Down and Out in the Jobcentre.

Threats of violence simmered in the air that morning. I walked over to the security guard and warned him to be extra alert. He shrugged it off as he always did, under my breath I muttered 'useless prick'. So I wasn't surprised when the chair went flying, one woman down on the ground already, spitting and cussing, arms flailing, going first for the hair and then for the eyes. Women are the worst; they draw blood in seconds, fight real dirty and draw shrieks of encouragement from the men.

'Whore, bitch, cunt,' I've heard it all before, makes me wonder whether they know any other words. Mothers with small children either draw back alarmed, covering their kid's ears or join in with the cussing. It seems to make their boring existence exciting, watching two women kick hell out of each other. Of course the guard is nowhere to be seen at the moment, no doubt having another sneaky fag. I debate over whether to hit the panic button, knowing the police usually arrive too late to intervene. I can't see the glint of a knife so decide to hold back for a while. Behind me one of the juniors has started to cry and a few of the men are rising from their seats.

This is a no-win situation; any attempt to try to break it up can easily backfire on the staff. Taking a deep breath I step forward, hoping my staff has located the guard by now. The spectators clear a path for me, no doubt hoping I'll catch a stray punch in the face.
'Come on ladies, time to break it up,' my voice sounds okay to me, no hint of the tremors inside.
'Mind your own fucking business,' one yells at me, but the fight is already winding down. I can see the guard slowly making his way across the room but it's not the sight of him that has any effect. The crowd is already scattering, going back to their seats, knowing if they get thrown out there will be no giro today.

It totally against the rules but there's no senior managers around so I grab hold of the microphone and shout,' anyone else want to have a go?' It's purely a rhetorical question but it does help to calm down both the rowdy element and also some of the staff.
Once again I approach the protagonists, 'okay you two, get outside and finish your fight there.'
'I ain't going until I get my fucking giro,' one says. The other girl has more sense; she'll go outside, clean herself up and return later.
'You can get lost for now,' I tell the first one, knowing she too will return later.
'Bitch,' she says to my back.

Just another crazy day in the jobcentre, I should be used to it by now but I know that when order is restored I'll be out in the Ladies throwing up. Jan will cover for me, she knows what its like. You have to show the crazies who are boss, even though you'll be shaking like a leaf later on. Three whole years on frontline is quite a record, the burnout rate is around two years max for anyone. Of course you do get shuffled around once in a while, there are too many staff on the sick with depression and anxiety, stress related illnesses.

The afternoon goes smoothly for a while. I've been sucking on antacid tablets for an hour now. That's when I see him walk through the door and I think I'll be chucking up later on again. On the surface he looks an average guy, about thirty-five, a bit older than the normal junkies. Dried blood cakes his face, his jacket shows signs of recent vomiting and worst of all he smells. I don't recognise him though, maybe a transient passing through, we get a lot of them in summer.

I hover around Richard, hoping he can cope with this but aware those six months on the frontline is not enough to become hardened to the potential violence that erupts sometimes without warning. Strangely I haven't picked up on any tension; maybe this morning has cocked up my early-warning signals. I don't like hovering around my trainees so I walk off for a few minutes.

Soon he calls me, 'Sheila can you give me a hand here? 'Take your break Richard,' I say, knowing better than to make him lose face. I take the warmed seat and smile at the newcomer, 'I'm the supervisor. Can I help you?'
Up close he doesn't look at all threatening, rather the reverse. His clothes are obviously good ones under the grime. His voice when he speaks is cultured, no discernable accent to it.
'I don't know if you can,' he replies.
I scan Richard's paperwork, Gavin, (that's the name given), wants a crisis payment, it seems he arrived in town last night, definitely drunk and got beaten up with his wallet stolen. It's not an unusual story, I've heard it many times, but something about him tells me this is genuine.

