Crowd Control in Camden

Stacey's new employability centre is far from what she'd imagined. How can she improve the failing centre and incompetent staff in just three months?

I greeted Monday morning with a big grin and an early start. I’d rattled around my flat all weekend but finally the first day of the rest of my life was here. I couldn’t face breakfast, my stomach was too jittery. Back in my Hobbs pinstripe suit I got off the tube at Camden Town flashing my Oyster card at the barrier. I checked the map on my phone searching for the centre I was yet to see. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Drumming my travel card against my thigh I walked out into the heart of Camden. It was a different place to the vibrant tourist trap it would become later in the day. People in suits hurried past me on their way to work. I crossed the road.

“God sees everything,” a man announced to everyone and no one. “Open your heart to him and let your sins be washed away.”

My shoulders slumped. That was all I needed, a street preacher. The suits ignored the man looking through him as though he wasn’t there. I followed their lead, hurrying past in case the preacher wanted to try and see inside my heart. I didn’t want to know what he’d find if he looked too closely. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t find God.

I located the GoFAR centre easily despite its side street location away from the main hustle and bustle of Camden. The building had three floors with GoFAR on the first. It was concrete and looked like the blocks of flats in The Bill; the ones on the rough estates where all the trouble happens. On the top floor there was a college which taught English as a second language. The ground and second floors housed rival welfare to work centres. Surely that was a conflict of interest, all hemmed in together like that? I smirked as I wondered what the right wing press would make of this concrete monstrosity with its three floors of benefit claimants and penthouse of immigrants.

But look at it, I thought. It’s ugly and in a state of disrepair. How hard hearted and out of touch would you have to be to believe people entered willingly? No one would come here unless they had to. But hadn’t I chosen to be here? Did it make it any better that I’d done so without seeing it first? I hadn’t even asked to meet the team before accepting the job. What kind of fool did that make me? I bit my lip.

I pushed the heavy door and entered the building. There was a lift to the second and third floors but GoFAR had its own entrance. I was greeted by a bare wood staircase. It wasn’t the kind that graced apartment blocks with its rustic charm. Instead it looked suspiciously unfinished with marks at the edges where the decorators hadn’t taken any care when they painted the walls, expecting a carpet to be laid to cover their mistakes. My footsteps echoed on the wood as I climbed the stairs. I was ready to meet my new team. It was quarter past nine; they’d already be immersed in their daily duties; I’d be walking into a buzz of excitement and activity.

Standing at the top of the stairs was a bearded man in a brown suit. He was a good head taller than me, although at five feet and nine inches I was tall for a woman. He was twice as wide. He smiled and unlike Celia and Derek’s, his smile reached right up to his eyes and beyond, crinkling his face to his receding hairline. For the first time since I’d heard of GoFAR I felt truly welcomed.

 “Hello love,” he said in a thick Northern accent. “You must be Stacey. Very pleased to meet you, I’m Jeff.”

I held my hand out, “That’s right.”

“Well you aren’t what I imagined.”

I sighed, it certainly wasn’t the first time I’d heard that, usually people glossed over their original surprise and muttered something about expecting someone older.

 Jeff cut straight to it. “You’re black.”

I couldn’t help myself, I had to laugh. It had been the last thing I’d expected him to say. My eyes crinkled and my lips twitched. “Am I? I didn’t notice.”

Jeff laughed a deep belly laugh. “I’m sorry, I made a terrible assumption. Oh damn it; we all do it; don’t we?”

I waved my hand, “Don’t give it another thought. I’d rather more people were confident enough to say what they were thinking instead of worrying about offending people.”

Jeff grinned, “You and me are going to get on just fine. Come and meet the rest of us.”

“I’m looking forward it,” I said concentrating on my small talk. “How long have you been here?”

“Eighteen months last week.” Even his accent was warm and friendly.

I tried to sound clever, “How many people do you place?”

“Do you mean me personally or the centre?”

I laughed, “Well both I guess.”

“One.”

“You or the centre?”

