h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Day One: A social call of the DSS variety

'It's just like the cheese counter in Waitrose,' my brother in law informs me. He lies.

It so isn't. The only similarity is the taking of the ticket from the ticket-dispensing machine.
Where is the Roquefort? I asked myself.
Where's the coffee shop?
Why aren't the chairs delightfully cosy?
Not even a sniff of cappuccino.

I am grateful for his company; my brother in law's that is. Despite being northern, he makes an excellent chauffeur and his dress code is at least appropriate for the venue long hair, black T-shirt, tattoos and slightly whiffy jeans.

'You shouldn't be here, Sis,' he is obviously concerned…in a northern way.

'Trust me, Bro, I'm tougher than you think, honey.'

'But they're all druggies. Waste of spaces every one.'

No, they're not, I think, but cannot vocalise. He wouldn't understand, he preconditioning has made him northern man and I have involuntary slipped into a wonderland that isn't, but know judgement without understanding would be at best inappropriate. I remain passively silent; this worries him even more. He likes it when I chatter inanely. That's what I'm supposed to do; I'm a girl.

True, at least fifty percent of my new colleagues should be sectioned, I should be sectioned for heaven's sake, but on whose authority and why? Who is responsible for this unhappy fallout? Thank god for the bullet proofed glass safety net. It saves the angry unfulfilled from court and spares the bureaucrats from a fate they never realised came with their job description.

"Number 110 to counter five"

I clutch the Waitrose ticket that tells me I am number 119 and pray that some will have given up hope, slit their throats with the boredom of the wait or will have been clever enough to have multi ticketed, now why didn't I think of that?

Day Two contemplation at the job centre

I wonder how unemployed people actually have time to find work. It takes at least a week to fill in the forms even for one who form multi tasks.

'I need to see your last bank statement.'

I hand the pieces over. No one told me you had to keep bank statements. The man on the telly is always saying shred everything.

'And I need your P45.'

'I take it that has nothing to do with a sun tan cream factor?'

She has obviously had a sense of humour bypass.

The next two days are spent commuting from one bureaucratic building to another, retrieving documents from the shredder and cooking for brother.

Day five

Brother in law retreats to country north of the Watford border. Being a bloke he's run out of clean knickers and being a shy bloke is too embarrassed to ask if I will put them in the washing machine, the dirty knickers that is. He assures me no passport is necessary for his trip, how odd. It must be something to do with the EU.

Still no sign of car, not even a phone call from the garage. It's terminal, I know it is.
Need more forms but cannot get them because need to go to bank to get them and can't get to bank because…no car.
There isn't a bus to the village where the bank is, which is quite right and proper I'm sure, one doesn't want riff raff in the nobby part of the borough after all. A tad tiresome when one needs to get there though.

Dimitri offers to do a little chauffeuring.

'Darling we could go in the Rolls.'

'No we couldn't go in the bl***y Rolls! They'll never give me anything if we pitch up in a s***ing roller!'

Walk into village.
Meet Amy for coffee. Catch up on gos.
Walk back from village in rain, buy umbrella on the way, mine is in car which is…in garage.

Day six

Brrrrrrrr Brrrrrrr

'Hello is that the garage? Is the car fixed?'

' It's Vicky, you said we could come and stay, can we?'

I did, didn't I? In a moment of Portuguese alcohol induced well being, I offered my friend's daughter, her boyfriend and the child from hell a bed for the night.
No car, no job, not a kind bone left in my body and now I'm expected to do children!

'Of course you can, stay as long as you like. When will you get here? Oh you've lost your air tickets have you? That's OK we can sort it out tomorrow, Dimitri can probably help. Two days? Yes of course. Oh the nightmare child will be staying with your brother on the second day will she?'

(Thank you, lord!)

Brrrrrrr Brrrrrrrr

'Hello, I don't suppose for one moment you're the garage?'

'What are you talking about, Div?'

'Hello Patrick. I've just had Vicky on the phone, she's coming to stay with her boyfriend and the nightmare child.'

'Oh good! I haven't seen Vicky for ages! Oh and the dear child, she is so gorgeous, how can you call her a nightmare? What are you cooking, I'll come to dinner. On second thoughts, I'll cook; you'll just kill us all. I thought the young Irish was coming to see you today? That's why I called, he is just so gorgeous, you can't have him all to yourself.'

Dear god, I'd forgotten, half the students from my brief flirtation with further education are coming round. It's going to be a dreadful night. Patrick will woo the young Irish, my fellow students will realise I really do live in an extension of the Priory, oh no, they know that already, and I will no doubt be unfit to talk to anyone by Sunday.



