Salty

‘David Salter,’ the woman said. She had his file in her hand, looking over the top of her glasses and scrutinizing him. Five-foot four with sandy-coloured hair, everybody at school called him Salty, but he was no longer at school.

He followed behind her measured pace. The government office was no longer called the buroo, but the more upmarket Employment Centre with a welcoming concierge on the door. She took him to a desk and nodded to the chair opposite. Salty looked back to where he had left the black-bin bags. Anxious that somebody would nip off with his belongings. But there was only another guy sitting on the edge of his chair, a wee bit older than him, his face buried in the glow of a screen. He tripped over a bag when his name was called and appeared confused about being back in the real world.  

The woman looked across the desk at him. ‘My name’s Audrey,’ she said. ‘I’m your personal advisor. We’ll just run through a few things.’ A phone at another advisor’s desk rang, parallel to her, and a woman answered it and started chuckling into the receiver. Salty smiled in sympathy.

Audrey remained po-faced. ‘You are eligible and looking for work?’

‘Aye,’ Salty nodded.

‘Do you suffer from any disabilities that might impair your ability to work?’

‘No. Definitely not.’

‘And you are currently staying at…’ She read out his address and waited.

Salty licked his lips and he looked over her shoulder at another body like him sitting in an identical chair with a suit across the desk from him. ‘Aye,’ he finally said. He knew enough not to admit that Mags his girlfriend had turfed him out and he’d nowhere to stay. He’d no money in his phone and was kinda hoping some kind of miracle would happen and there’d be money in his bank account that day and it wouldn’t take another six weeks to get to the stage he was at now.

‘Let’s see,’ she said, looking at the screen. ‘You aren’t in education, training or in voluntary work?’

‘Nah.’

‘Have you a driving license?’

‘No, but I’d be interested in learning, if there was any kind of help…’

She ignored what he was saying, ‘And you have been actively seeking work?’

‘Aye.’

‘What kind of things have you been doing, exactly?’

Salty squirmed in his chair. Beads of sweat made his hair itch and he already felt a bit iffy and smelly, since he’d had to sleep outside. He clawed at his chest, scratching through his wool jumper and T-shirt. ‘Eh, the papers. I looked at the papers. Fer jobs.’

‘What papers?’

‘The Daily Record,’ he thought about it for a few seconds, a triumphant note in his voice. ‘Job’s section.’  

‘Anything else?’

‘Nah.’

She drummed a pink nail-varnished finger on the computer keyboard. ‘What about online?’

‘Aye, that as well. On my phone.’

She stared right through him. ‘What kind of jobs, exactly? Can you give me a detailed list of them?’

He stared at the desk and swallowed to stop himself from crying. ‘I cannae remember them all, offhand.’

Her chair creaked and she sighed, typing something onscreen. ‘Have you had a chance to look at anything whilst you’ve been in here, waiting?’

‘Eh, I’ve no’ had a chance yet, but I’m really keen.’

She nodded. ‘You do know, of course, that you need to able to prove to us that you are actively seeking work for at least 35-hours-a-week and if you don’t your claim will be suspended. We’ll give you a job diary and you’ll need to go online and show us what positions you’ve applied for and how you’re actively seeking work.’

‘Eh, whit does suspended mean?’

She knitted her hands together and frowned. His blonde eyelids fluttered and blink- blinked and he did look baffled and not as if he was taking the piss. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, but spoke very slowly and deliberately as she did to most Jobseekers that were of foreigner extraction. ‘It means that the Department of Employment would be forced to sanction you for not meeting your contractual obligations.’ He nodded, but still looked baffled. ‘You wouldn’t get any money.’

‘But I don’t get any money, anyway.’

She shook her head and her hazel coloured eyes flicked and danced with the light of the screen. ‘OK, let’s look at some jobs that are currently on our database. And we’ll get you started. ’ She scrolled down the screen and muttered, ‘no, no,’ scratching the back of her neck with her fingertips and a faint whiff of perfume was a bridge between them. The monitor she was looking at was shoved across the desk at an oblique angle.

Salty, if he angled, his head was allowed to share her vision of the screen.

‘What about this one?’ she asked. ‘A building labourer’s position.’

‘Eh, aye, that’d be great. Where is it?’

She keyed down, ‘Cambuslang. Must have a valid CSCS card.’

He shrugged and sighed, even though he felt like laughing. Cambuslang was that far away it might just as well have been on the moon. ‘No’ got wan, sorry.’

But she had already left him behind, scrolling further down the screen. ‘Apprentice security guard, city centre, immediate start, £3.50 per hour.’ She looked over her specs at him. ‘There’s a number, you want me to phone?’ She reached across the desk, pulling the phone towards her.

He turned to look behind him to check his gear was still were he’d left it. She’d the receiver in her hand, waiting. ‘But I thought the minimum wage was £7.50.’

‘No, no, £5.60 for your age-bracket, but that rate doesn’t apply to apprenticeships.’

He nodded, but she was already dialling.

‘You can’t expect to get paid the full rate while you’re training,’ she added, waiting for someone on the line to pick up, the noise of the phone ringing, holding the handset away from her ear.

‘Hallo,’ she said, a note of caution in her tone, when someone on the other line picked up. ‘I’ve got it on my screen here.’ She frowned, read out the address. ‘Moxton agency, 122 High Street, Paisley…wait a minute and I’ll just check.’

Her hand went over the receiver as she spoke to Mr Salter, whispering for some reason. ‘Will you be able to attend an interview at 3.30pm?’

‘Eh, when?’

‘Today.’

‘Eh, dunno.’

She turned her head and looked at him sharply.

‘Eh, aye,’ he said.

She nodded at him and in response to what the person was saying to her on the other end of the phone. When she hung up, she sat up, her back straight and stared at the screen and smiled. ‘I’ll just get you a printout.’

‘I don’t like askin’, is there any kinda help with fares or somethin’?’   

She shook her head. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to borrow the money for fares you’re your mum or dad.’ She glanced sideways to another part of the office where pages being printed with a churning noise.

‘I’ve no’ got a mum or da,’ he said to the back of her pearl-grey suit as she sprang up and strode away from him.