Shazzer? I assumed he meant Sharon and I felt she hardly qualified as “girl”.
‘She seemed fine yesterday; can we focus on my appointment now?’
‘Sure. We at the JCP have close working links with the housing office.’
JCP? Yet another abbreviation, do any of these people speak English?
‘Great so you have my notes?
‘No, but it gives me an excuse to give her a call!’
Oh good grief! In my hour of need I get a pubescent, love sick school boy who seems to be having a vaguely erotic fantasy about my housing officer.
‘Ok, well what do we do in the mean time? Seeing as I am here?’
‘Well Marc, in order to qualify for your benefits you have to be actively seeking work.’
I waited.
‘Well?’ he continued.
Had he asked me a question? ‘Well what?’
‘Are you?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Actively seeking work!’
At last a question that was relevant. ‘Yes. I have emailed my résumé to over thirty potential employers.’
‘You mean your C.V.?’
‘If you like.’
‘Locally?’
‘Well no obviously, as I have just been “let go” by the only local institution that delivers my subject.’
‘I see,’ he said. Clearly nothing could have been further from the truth as he then said, ‘So what is it you do?’
‘I teach and research Egyptology.’
He gave me a long confused look then said, ‘So you’re a teacher?’
‘Professor actually.’
‘Right.’ He then spent some time moving his computer mouse around before he eventually said, ‘I don’t have a “Professor” option on my list. I will put you down as a teacher.’
I felt slightly offended at the offhand demotion but told myself that I had to suffer this blithering idiot only for a short time then I could visit my new accommodation. The enormity of the past twenty four hours was starting to hit me, everything was changing and I had no control over it. I had a sudden urge to run from the building screaming at the injustice of it all.
I managed to regain my composure and reminded myself that all of this, the JCP, the housing office and my new apartment were all in fact temporary. I would get an offer very soon and decided there and then to would take the first one I could. ‘If you must,’ I said.
‘Ok, well part of the deal here is that I as your personal advisor seek out employment opportunities on your behalf in the local area,’ he said
‘As I mentioned there is not going to be anything for my specialism.’
‘In that case we may need to think laterally.’
I was not sure where he was going with this but elected to keep quiet for the time being.
‘So, I think I have an option for you here.’
Really? That was a surprise. With my interest peaking I sat forward in my chair.
‘A local residential caravan park needs a logistics operative.’
‘A what?’
‘Someone to oversee their logistics.’
‘I don’t know anything about logistics. Or caravans.’
‘It says here “Full Training Provided”; it will suit you I think as they are after someone with qualifications and no criminal record.’
I had both of those attributes but was still not certain.
‘Shall I ring them for you?’ he offered.
‘Sure,’ I said, although I was far from it.
Jon then rang the caravan site and had a conversation with the manager, occasionally looking up at me to smile encouragingly. As he did so I was able to simulate a stretch and lean to my left in order to ascertain that the poster above Jon’s head was for a “Dickensian Weekend” at the local library. I was beginning to feel that the first impression it gave was more apt.
‘Hold on I will just check,’ he said into the phone. ‘Do you have GCSE level English and Maths?’ he asked me whilst covering the mouth piece with his hand.
So these were the required qualifications, ‘I am a University Professor! What do you think?’
‘Yes he has those.’ He informed the person at the other end of the line. ‘Oh, ok. Hang on.’
He looked up at me again ‘Can you drive a tractor?’
A tractor?
‘No.’
Frankly this was not something I wanted to pursue any further. This whole situation was ludicrous but thankfully temporary. Ideally I wanted to spend what interim time I had, however long that was preparing for my next academic role not undertaking some menial, banal job.
Jon, who was now looking a little crest fallen advised the manger of this but the response he received perked him up.
‘If you have a car licence they will teach you!’
‘No.’
He looked confused now ‘No, what? You don’t have a car licence or you won’t take this job?’
‘Both,’ I replied.
He finished his phone conversation and gave me what I assumed was his attempt at an admonishing look. However he came across more as a child who had not been given the Xbox he wanted for Christmas.
‘I don’t think you understand Marc. You have to follow up my recommendations to be classed as actively seeking work. Now I could record you refused a potential job, you would not get any benefits this week and Shazzer may well take a dim view in terms of housing you.’
I was stunned, I had been out of work for the first time in my life for less than twenty four hours and the powers that be were forcing me to sit in furniture bolted to the floor as well trying to blackmail me into becoming a tractor driver. I was unemployed, not a serial killer. I could feel my hackles starting to rise and decided to take charge of the situation and my relationship with this silly little sycophant.
‘Jon I am not refusing but I do not have a driving licence so therefore cannot take on this role. Can I suggest you focus on doing your job and by default allow me to work towards doing the same? Do you have anything educationally related at all? If not I will stop wasting my time and continue to explore my own avenues of opportunity.’
