David entered the job centre building and looked around, trying to get his bearings. It had been five years since he\u2019d last been here and everything had subtly changed. Amidst the crowds of people it was hard to see where he was supposed to go for his appointment.<\/p>\n
Having located what appeared to be the reception desk a single lectern with a well dressed woman standing beside it, her hand resting on what appeared to be a glossy travel brochure, he made his way through the milling throngs toward it. <\/p>\n
\u201cHi, I\u2019m Margaret, how can I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret (36-24-36, with bountiful DD breasts) stood approximately 5 foot nine (two inches of which were her heels) and wore a smart pale blue blouse and a navy blue brushed nylon skirt. Her hair was a lustrous red and tumbled down over her shoulders in waves.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m here to, er.. I\u2019m supposed to sign on, at, er\u2026\u201d David looked at his appointment letter. \u201c…at 9:30.\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret stared at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re late,\u201d she hissed.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it\u2019s only 9:15,\u201d David said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe appointment<\/em> is at 9:30,\u201d she said, carefully intoning the word appointment so that is sounded almost lewd. \u201cBut you have to be here at 9. So as to make sure there\u2019s no delay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, sorry. I, I didn\u2019t realise. It\u2019s my first time,\u201d he said. \u201cToday,\u201d he added, uselessly, into the terror of her silence.<\/p>\n \u201cThis was all clearly laid out in your \u2018Welcome\u2019 package, along with all the other rules and regulations. It\u2019s part of your agreement with us that you will have read these before arriving for your session.\u201d Margaret looked down at his shoes (a fraying pair of red dunlop tennis shoes that he had bought from Sports Direct for \u00a312.99 the week before, and which gave his overlong feet a strange resemblance to those of a circus clown\u2019s). \u201cAnd, well, I can see, quite clearly, you didn\u2019t even get to the dress code section.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThese are the only shoes I\u2019ve got,\u201d David said.<\/p>\n \u201cIndeed.\u201d<\/p>\n Margaret drummed her well-manicured fingers on the top of the lectern, her nails clacking against the lacquer. The book that rested there, David could see clearly now, was entitled \u201cJob Centre Plus: For You, From Us\u201d and on the cover there was a number of well dressed people, all of them beautiful. All of them smiling. David looked away, vaguely embarrassed. He was, he thought, probably frightened of smiles. <\/p>\n When he looked back at Margaret she was holding two red cards out for him to take.<\/p>\n \u201cYour appointment is at lectern #7,\u201d Margaret said, in her clipped, precise tones. \u201cHand these tokens to your overseer when your name is called, along with your letter of introduction, two forms of photo ID, and a reference from a professional associate, such as your doctor, solicitor, or pastor, or a member of the House of Lords.\u201d<\/p>\n David took the cards from her hand, his finger momentarily grazing hers. It felt smooth, clean, and he jerked his hand away, embarrassed at how his calloused claws must feel to her.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry,\u201d he mumbled, but she had already turned her attention to another, and his apology went unacknowledged.<\/p>\n At lectern #7, at precisely 7 minutes past ten, David\u2019s name was called and he stepped forward.<\/p>\n \u201cHi, I\u2019m Margaret, how can I help you today?\u201d<\/p>\n Margaret, 27 years old, 5 foot 4 inches tall, (26-46-86), cupsize: HH, wore an off-brown cotton shirt above on-brown cullottes that hung just below the knee. He could not see her shoes. Her hair was brown in a style the name of which he did not know, but that he had definitely seen before somewhere.<\/p>\n David handed her his letter, his identification documentation and the two red tokens.<\/p>\n Margaret looked at the red tokens sadly, shaking her head and tutting and sighing simultaneously, somehow.<\/p>\n \u201cNow that\u2019s not a very good start to your claim, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d David asked.<\/p>\n \u201cTwo negative actions against your account already. Very disappointing.\u201d She shook her head again, her hair swaying as if in slow motion. \u201cVery disappointing for you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I haven\u2019t even\u2026\u201d David trailed off as Margaret put her finger to her lips and shushed him.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m here for you.\u201d<\/p>\n She patted him on the arm.<\/p>\n \u201cNow, just tell me your details. Name?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDavid N. Guy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDate of birth?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe 16th of June, 1978.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHeight?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c153 Conduit Ro-\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHeight!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHeight.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh. 6 foot 2.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery good. Weight.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2026 What does this have to do with\u2026 Do I have to tell you this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. It all needs to be filled in. Look!