He took Spencer Cowleys check with him, tucking it into his shirts pocket; and thinking to visit the bank, later in the day. The check was not for a lot, and he didnt imagine it would take him quite far. So he definitely needed to get a job really fast, primarily because the rent needed to get paid by the first day of each month, which was just about a week away. The last thing he needed at this time was to have himself thrown in the street. Frank thought the check was mischief really because he usually got paid by bank transfer. It occurred to him that Spencer intended to make a statement with the check - like he didnt want to have anything more to do with Frank.
Hey, here is your pay you fucker; now get the hell out of here and dont ever come back.
Frank hated visiting the Jobcentre, primarily because as everyone knew, it was the place where you went in hopeful and came out hopeless. There, as he expected, he found himself in the company of the drunk, the druggies, and the born layabouts-, all waiting to be fed into the omnivorous mill of the unemployment benefit processing machine.
He made a quick start at the job search computer, and it confirmed because that seemed its only purpose for which it seemed to have been made, that there was no job available for journalists within 50 miles of Hackney. Not about to completely lose hope though, Frank joined the queue to see an employment officer.
What kind of job are you looking for? the lady asked. Frank had a feeling that she didnt care, and was just going through the rote.
I am a journalist, Frank told her. She tapped some keys on her computer, and ruefully shook her head.
No journalist job here, she said.
I know that; I just checked from the computer by myself and couldnt find any listing. I thought maybe you had some other jobs that havent been yet listed. Frank replied, mildly annoyed.
Would you be willing to consider any other job?
Frank had a fleeting thought that having a full-time job as a disc jockey would have been so cool but he didnt think they made jobs in that model yet; at least not in London.
Yes, depending on what you have available. I really must pay my bills somehow, Frank replied. Humming gaily, she tapped some more on her computer.
I have got some vacancies for truck drivers. Do you have a license?
No I dont have a license to drive anything on wheels, Frank laughed; thinking he had no desire to drive a fucking truck.
Door security? She again suggested.
I have a problem standing for long, Frank told her.
You wouldnt consider a street cleaning job either I guess because of your disability? Frank imagined she was mocking him, with the way she said your disability. Nevertheless, he just shook his head, thinking no way was he going to be scooping dog poop for anybody.
Traffic warden? She asked. Again Frank laughed and shook his head. As far as he knew, nearly everyone who owned a car was looking for a traffic warden to murder.
Okay then, could you check back next week and we might hopefully have something along your street. In the interim would you like to sign on to receive unemployment benefits?
At this time a mail boy passed probably sixteen years old or so.
Get off that chair and go do some work like a man you lazy motherfucker; his disgusted eyes seemed to say to Frank.
No I dont want to sign on for anything, Frank told her.
Suit yourself then, she said.
Franks bank was only a hundred yards down the street, and it took him less than five minutes to get there. A small bus with BBC stenciled on the sides was parked outside the bank, but he didnt really pay attention to that.
The bank was a little crowded which didnt make sense, not so early in the morning.
Whats going on? hed asked the door security.
A little bit of equipment malfunction, but I am sure all will be back to normal in a few minutes. We were alerted, the tall happy Nigerian told him. Frank seated himself near an old West Indian granny while he waited for the queue to get moving once more.
Hello my dearie, I am Mrs. Williams. , the granny told him. Frank shook her hand and told her his own name.
My name is Frank. I learn the computers have gone funny, thats odd, isnt it? he asked.
Nothing odd at all dearie; the bank is full of funny business these days, arent they? Last year me bring me check here. You know we old citizens get some allowance for our heating equipment and stuff. Now me hand me check over to this rass teller over there you see, and next time I look back he gone. Went away with my money; old woman money. And so about an hour later he back again, and me kick a fuss and lick him on the head with me bag. Give me back me money you thief me shout at him. And his supervisor come and beg me cool doun; cool doun he say because all the man do is go for break. Cool doun, bloodclat say to me. Can you believe that, young man? Idiot boy go for break with me money.
Frank nodded miserably and agreed with Mrs. Williams that yes, all bank workers were thieves and must be put in prison. But she was not even halfway done yet. Mrs. Williams proceeded to recite her biography and especially the rather touching bit about her granddaughter Harriet, whose picture she carried around in her handbag and was pleased to show Frank.
You know Harriet, poor girl who shouldnt have married the goat goes by the name of Winston who cant keep a job and all he do is play trumpet in a reggae band as if he in Jamaica. This is sad because living in London is hard man; not like back-a-yard in Jamaica.
It made Frank guilty that this nice lonely lady Mrs. Williams actually thought she was talking to a nice young white man who had his life altogether. Nevertheless, he obediently nodded and agreed to all she said.
In an open cubicle, a dejected Antipodean was trying to convince his personal banker that he qualified for an overdraft, but from the look on his face, he was not making any progress at all. The banker punched some keys on her computer, made some busy humming noise, and came to a final verdict, or more correctly the computer came to a final verdict. She shook her head.
But Ozzie was not giving up easily His life depended on getting the overdraft, this being perfectly understandable since he had just lost his job, was living in a rented house with a pregnant wife, and his immigration status did not qualify him for unemployment benefit.
For three years I have faithfully made this particular bank home to my salary, and if not for this unfortunate incident I wouldnt need an overdraft, he desperately pleaded his case; but the bank computer remained merciless.
Frank eventually had a chance to cash his check. He thought he should have just paid the check into his account, but another thought came to him to cash the check first.
In another part of the bank, a camera crew of four from BBC had been interviewing the bank supervisor, who was happily enjoying the show and describing how the bank security system worked. The camera crew from BBC was now leaving the bank. They were leaving with a box which looked full of money and yes it was. The supervisor grinned at the camera, enjoying the show and explaining how the security system captured this sort of situation. Out went the camera crew into a van that had pulled up in front of the bank. The supervisor waved them away. The agreement appeared to have been for the van to drive around the block for five minutes or so and come back with the box of money, and then for the camera crew to see in the banks security office how the whole event had been faithfully recorded.