For a second he looked shocked, I was momentarily concerned that he might actually start to cry but to my relief he did not, he quietly said ‘Ok, hang on.’
More scurrying with the mouse followed before he looked up and somewhat hesitantly said, ‘There is a short term teaching opportunity. It’s voluntary, so unpaid but it would meet the jobseekers requirements and may lead to something else in the future.’
‘How short term?’ I asked.
‘Until the end of the summer.’
Perfect, I would be actively teaching and would not need to commit to anything beyond the start of the autumn term.
‘Tell me more.’
I left the Job Centre feeling a good deal more satisfied than before I had entered. I had an interview at somewhere called Silverdale Day Centre the next day; this was with a view to teaching young adults basic employability skills. I also was now able to make contact with a certain Mr Wynn my new landlord, in order to take possession of number three Canterbury Villas, Henrietta Street.
Henrietta Street was not what I had expected; in fact it was the polar opposite. The buildings were red brick Victorian terraced houses, the type of depressing buildings which steel workers, farm hands, miners or anyone who had equally depressing manual jobs used to live in. I was aware that Victorian architecture was very desirable once it had been returned to its former glory with a few modern niceties thrown in for good measure. This was something that had passed this street by it seemed.
Canterbury Villas was a somewhat misleading name for the building I was looking at I felt. It appeared to be the upper floor of an electrical fittings shop which made up the end corner of the terrace. I could see a single window facing me and a bay window which overlooked the corner, this I hoped was the living area. At least I would not be forced to look at the rather unsavoury looking public house �
�The Star” which was directly opposite.
With my heart sinking I muttered ‘It’s only temporary’ to myself and crossed the road.
Mr Wynn answered the door; he was a large, which is a polite way of saying fat man who appeared to be lost. As he was dressed as a country squire, tweed jacket, corduroy trousers and a flat cap, although it took a moment to take this in due to the smog of cigar smoke emanating from the enormous smouldering tree trunk he had in his mouth.
‘Mike?’ he said shaking my hand in a way that nearly removed it from my arm. ‘Here’s the key, top of the stairs on the right. No pets, parties or drugs. Understand?’
In shock I nodded.
He then gave me a serious look, taking the cigar from his mouth for added effect and waving it at me as he spoke, ‘In fact no smoking of anything at all. Clear?’
I nodded again; still unable to find the words to express the horror I was feeling.
‘Righto,’ he said as he moved passed me towards a large red Jaguar car. On his way back to his country pile in Surrey I assumed.
‘Are you not going to show me around?’ I asked.
He looked at me and laughed, ‘I am sure you won’t get lost! Remember top of the stairs on the right.’ I could see he was still laughing as he pulled away.
I looked up the very dark, worn stair case with its grotty carpet and taking a deep breath I climbed the steps to the landing. The door which faced me had the figure three painted on it and I tried the key. As it opened I was instantly dismayed to see the grotty carpet continued into whatever part of the apartment this room constituted.
As I stepped inside I could see that the room was about ten feet square with a high ceiling. The walls were painted what at some long distant point had been magnolia and there was a sink with a wall mounted water heater in one corner. I moved over to the window and realised it was the smaller of the two I had seen from the outside, it afforded me a front row view of the pool table in the bar of “The Star” across the road.
This I assumed would be a sitting room and although in a dishevelled state was in fact about the same size as the room I used to store my books and records back in my apartment on campus. I turned to explore the rest of the apartment, only to find there was no door leading out of the room other than the one I had come in through. Confused I made my way back out onto the landing and checked that the painted number did in fact say three. I opened the door to the left of the landing which had no number and found it was an extremely grubby bathroom. There were two further doors both locked, which had the numbers “Two” and “One” painted on them.
This didn’t make sense, how did I get to the rest of the apartment and what was to stop anyone entering the stairwell using my bathroom? I went back into the first room and it hit me.
Oh god, it could not be true.
Chapter 3.
It was true!
The bathroom was communal and the room I was standing in was not part of the apartment, it was the apartment! A sense of despair descended over me, ‘It’s only temporary,’ I said louder than I intended. Once I had started to calm down from the shock I realised that there was another problem, my apartment on campus was furnished and my new accommodation was not.
I spent one final night in the rooms which had been my home for the past twelve years. The porters had left me a large number of packing cases and I forlornly filled them with all of the possessions that would not be coming with me. These would go into storage for the time being, I had two suit cases and a rucksack which took the rest of my clothes and other essential items.
Now I had to face to potentially excruciating experience of my “leaving do”. It was tradition at Luci when staff left for their colleagues to either arrange a night out to a restaurant or local hostelry. Failing that was the cringe worthy “surprise” party that was in fact no surprise what so ever. As none of my colleagues or students had arranged a night out I was certain that they would be waiting with fake cheer to wish me well. Although the whole experience would be unpleasant it at least enabled me to avoid the further humiliation of being unable to buy myself or anyone else a drink, let alone pay for a meal. Also I would be able to make my excuses and leave as soon as possible.