“Both.”

I laughed again, marvelling again at how honest he was. But that little voice at the back of my head pointed out the problems. One person a month? That was terrible! The Smythes warned me the centre wasn’t hitting its targets. I’d been told things had got bad. That nagging voice suggested it was worse than I’d thought. Never mind, I’d soon help them improve. They’d all be placing a lot more than one person a month just as soon as I’d settled in and started waving my magic wand of expert leadership. They had to, I only had three months of guaranteed commission.

Jeff led me into the main office. A young Asian man was on the landline phone. His hooded jacket was ripped and his woollen beanie hat pulled down over his eyebrows. Why was he in the staff office and who he was calling? I listened in.

“What time you coming then?” he said. “Alright blud, catch you later.”

Two women were also in the office. They scowled at me as they drank tea from plastic cups. The younger of the two was obviously GoFAR staff. She was dressed in a bright red suit which matched her lipstick. The second was older, I guessed she must be staff too but she certainly wasn’t dressed in a way I’d considered appropriate for work. She wasn’t tanned, made up or preened in any way. She didn’t even look particularly clean. She wore a baggy black jumper covered in white cat hair and chino trousers with tapered legs.

The younger of the two looked me up and down.

I took a deep breath, “I’m Stacey, pleased to meet you.” I wanted to add ‘that means your new boss’ but I wasn’t brave enough. It had been a long time since I’d been faced with such surly expressions. I’d been so keen to make a good first impression as well. What had I done wrong?

Jeff ignored their grumpiness; “This is Leanne,” he said pointing to the younger woman, “and this is Barbara,” pointing at the older woman. He gestured to the man, “This dashing young chap here is Mo.”

Mo waved, grinning. He was staff! Now I’d been the one to make assumptions, and those assumptions had been completely wrong. I felt a twinge of shame, but it wasn’t really my fault was it? I didn’t judge him on race; I judged him on his clothing. That was acceptable. Under his jacket he wore a tight top with a low cut v neck and baggy jeans. Why had he come to work dressed like that? It was completely unacceptable. Things were certainly going to change now I was in charge.

Leanne continued to stare. She looked like a high street copy with Celia Smythe being the original designer version. Her highlights were too blond, her nails too long, and her tan orange toned. A collection of gold necklaces were disappearing into her cleavage. Barbara had lost interest. The back of her head greeted me as she tapped at her keyboard, her greying hair glistening with grease.

Mo was still making calls; all on his own. “Yes we start at nine… Nine… Yeah, nine in the morning; yeah I know, it’s later than that now… Can you come in now? Yes, now.”

“We have a new course starting today,” Jeff explained. “But out of thirty five booked, we’ve only got three so far.”

I checked my watch. It was now twenty five minutes past nine. “Wow. Are they normally this late?” Had someone made a mistake with the letters? Surely all our customers couldn’t be genuinely delayed. In my old job if a candidate had turned up twenty minutes late without any explanation they wouldn’t have been working for me. My mouth dropped open; that was just it. They weren’t working for me, they weren’t working for anyone. Everyone was unemployed, that’s why they were there.

 “We’ll start at ten,” Jeff said, “by then, anyone who is planning to arrive will have”

I stared at him open mouthed. “How are we going to keep the people who are already here entertained for nearly an hour while they wait for the late comers?”

“They’ll be fine,” Jeff insisted.

“But they’ll be bored.”

“You haven’t worked in this sector before have you kid?”

It was true I hadn’t. “Is this normal?”

“You can’t expect people to be on time. That’s what they’re here for. It’s GoFAR’s job to teach them how to be punctual.”

I shook my head, “That’s crazy. Decent timekeeping is a life skill not a job skill. Even unemployed people have watches and appointments to keep.”

Jeff laughed, “Comes with the territory. Most of them won’t show up at all.”

“What are they doing while they wait? Even a television in the corner showing vintage Eastenders episodes wouldn’t keep me waiting that long for class to start.” I hoped they’d had the good sense to bring books.

