The Jobseeker

It was a bright, cold day in October, and my watch was just striking thirteen. The sun was bright, the sky clear, the air dry. It was a perfect day to be outside. A perfect day to enjoy my freedom and nourish my soul. A perfect day to be unemployed. But unemployment doesn’t mean my duties end. I use 24-hour time, and my appointment was at 14:00.

I have one hour, I thought, but twenty-two minutes to get there. In theory, I had 38 minutes to spare. But it is impossible to use time like this wisely. When an appointment lies on the horizon, it easily eclipses anything I could fathom to do. Start some idle task, and I’ll quickly run into that familiar panic - Shit! I’m late now! Then the gunning of legs to reach the bus stop, the heart beating in the mouth as I slow to tag my bus card, the shame of Sorry I’m late upon arrival.

I have one hour. It’s time to leave.

So I do. I leisurely walk to the door, slick my keys from the hook, and lock and leave home behind me. It’s a beautiful day to walk onto Great North Road. It’s a beautiful day to go to WINZ. Today I am applying for the Jobseeker Allowance - formerly known as the unemployment benefit. I take in the traffic. Utes on their way between job sites. Vans are running goods and services up and down the city. As I wander, a coffee shop with AI-generated posters advertises a hookah pipe service.

A hookah pipe in a suburban cafe. Business truly is getting desperate.

Auckland’s public transport app tells me my destination is 1.1 kilometres away. But with Auckland’s non-Euclidean geometry, it’s not a short walk. Between me and the WINZ office lies a gully, which requires an arduous walk down, then up, to cross. But it isn’t a wild, desolate gully, devoid of settlement. The Western Motorway runs through it, giving it purpose to humankind, its din a perennial reminder of progress and commerce.

I bet crossing that gully was once an adventure. “Meet me across the gully after sunrise, Hohepa! We shall have to traverse the gully by noon, dear Timothy!” But now its gulliness is taken away. Only the man or woman on foot can know its obstacle.

Hailing the bus, which is on time, I ride one stop across the gully, and walk to the bustling Dominion Road. I spy my destination lying slightly below street level. The windows are frosted with a koru pattern, not yet ready to spoil its mystery before my appointed time. I’m running early, remember. Time to waste it freely. Normally I would leisurely browse the local shops for tat. I’m skint now. But in the end, I spend precious coin on a can of Fresh Up. Then three pieces of sushi. With my thirst quenched, hunger abated, and time up, I enter the den hitherto unknown to me.

“Hey bro, what you here for today?”

The Polynesian security man is huge. He is very friendly too.

“I have an appointment for 2pm,” I reply, managing a smile.

“Sweet, sure bro. Just over there” - he gestures towards a line of tape on the floor. I step to the line. At reception, a wizened man has his back towards me. Another Polynesian man is talking to him behind reception. The wizened man is becoming animated, the receptionist a little frustrated.

“We called you three times,” he says sternly. “We called you three times, and you did not answer.”

The wizened man has an accent which I can’t place.

“I know, I know. I missed it. I was in kitchen, not able to take call” - the emphasis on able pleading for a bit of mercy.

“Well, you must pick up when we call. Okay?”

“I know.”

The conversation quietens and trails off - the receptionist glad to have given a dressing-down, and the wizened man glad to have moved past it. They complete their exchange, with the customer taking his seat. The receptionist catches my eye and gestures me over. Repeating that I have an appointment at 2pm, I am instructed to take a seat, which I do dutifully.

Five minutes to go. It will probably be ten.

I take my seat and resolve not to stare at my phone. I’m “raw-dogging” it, as the kids say. I’ve entertained myself enough today, and know enough about mindfulness to ground myself in my surroundings. Though I hope no one notices me. Looking around discreetly, I spy a family of three - mother, father, and boisterous toddler. They queue up. I speculate on their situation, wondering what they are in here for today. I hope they’re okay. It can’t be easy to need government support when you have small children. A couple of minutes pass before a large, more boisterous woman enters.

“Oh, she’s sweeeeet. Oh, hello, darling!”

She is speaking loudly to the baby, and the baby is responding in kind, curious about the woman, keen to talk with her. This slight commotion contravenes my Anglo-Saxon sensibilities, but also reminds me to lighten up. I am feeling a little tense. I have felt “dry” all morning. If the toddler approaches me, then I will be nice to her. I will be a good member of the community. I will be warm and bubbly. But before the bairn has even had the chance to finish greeting everyone, I hear my name called.

“Mate?”

I stand to attention.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Alex. Please come through.”

He is a young man, or perhaps my age. He is pakeha like me. It is too familiar. He will know my heart. He will wonder what I am doing here. He will find me out.