So I made my final trip to my office, I was aware that it was in darkness and felt that perhaps they were taking the whole surprise thing a little too far. As I entered I braced myself to appear shocked and then give my most magnanimous smile whilst reassuring everyone, least of all Robert that I had multiple options open to me. All of which offered me the chance to make my mark academically.
I turned on the light to see that the room was empty, now I was sure they were over playing this. A game of hide and seek was not something I had anticipated but would play along for the sake of appearances. Having opened the office cupboard door to find no one in there I did a quick search of the corridor and adjacent offices, all were empty.
In the corridor I encountered the janitor who was mopping the floor; I had no idea what his name was.
‘Hello there’ I said.
No response, he just kept his head down and focussed on the mopping. Was this part of the ruse?
‘Hello?’ I said again.
Nothing, I tapped him on the arm and he screamed.
‘Jesus!’ he shouted pulling off his head phones. ‘You scared the life out of me mate.’
‘Sorry. Listen between you and I can you tell me where they are?’
‘Where who is?’
‘The staff, probably some students as well. For the party?’
‘Party?’
Oh dear yet another conversation with the terminally unintelligent loomed.
‘Yes my leaving party. It’s supposed to be a surprise.’
‘Surprise?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t know nothing about no surprise. No one told me, you lot are supposed to ask before you do anything like this. No one ever does though and muggins here has to clean up after you. I’ve already mopped the floor!’
Evidently it seemed that despite his tirade against the academic staff he actually had no idea that there was a party. If he had cleaned the building then surely he would have seen them.
At that moment Peter walked in, Peter was a tutor in general history a catch all syllabus for those who did not have the intellect to specialize. Surely he was here to collect me? I just needed to play along and be magnanimous.
‘Hello Peter.’ I said smiling at him.
He looked up as if he was surprised I had spoken to him, actually it was probably the first time I had. It certainly was the first time I could recall, what a strange choice my colleagues had made for an escort.
‘Oh, err, hello. Errm Marcus isn’t it?’
I managed to suppress a smile; he was very good at this. Maybe he should have taught Drama?
‘Yes, are you looking for me?’
‘Err, no actually. I had forgotten this.’ He said holding up an umbrella.
If this was all part of the rouse I was interested to find out how he intended to proceed.
‘Actually I thought you had left,’ he continued.
Clever! What a subtle way to get me engaged in a conversation about a leaving party. I would play along I decided.
‘Well nearly, I am leaving shall we say.’
‘Oh really, when?’
‘Tonight, I assume. Although I suspect you may know more about this than I do?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Is that not why you’re here?’
‘Err no, I came for my brolly,’ he said waving it at me again.
‘Ok Peter. I’ll make it easy for you. Where do we have to go? Don’t worry, I will play along and act surprised.’
He looked baffled, taking things a bit far I thought.
‘Go?’ he said.
‘Yes, the party?’
‘What party?’
‘That’s what I said,’ the janitor who had been watching this exchange chipped in.
‘My leaving p
arty.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Peter. ‘Sorry I didn’t realise, I wasn’t invited.’
‘Is that not why you are here?’
‘Err no, like I said I came for my brolley,’ he waved it at me yet again.
‘Peter I am confused, if you are not here to get me where am I supposed to go?’
‘I don’t know. Who organised it?’
‘I have no idea it’s a surprise I assume.’
‘Well “normally” the person organising it would ensure that you end up in the correct place but unawares so to speak.’
‘Who would be that person?’ I asked.
‘Well anyone really, whoever cared enough or could be bothered to sort something out.’
‘Could be bothered?’
‘Err yes. Look I have to go, my girlfriends in the car and we have theatre tickets.’
‘Right, yes. Of course….’
‘I am sure they will come along soon,’ he offered.
‘Yes, yes. I am too.’
As he left the realisation dawned on me that there was no party.
I went back into my office checked my email inbox to see if there was any indication that I had missed an invitation, it was empty except for some more automated responses to the emails I had sent with my resume. Not a single farewell message from a colleague or student, I was unsure whether to feel annoyed or relieved at this.
Simply rise above it as they say, I told myself. Their loss I decided.
I noticed there was another email that was not automated. Maybe this was it, the job offer I had been waiting for?
Hi Marcus,
Hank here. Just wanted to let you know that your email was forwarded to me on my IPhone. We are all still here enjoying the attractions of Egypt! Your guidance was really appreciated by my students. Take care. Speak soon? H
Hank was someone I had met in Egypt, an American from some small back water college in Texas which had stumped up the cash to send 20 students to Cairo to “study the pyramids” or some other half soaked objective. Neither they nor Hank had any idea what they were doing or even what they were looking at. They did however excel at getting in the way, so in frustration I had given them some simple pointers which they had absorbed as if I was revealing the inner most secrets of a newly discovered tomb.
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