Stoic job seeker and glorious wordsmith Carmen Neutral wonders what her job coach (the ebullient and irrepressibly French Monsieur) has done with all her “unemployables” classmates. Something sinister she suspects.
This week, my female human condition prevented me from attending Monsieur’s unconventional mutual obligation session.
It had nothing to do with my frustrations at Monsieur’s habit of taking on Police Inspector Javert tendencies at a moment’s notice. Not!?
Or any connection with his recommendation for our “un à un.” WTF?!
And what was that all about anyway?
Physiological circumstances (as a woman of a certain age) simply required me to take a “sickie” this week from mutual obligatory.
Yes, we unemployables can do this. It’s in les lignes directrices d’obligations mutuelles. However, you have to get un certificat médical from your doctor and submit this to Job Services Australia by baguette time/midday next day.
Failure to do this entails no more rights as a welfare recipient for the following several weeks; meaning no further bus money (aka welfare cheques), and including, probably, no more twinkling ooh la la smiles from Monsieur.
And maybe, possibly, stale baguettes — or even no baguettes at all.
Bring it on!
Actually, failure to provide the said certificate could possibly stipulate (for the subsequent several weeks) refusal of admission to Monsieur’s amazing technicolour mutual obligation sessions? (Make mental note to Google fact check).
And whatever did happen to Madame Absconder?
Could this be why Madame Absconder has all but disappeared, never to be seen again in our class?
Or, could Madame Absconder really be gone forever; with Monsieur in reality being someone more suspicious than his French laissez faire omniscience suggests?
Did Monsieur really consider that strumpet’s neck tattoos and associated facial metal-ware – so disturbingly unsuited to jobseeking, or even a place in his class at all?
Is Monsieur keeping up his Centrelink “outcomes numbers” appearances, by actually killing off (one by one) the most miserable, least likely to succeed unemployables in his classes?
One by one, I am noticing more vacant chairs in poverty row.
We miserables, as the weeks go by, have observed the rubbish bin go missing, then the coffee runs out, three baguette trays becomes two, spoons never existed, and I notice Monsieur getting a little more forgetful.
We unemployables have all noted that, with the current economic forecasts, maybe such facilities downsizing indicates Centrelink associated industries are cutting back?
Initially, in the very first class I can recall it being a case of musical chairs, without the music – but with, of course, Monsieur conducting. And when I arrived last, on that first fateful day, no-one was going to provide a chair for me (even though I was un miserable woman of a certain age).
And I noticed back then, early on, how, if I sat at the very end of poverty row (almost in the next suburb), Monsieur would say: “Please please come closer to me!” So being obedient, I dashed to the front of the class so that I was almost sitting on Monsieur’s knee. I digress.
Returning to CSI: Marcel Marceau
Monsieur has been implying (as he beats his proud ooh la la chest) that the missing unemployables now have jobs.
However, is there something more sinister to his “un à uns” and boasting about how this one and that one (after eight years unemployed) now have these jobs?
Interestingly, he did say that one of his own four jobs was contract bull-dozing — which puts him in a perfect position to destroy evidence. And each week he does noticeably say how he looks forward to a “fine” weekend forecast — thus enabling him to undertake that additional “outdoor landscaping job” incredibly effectively?
Calling Dr. Dolittle!
Any reader can probably now see that I am possibly a woman dangerously on the verge of mutual obligation madness syndrome (MOMS) and needing a little space away from Monsieur.
By the way Monsieur, if you have been googling yourself and reading my story, this week it is all about moi, and not YOUR darling baguettes, mon cherie!
So after an essential day resting up, I happily became an abscondee this week and went along to visit my general practitioner who could see I was a woman in need of Bex (not to be confused with sex Monsieur!) and a good lie down. I also needed to get my scripts renewed, the lobotomy work assessed, and one or two other matters seen to.
It was all good.
However, one thing. My general practitioner did seem a little confused when I, as an unemploymentista, told him that — even though I was unemployed — I still needed a “medical certificate for work.”
I then explained the situation with Monsieur — the baguettes, and mutual obligatory — while trying to present myself (to Dr. Dolittle) as a sensible, responsible, taxpaying, voting, belle femme d’un certain âge.
It was the end of a long day for Dr. Dolittle, so he probably thought: WTF? whatevs? – And handed over that certificate, in record time, with no further questioning.
I was out of Dolittle’s office in 14 minutes.
Meantime Monsieur, I think I’m missing your delicious buns already.
And even though I’m the witch, what a spell you hold over me.
Tu es fou français tigre!
This post originally appeared on Carmen’s 50 Shades of Unemployment blog and it appears here with her kind permission.