weeks I attend 'Workstep.' One of those government ideas to get folks like me back to work. It originated with the Royal British Legion and I suppose it grew out of their experience with helping ex-service personnel back to work. In my case I think they reckon I was playing the 'Old Soldier' and dumped me on this! Every two weeks I go upstairs and meet the attractive, competent, far too good for this job, young lass who assists my feeble efforts. Well at least she has amended my CV and no longer refers to my original attempts as 'dire.' So, after an needless bath,in spite of the cost of soap, I wandered off in good time.

I should have realised as I passed the sentry that something was up.

His smirk should have made me realise that he knew I was going the wrong way. His assistant was, as usual, sauntering about in the back of the auditorium chatting.When I got upstairs I glanced at the wee darkened room where I usually meet the lass and saw her busy with another so I sat down in the far side, the only available space. John, my regular dole man, was staring at his PC and trying to work out what button to press and so ignored me, I then returned the thought.

I sat and waited,

and waited,

and waited.

The elderly gent opposite, near the entrance door, looked at his watch, many times, and he supped some sort of sports drink, much needed for this place I thought! He waited, and, waited and watched his watch. And waited....

I waited, filling the time watching the women wobbling by.The thought passed through my mind that far too many were using the lift to climb one flight of stairs, and far too many sausage rolls were being eaten instead of food! Next time I will bring a 'Weightwatchers' poster with me and hang it on the wall to frighten them.

I continued waiting,
and waiting.
Others waited, no one spoke.
A 'Chav' wandered over from one of the desks where he had been chatting amiably. He sat along from me in that 'Chav' style. Legs apart, arms folded, brightly coloured baseball cap perched on the back of his head, his nylon fashion trousers in danger of giving electric shocks to passing strangers, and he waited.
After a while he was called to another desk where he, it turned out, was pleading, pleasantly, for an immediate hand out.

Then the nutter entered.

Naturally he sat a few feet from myself. Don't they always? He immediately began shooting at invisible targets over on the far side of the room, then the folk behind, then the ceiling, and on...
If only he had waited?
He continued firing at unobserved targets then, horror of horrors, he spoke!

"I have passed stage 11" he said, friendly like.

I ignored, surly like.

He returned to firing, and waiting.

The elderly gent looked at him from afar and glanced at me, I noticed his thoughts, they were similar to mine but I did not have the relief that the nutter was on the other side of the room.

"Got any children?" dafty asked. I stopped myself saying "Not on me," in case it led to conversation and merely grunted, "No," and stared across the room at two fat women tottering towards the lift. It creaked somewhat worryingly as they entered.

John my man then appeared and spoke to the daft one, he informed him the lass we had both come to see was to be found downstairs today!

I stared.
I then spluttered something about the waiting.

He grinned in a somewhat gratuitous fashion when informing me he had not seen me staring into space for the twenty minutes that seemed like several days. Gurgling with needless pleasure he told me it was the 'Scope' woman who was sitting in the dark room and I was mistaken. He smirked again and off I trooped. As I came downstairs the sentry cackled in an evil manner, and I began to lose the guilt I had gathered when informing the nutter to bring his sawn off shotgun next time."They would like to hear how loud it can be," I told him. It will be then my turn to cackle!
The 'Chav' crinkled his way past me to collect his winnings and head for the Jewellery counter at 'Argos,' the shop, not the ancient city state.
The appointment was cancelled and I just e-mailed her my failure instead of weeping at the desk as normal. I bet she missed that, especially as she also had to deal with the nutter. Once more it is back to the routine search, and maybe, just maybe, something will turn up. I wonder if I have any long lost rich great uncles near death out in New Zealand or Mombasa or the likes? Here's hoping, I mean, good luck to him, or her.....