Find me out ? Mate, you are entitled to the benefit! People come to WINZ all the time; you meet the criteria, you are going to get the support you need.

“Just take a seat over here,” he declares, directing me to his cubicle amongst the farm. I would have loved to have a cubicle at my old job. In fact, when I was very young, I dreamed of working in an office with a cubicle. It seems strange, but office work fascinated me. It had an aesthetic. The paper-shuffling. The important business-work. The filter coffee. That was twenty years ago, though, and work has changed. But after what I’ve been through, I couldn’t fathom thinking like that now.

But I can’t let WINZ know that. I am a job seeker. I am seeking a job; I just need support while doing so.

Taking my seat, posters about the available work programmes greet me. I see happy faces, many wearing high-viz, one wearing a prison guard uniform. All smiling. Real jobs. Real people. I have been thinking of a career change. Maybe I should tell Alex I want to become forklift-certified.

No! Speak only when spoken to, Mate! Just say what you need to complete the application.

Alex comes around the other side and resumes his seat. He opens several windows on his PC before turning to me.

“Okay. So I’m Alex. I’ve taken a look at your application. You are here for Jobseeker Allowance, is that correct?”

“Yes, I am,” I respond, hoping I’ve nailed the tone between cordiality and business.

“Good. Well, it looks like you’ve sent in almost everything we need. You have completed your profile. You have submitted the documents we asked for. This is good for us today - we won’t need to spend the appointment filling it in. A lot of people come in, and they haven’t done everything - so we complete it in the appointment. But you have already.”

I feel a tinge of pride. It is the same pride I felt when the mortgage broker told me my application’s turnaround was “really fast”. The same pride I felt when I tracked down and fixed a complicated bug all in one morning. Actually, I can’t recall the last time someone at my last job complimented me on the efficiency of my work.

“Oh, thank you! I like to get these things sorted beforehand.”

Alex confirms some details with me and flips through the files I’ve sent. He stops at one. It is a tax report on an investment account - but the formatting is all garbled.

“Oh yes - that’s one of my tax reports. I exported it as a PDF, so you could read it - but the original was an Excel file.”

I knew I rushed that part.

“That’s fine. I’ll get you to re-submit it for your application, and we’ll need a few more documents from you.”

The boring transaction continues, with Alex checking the application, noting down the next documents he needs from me.

“Now I am going to explain some of the obligations and expectations from you. Once your application is prepared, and payments are ready to begin, you will receive an invite to a Kōrero Mahi seminar. They will talk about some basic things to get you ready for work. It’s just a requirement of the Jobseeker Allowance.”

I know exactly what these are. It will be a corny presentation with information I already know. A completely token step of the process. But my heart doesn’t sink at the thought of it. There might be some cool people there. I could make friends! It is a stretch. But lately, my mind has been opened far wider than I ever expected.

“Sounds good to me. I will be able to make it easily.”

“Great,” Alex chimes. “We’ll send you a text.”

The text reminders from WINZ are a godsend. My Messages app easily lets me create Google Calendar appointments from the message. Alex continues with some more information about the Jobseeker Allowance, to which I nod and agree, wondering where to place my hands and arms.

No glazing over, like when Mum talks to you. You’re an adult now.

Alex finishes. I say:

“Thanks, Alex. This is a lot to take in. Will you be able to send an email with links to what we’ve discussed?”

“Of course. I will include information about everything we discussed today.”

The end of the meeting is approaching. Do we shake hands?, I wonder. I spy the hand sanitiser placed to my left. Shaking hands is unhygienic, and might not be an appropriate interface to the government. But Alex and I have made a deal. My Anglo-Saxon sensibilities urge me to shake his hand. I can feel the ending coming - sanitise hands before shaking, or after? After, and I might look like I’m questioning Alex’s personal hygiene. Before, and it won’t combat the contamination of the handshake. Perhaps I could -

“I think that is all for today. Is there anything more I can help with?”

“No - that’s all, thank you.”

I stand up. The service has ended; I may go in peace.

“I look forward to hearing from you.”

We bid our goodbyes, and I wander to the door, smiling and thanking the nice security man, who lets me out, not missing a beat.

I am back in the cold, fresh October sun. The tension I felt earlier has melted away. My time is my own again! Looking at my watch, I am amazed at how quickly the day has disappeared. It is 15:30. When I have a job, I am going to treasure every second. The thought of future employment dulls my relief somewhat. But I can’t have a bad attitude. WINZ will be watching me closely. And I can’t let Alex down.

I wander back to the bus stop, and ride one stop across the gully. It is too late in the day to enjoy the outside. I’ll do so tomorrow, after I’ve completed my work.

After all, I do have a job now. I am a job-seeker.