Jeff winked, “Filthy habit, Eastenders. By ten o clock we’ll have about fifteen people probably. And you can bet they’ve all been mandated to come.”

I wondered what mandated meant but didn’t embarrass myself by asking. Jeff had already pointed out I didn’t know the sector; I didn’t want to highlight my shortcomings any further. Leanne glared at me. I wondered what I’d done. Maybe she’d had an argument with Barbara that morning. It might explain why they were both so miserable.

Mo put down the phone.

“Hi there,” I said, catching him between calls.

He nodded and smiled, “Alright. You’s the boss lady”

“That’s right,” I felt as though I was humouring a teenager. I looked pointedly at Leanne, “The new manager of the Camden centre.”

Leanne cocked her head, continuing her ice cold glare.

 “What are you doing Mo?” I asked.

“I’m reaching out to the customers who didn’t show yet.”

I looked at Leanne, and at the back of Barbara’s head. Why was Mo making all the calls whilst they just sat there, watching, sneering? Instead of starting an argument I decided to lead by example. “Why don’t I give you a hand? We can get it done much faster with two of us working on it.”

Mo’s face lit up, “What really? Nice one!” He handed me the second page of his list. He gave no instructions; instead he simply picked up the phone to continue. Maybe there were none, no standard GoFAR script. I followed my initiative dialling the first number on the list.

“Who’s this” hissed the person the other end of the line. I startled. Why would anyone answer their phone like that, especially if they were expecting calls from employers? Which, if they were looking for work they would be.

I didn’t let their tone bother me. I was a veteran of cold calling, I’d done my time and I’d done it well. “This is Stacey Knight calling from GoFAR. You’re booked onto a course with us this morning, are you still planning on attending?”

“Oh ok,” the person said. “No. No I’m not coming”

I’d dealt a lot with cancellations so I turned on the charm, “Oh that’s a shame; we have a really interesting program. Can I ask why you can’t make it this morning?”

“Look,” she said, not swayed one bit by my charms and sounding quite irritated now. “I told the Job Centre I can’t go. My daughter is not at school so there’s no way I can leave her.”

“Oh ok. Maybe we’ll see you in a few days?”

“No. You won’t. She doesn’t go to school anymore. I can’t come on the course.”

She put the phone down on me. The dialling tone echoed in my ear. I winced and put the handset back on the receiver.

I turned to my new team, “She can’t come; she has to look after her daughter. What do we do under those circumstances?”

Leanne sneered, “You should have told her she had to come or you’ll tell her adviser and she’ll lose her benefits. She isn’t being paid to be at home taking care of her child; she’s being paid to look for a job.” Leanne’s accent was as hard as her appearance and had an Essex nasal twang.

I looked at the floor. “But if they take her benefits away, what will she do for money?” Would the Job Centre really stop someone’s benefit payments because they weren’t able to attend a course? Especially if it was all down to a misunderstanding like this seemed to be.

Leanne sniffed, “Not my problem. But let me tell you, if we don’t get her in here then we can’t get her a job. And if we don’t get her a job we don’t get any placement fee. If we don’t make any placement fees that’s you and me joining her in the signing on queue once a fortnight.” She examined her nails.

My jaw dropped. I had to admit these were the kind of words I’d come to expect from my old Director; indeed they wouldn’t be out of place coming from the Smythes either. I don’t know why but I didn’t think I’d hear something like that from the frontline staff in the GoFAR centres. But she was right, if we couldn’t get more people attending we wouldn’t make target. Although I didn’t think threatening the customers with poverty was the answer, I knew I had to find some way of getting the jobseekers to turn up, and I had to find it fast. I’d not even considered part of the problem would be getting the candidates through the door in the first place. I’d expected people to want to find work and to be grateful for any help they were offered. I had a lot to learn.

At ten minutes to ten we had nine very bored customers waiting for us to start. At five minutes to ten, what I thought was our tenth customer breezed in. Her brightly coloured dreadlocks were the biggest part of her tiny frame. She wore a crocheted blanket. It didn’t even have sleeves.