Sunday

Vicky and boyfriend despatched to find greasy spoon breakfast or at the least fish and chips; to be followed by Sunday pub crawl.
Nightmare from hell despatched to uncle's house. Home almost liveable again. Time to die on sofa.

Brrrrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrr

I'm not going to answer, garages don't call on a Sunday.

Brrrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrr

I'm going to have to answer the noise is killing me.

Brrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrr

'Hello? Oh, hello Malcolm, you're back from the sun then? Where was it this time? The Caribbean…How nice. No I don't want to come out for a drink. I'm dead. I know I haven't seen you for ages but I really am dead. Some friends of mine are heading towards the pub, play with them. Yes, we'll catch up tomorrow.'

Brrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrr

I don't believe it! Dear god it's half seven. Where is everyone?

Brrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrr

'Hello.'

I'm not even going to think about garages.

'Oh hi, it's David, I thought you might like to come out for a drink.'

Delectable David, Why does my head hurt so much and my stomach feel as if it is in its death throes. I can't believe my voice is saying what it is. I have been invited out for a drink with delectable David and the boys and my stupid mouth says

'No thanks, I'm dead.'

'Your voice sounds a bit husky.'

If I wasn't so dead I could take that as a compliment but deep down I know it is merely pity.

Monday

Employment agency calls. They have a week's work for me. A week's work in a nearby village only accessible by car, useful.
Walk to village, again, buy the Guardian, walk back from village in the rain.
Buy second umbrella as my two are in the car, which is in the garage, and on the kitchen table.
Send CV off to a dozen or so media/newspaper/press officer jobs that I am far to old and underqualified for but who cares.
Walk back to village, have coffee with Chloe and catch up on any gos that Amy has forgotten.
Walk home again in the rain. Buy third umbrella. Consider opening an umbrella shop.

Fill in on line application forms for jobs that I am too old and underqualified for again who cares? Add 'I like dogs ' to CV. Thought about adding 'and world peace', but realised even for me that was stupid.
No word from garage.

Brrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrr

'What?'

I know it's not going to be garage at six thirty.

'What you doin?'

It's Patrick.

'Contemplating throat slitting for my evening's entertainment.'

'Oh good, I'll bring some wine round and we can play double suicide!'

'You don't need to play suicide, you've got a head start! Besides my neighbour's coming round for a girlie night in.'

'Even better we can play triple suicide, she's as miserable as you are, you old witch!'

Knew we were past any kind of hope when scrabble was considered entertaining.

Tuesday

Car still not mended.

Thought about posting raft of CV's done at some point yesterday and then thought, why?

Watched daytime TV. Walked into village to have coffee with Amanda, Malcolm and Chloe and caught up on the same gossip I heard the day before.

Walked home in rain again. Got wet, umbrellas in village all sold out.

Garage rang.

'Do you know what's wrong with the car exactly?'

What is the point?

10 mins since you posted!
(You can't possibly have read it properly in 10 minutes...)
OK, confessed. But I'm going to get thrown off this computer any minute - again - and I just have to tell you that you're amazing...
Pin
(back off to read it properly, right up to the point of forcible eviction)

No1 son bought a tshirt with 'Totally Unemployable' on the front, seems to have been prophetic . Having no car he isn't waiting for calls from the garage and he is avoiding all calls from the bank! But he does now how dispiriting it is.

Any chance of a ride in your mate's Rolls?

I'm sure it can be arranged rather a splendid one off built for some Arab sheik. Don't understand cars, quelle surprise, but Dimitri tells me the thing on the front is unique. It seems that things on front of rolls are ladies but this one is kneeling because women have to be lower than men in Arab land. So when sheik in back of car drove round, he was higher than lady on front...still don't understand but apparantly is posh!
Oh and Pin only bought Guardian because someone told me that was where you find media jobs...didn't actually read the paper, only the classifieds, might just retrieve from bin tomorrow and see if 'tis worth a read. Anything to annoy!
take care
boots
PS it really is faction me dears, steeped in reality, but one does have to protect. Fact would take more chapters and would terrify the site and fiction would not be nearly so much fun!

Why don't you get a cheapo Eurostar ticket & get over to France for a while & see how they do the dole office here? Much improved version...mind you, same end result:

"Ah.... 48 yr old physically not great female...hmm. And English. Fluent Frogsqueak?"

"Er....non. Un peu?" *submissive grin*

Heavy sighs, more forms....but eventually you get there. The ticket machines are quicker! And the seats better & the staff are definitely MUCH nicer.

Great writing, as always.

zdt