Doling Out The Classics

Doling Out The Classics




Yesterday I had the inenviable task of accompanying my nephew to the Social Welfare Office so as I could assist him with form filling as he applied for the Back to Education Allowance. I can’t remember when I was in the Social Welfare Office last, the queues are certainly longer, however, I was surprised at the improvements in terms of a ticket system for queuing and so forth.



In the background the classics were played on the public address system and a small group of Traveller men tapped their feet to the sound of Beethoven. The Social Welfare Office which is often viewed as a place that is full of depression and empty of hope seemed to be presenting a more professional front. There were clearly a substantial number of mature men and women applying to return to education, and that has to be good.



Groups of children played on the floor with the array of leaflets that were advertising various courses and training opportunities, I wondered why these children were not at school, many being of a foreign origin. Still they amused themselves by playing Snap, and as the leaflets were all similar there were small disputes about who had Snapped and who had not.



One woman of African origin was teaching her child Irish by pointing to the signage and saying “Signing” “Sinin”, at least she was trying. My ticket number was 983 which was not very encouraging, especially as the front pages of all the papers were still talking about Brian Cowen’s drunken frolics. Because we were so far down the queue we had to queue in the rain for at least an hour, the queue was so long that I was able to pop into the bookies and do a couple of trebles for the Euro millions. The CCTV was monitoring everyone’s movements, I suppose waiting for some of the un-easy horde to make a break from the ranks and run at the re-enforced glass demanding their rights.



The Interview rooms of to the left have glass panels down one side where both the interviewer and interviewee are easily viewed. One young male interviewer was clearly being out-talked by a tracksuit clad single mother; the fresh faced lad was clearly being dropped in at the deep end so that he could learn his trade. He nodded politely, but it was clear that he would not be making any serious decisions, as the single mother pointed at her child’s shoes, that child almost foot bare as she played on the floor. When the mother left the interview room, the child’s good shoes were taken from the bottom of the Maclaren buggy and the old shoes were slipped back into the imitation Gucci bag.



To the right of the Social Welfare Office there is a big sign directing those for medical assessment to proceed by way of the lift to meet with the Inspectors. This is a panel that decides if people on disability benefit are entitled to continue receiving that payment. Those entering the lift reminded me of those old movies where people on the Star Ship Enterprise were being beamed down to an unknown planet. On the return journey in the lift the disability benefit ‘clients’ looked as if they had just been interrogated by the Gestapo.



Eventually after two and one half hours we reached the Information window, and the lady was very helpful, I helped my nephew to fill out his form and my nephew was told that he would get word in the post within the next week or so. Interesting experience, but I am certain that nobody could possibly want to be on Social Welfare, contrary to the regular dribble from Fianna Fail trolls, this queuing, mainly in the rain, is de-humanising, de-motivating and contrary to best practice in terms of economic stimulation.