Instead of waiting to be shown into the classroom she bounced into the office.

“Hi there,” I greeted. I gestured to the classroom. “It’s actually through here this morning. Please do take a seat and we’ll be right with you.”

The young woman stood and stared at me through pale blue eyes which were big and round like a doll’s. Despite her tatty appearance she was beautiful with the kind of porcelain skin and candy pink cheeks and lips favoured by Technicolor photographers in the early twentieth century. Her hand flew to her mouth. She held it there giggling, the way a child might.

 “Oh,” she said her eyes wide, “Oh dear. You must be Stacey.”

My eyes were wide too now. How properly she spoke, you could cut glass with those vowels.

She reached over and rubbed the top of my arm. “I work here my darling. I’m Rainbow”

I recoiled from her unexpected touch before gaining my composure and giving myself a stern talking to. My extra friendly approachable manager smile was glued to my face. I’d managed to somehow alienate two of my staff in the hour I’d been there. I couldn’t end up with any more hating me. But she’d walked in nearly an hour late dressed in a blanket and didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed. Most normal people would be grovelling and begging to keep their job.

Before I could gather myself together and introduce myself properly, Jeff and Barbara hurried passed us and down to the classroom.

Rainbow shrugged. She sat in the chair beside Mo, “I’ll carry on with the no shows for you.”

Mo looked triumphant. “They’ve all been called. For real!”

I followed Jeff and Barbara into the classroom taking one of the spare seats near the back. I wanted to know how it felt to be a candidate so I could evaluate our customers’ experience. It might help me to empathise and make improvements. I already had some ideas forming, for instance I didn’t have to sit amongst the customers to know leaving people sitting around for an hour did not inspire confidence.

I sneaked a look at the customers either side of me. They were silent. They hadn’t spoken to each other at all since they’d arrived. None of them had, instead they’d been sitting together as if they were on the tube, just waiting for the training to start. Some had taken books out of their bags, and some had started idly thumbing through their Smartphones but the rest literally just sat there, staring ahead like statues, waiting. No one had come to ask what time we were starting. No one had walked out in frustration. Maybe Jeff was right, maybe things were different in the welfare to work sector. Maybe this was usual. But how could anyone justify this? I’d have got up and left already. It couldn’t be good customer service in anyone’s eyes. Were our customers’ expectations really that low? With that thought in mind I settled down to hear the introduction.

Barbara sat on a chair at the front. Her cheeks were covered in tiny red spots and patches of dry skin. Her eyes and mouth were small, disappearing into the irritated flesh.

“Welcome to GoFAR,” she announced. She didn’t stand. “This course lasts for two weeks and will teach you everything you need to know about getting a job. Then, at the end, if you stick it out that long, we might have a job for you, but I don’t want to get your hopes up so please see getting a job as an extra bonus rather than the reason you are here; which is to learn how to get a job.”

The woman in front of me choked back a laugh. I didn’t blame her. I bet she wished she was filming Barbara’s waffle on her mobile to put on YouTube later.

 Barbara continued, “Only thirty percent of all the people booked to start today attended. And only half of you sitting here now will last until the end. How many of you here, ten? Statistically only five percent of those arriving on the first day get work so maybe that will be none of you but who knows, you might be lucky, maybe it will be one. Which one of you will it be then?”

I looked down at my shoes. It might have only been my first day but I was responsible for that team. My eyes flitted from side to side; those poor people had come for help with their job searches. It might have taken courage to come into Camden that morning and go up the shabby stairs to the GoFAR centre. They’d been rewarded with Barbara’s tales of woe. No one needed that.

The woman in front of me blew her nose, the sound echoing.

Barbara was oblivious to the misery that emanated from her audience. “Let me go through some rules. You must arrive on time with a pen and notebook to hand. Be ready and willing to learn. Don’t think not turning up is the easy route out; we’ll be reporting every non attendance immediately. Your Job Centre Adviser will not be happy to find you stopped attending and you will be in very real danger of losing your benefits. You should agree to take whatever job we offer, and you must treat the GoFAR staff with respect.”