'You reported this to the police?' I ask him.
'Yes, but I don't think they believed me, be honest Sheila ' he says getting my name from my nametag, 'would YOU believe it? I was pissed last night never saw what happened. I ended in some broken down doorway, never even knew what hit me.'
He actually blushed, whether from swearing in front of a woman or from shame, I couldn't yet tell.
I had to be straight with him, 'I don't think the Benefits Agency will pay you anything today, maybe if you had come in this morning we could have done something for you, but even then they may have just sent you to a shelter.'
'I don't think I could stand that,' he replied.
'It's the rules,' I said, feeling somehow guilty, 'there's a place near here that will put you up for a few nights at least until you get sorted out.'
'A doss house, ' he said bitterly, 'I wouldn't last a night in there.'
'Its not so bad, plenty of good people go there.'
'You're probably right but I can't do it, can't sink any further than I have already.'

I Tried, I really did try hard but it was as useless as I had expected.
'They won't do anything today,' I said, 'you'll have to come back tomorrow.'
He swayed in the chair, face going white, and a tiny trickle of blood leaking from his head wound. Richard had got back from his tea break.
'Could you fetch this gentleman a glass of water?' I asked him.
He stared at me but went out anyway. I didn't have time to explain myself, Gavin looked near to collapse.
'You need stitches in that cut.'
'I'll be fine,' he replied shakily, 'I'm just hungry, I can't remember the last time I ate.'
He looked anything but fine but I couldn't force him to do anything. He swallowed the water in one quick gulp but still looked pale and drops of sweat trickled into his eyes. I saw Jan, the other floor supervisor, look warningly at me. The management didn't like us spending too long with one client, especially one who looked like a down and out drunk or even worse.
'I'll be back in a moment,' I told him.

In the cloakroom I checked my purse, I had just £2 in my pocket apart from my bus fare home. I wondered if it would be enough but didn't dare to waste any more time.
'Here,' I said, handing him the two pound coins, 'Go and get yourself something to eat.'
'I can't take your money.'
'Its that or I call an ambulance, please Gavin, go now before I get into trouble.'
He gave me such a sweet smile before he got to his feet, 'I'll pay it back, I promise.'
'Take care' I said, watching him weave his way unsteadily to the door.
Jan walked over to me,
'What was that all about?' she enquired.
'Its a long story, I think I'd better get back to work.'
'I hope you know what you're doing.' She sighed and went back to her own team.

¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦.

The next week kept me on my toes, more staff went sick, the junior staff had no proper training and summer was our busiest time. I asked for more staff but I might as well have asked for the moon.
Queues formed, tempers frayed and fights became the norm as people waited for over an hour to be seen. The security guard was changed, now we had a big guy to warn off the troublemakers. My nerves were in tatters and I went home every night wondering if I could stand another day of listening to the problems of my clients.

I couldn't go sick and let my colleagues down but by now I was taking tablets from my doctor for stress and heartburn. Each day brought new problems, unemployment was high at that time and frequently payments went out late. There were days when families went without money, causing more emergency payments and overloading the payments section.
Each night I arrived home later and later, pouring myself a glass of wine, or two, sometimes three, anything to unwind and forget the tide of human misery I dealt with every day. Just when I thought I couldn't stand it anymore, something happened.

I never saw Gavin again, but on a particularly busy day Richard caught me up in the restroom where I was taking a very late break.' Some guy came in today, he said you had left your book in the library.' Handing me a slim volume he went off to grab a cup of coffee.
I was puzzled, I'd been far too busy to get to the library but all my staff knew I loved my books. I opened the book, intrigued by the title, I knew the author but I'd never read this particular book.

The inscription inside was written in a beautiful copperplate script. This was the writing of an artist and a poet. I read it through twice and something hard in my chest gave way. It was from Gavin, of course, and no, I can't say what was written there, but it restored my faith in human nature. The gift, for it was no library book, has pride of place on my bookshelf. For a number of years it reminded me I was still human and could still care about the people I saw every day. I found I could still have pity for all the failings of human nature, the ex-cons, and the addicts, teenagers who had left home from physical and mental abuse. They came to me for many years before I finally gave in to the pressures of my job and left the jobcentre for good.

Thank you Gavin for reminding me I was still human and could at least make a small difference in someone's life. Wherever you are and what became of you I will never know, but you repaid more than money, you gave me hope.

¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦

Some names have been changed to protect identities, but this did happen. I served as a civil servant for 17 years and one thing I did learn was never to give up on anyone, or prejudge without thinking, 'there but for the grace of God go I.'

Lisa.