 “What, like you treat us with respect?” the woman in front of me barked. Her voice broke with emotion. My stomach churned its lack of breakfast evident from the growls it produced. I felt sick. She hadn’t been laughing, she’d been crying. What I’d thought had been a sneaky chuckle had been a stifled sob. And Barbara had simply continued her monologue. I could hear my heart beating in my chest. This was like watching a car crash. I wanted to be as far away from that room as possible.

Barbara stopped talking and glowered at the woman who had dared to speak. In my mind I desperately willed her to move on, to talk about something positive, or even to send them all for a break. But I did nothing. It was my first day and I could hardly leap in and offer advice. Jeff sat beside Barbara, looking at the floor. Why wasn’t he stepping in? Barbara simply stood there like a stand-up comedian being pelted with fruit.

“I came here to find a job” another voice piped up, filling the silence. “Are you saying you can’t find me one?”

“Won’t find you one,” another disgruntled voice agreed.

“It’s up to you to find yourself a job,” Barbara told the man who was dressed in a faded black suit. “We just teach you how to do it.”

 “I know how to find a job,” the man said. “I’m looking for one every day, every single day.”

“Well, why are you here then?” Barbara snapped. “If you know what to do already, why did you come? And why don’t you already have a job?”

Don’t tell him that, I screamed in my head; don’t say that, he’ll leave. But again, I said nothing.

“The Job Centre told me to come,” the man in the suit responded. “It’s mandatory, you have to go.” He sounded deflated now rather than angry. In fact it was more than deflated. He sounded defeated. I didn’t blame him for thinking like that. I wanted to step in, ask to see his CV, ask what experience he had, what kind if jobs he’d applied for. Maybe I could help. I said no to people on a daily basis, I would have no trouble picking out the reasons he’d been rejected. He might have been making simple mistakes I could rectify immediately. I didn’t step in. Instead I sat silently at the back, wishing the whole sorry situation would end.

 “This is the most pointless hour I’ve ever spent in my life,” said another voice.

“Me too,” said a woman with a headscarf sitting in the front row. She threw the little folder of CVs she held in her hand onto the floor in disgust.

“You treat us like animals,” the first woman said. “Go here, do that, sign this. Well I’m a person. I’m a human being and I’ve worked throughout my life. I don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

 “This is worse than the last course I went on.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been on a few and this is definitely the least supportive and most patronising. I didn’t think anything could beat the one before that. Downstairs it was. They made us cut out phrases and stick them on the wall, like we were children or something.” His East London accent turned the final word into ‘sumfink’

“No they do that,” said the folder woman. “It’s the new teaching techniques. They don’t sit you down and talk at you anymore; they treat you like you’re in nursery school. Draw this, cut this out, let’s do a role play.” She laughed a little too loudly as though she too really wanted to sob instead of laugh.

If you don’t laugh you’ll cry; that’s what my mum always said. Well I better laugh too, I thought, because things are bad. Barbara’s audience were now ignoring her and talking amongst themselves. To think Derek Smythe had assured me all I needed to know to teach my own course was crowd control. Well it seemed to me the Camden centre had no skills in this area. The whole morning was an empty cage of headless chickens.

The woman in front of me cried again. “I just want a job. I don’t want to be told how difficult it is or how useless I am. I know it’s tough out there, I know it’s unlikely, but what am I supposed to do? Just give up? You can stand there and think I’m a scrounger if you like but I want to work. I want to pay my bills and feed my family.”

My shame got the better of me. I couldn’t sit back any longer, couldn’t pretend the whole sorry scene wasn’t happening. How could anyone watch this woman in such emotional distress without taking action? Before I could think it through and stop myself, I’d done it. The legs of my chair scraped and squealed as I shoved it across the floor still seated. It was as though the chair legs were complaining too. I put my hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Who told you that?” I demanded, “Who said you were useless?”