\u201d<\/p>\n She turned her ipad round so he could see the screen. On it there was a picture of him in his underwear. Well a picture of someone in their underwear. It was a sort of indistinct blob mostly. A number of text fields down the side were still waiting to be filled with information.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m about 20 stone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbout?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c20 stone 7.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery good.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBust, hips, waist?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI, don\u2019t know. I wear a 44 inch per of trousers usually.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll just put, 44, 44, 44 for now, is that okay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCup size.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t wear a bra.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut if you did?\u201d<\/p>\n David looked down at his shoes and mumbled, \u201cA B cup.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSee that wasn\u2019t so hard now, was it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d David said. \u201cI still don\u2019t really understand why it\u2019s necessary, though.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll information is necessary,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cFor our records.\u201d<\/p>\n There was a moments silence. David wished he was dead at least three times.<\/p>\n \u201cSo it says here,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cThat you wish to sign on because you\u2019re a failure of business.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy business was a failure,\u201d David said. \u201cThe letter says my business was a failure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you have the necessary documentation to prove this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOnly that letter,\u201d he replied. \u201cI didn\u2019t consider my business a failure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWas it a small<\/em> business?\u201d Margaret said. \u201cA very small<\/em> business.\u201d<\/p>\n She held her finger and thumb an inch apart and tittered slightly.<\/p>\n \u201cAnyway,\u201d she continued. \u201cYou know the rules.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat rules?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe rules on the size of a business,\u201d she winked. \u201cYour business was too small.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I don\u2019t agree, obviously.\u201d David was shocked by his momentary moment of assertiveness. \u201cBut anyway that\u2019s why I\u2019m here. Because my business was too small-\u201d<\/p>\n Margaret interrupted with a giggle.<\/p>\n \u201c-my business was too small to qualify for working tax credits,\u201d David concluded. \u201cAnd also the new rules state that any business too small for working tax credits is too small to register as a business at all. So they sent me here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe<\/strong> sent you here. The Conservatives,\u201d said Margaret. \u201cYou\u2019re not a Conservative. So here you are.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you know I\u2019m not a Conservative?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSee. I knew it. Our detection system is foolproof.\u201d She paused a moment and then said in a singsong voice, \u201cWe\u2019re the party of workers, not shirkers<\/em>.\u201d She pointed her crimson-nailed finger directly at David\u2019s heart. \u201cYou are a shirker.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I was a worker!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA very small worker,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cBarely even profitable.\u201d<\/p>\n She scraped her nails down the screen of her ipad. <\/p>\n \u201cNow, let\u2019s find you a job!\u201d<\/p>\n She clacked at the screen as if she was typing on it, an elaborate and pointless charade on its capacitive screen.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, there\u2019s only one job. You\u2019ll have to have sex with everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s the only job available.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEveryone?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEveryone here. It\u2019s the only role available.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut\u2026 Well, isn\u2019t there anything else?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSurely there\u2019s a-\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s nothing else.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I\u2019m not going to take it.\u201d<\/p>\n Margaret gave him a long hard look and then slowly pushed a red token across the lectern towards him.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s three now. You know what that means.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt wasn\u2019t a question.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI still don\u2019t know what it means.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour account has been suspended, and sanctions placed upon it. You will have to contact your local job centre every Friday to see if they have been lifted. Sanctions usually last from between 4 weeks to 26 weeks. Failure to enquire as to whether your sanction has been lifted is a sanctionable offence. Once the sanctions have been lifted, you may re-apply to the job centre within 28 days to receive an application to apply form, which may take up to six weeks to arrive.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo ifs, no buts,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cBut\u2026\u201d She winked at him, in a sort of sexy way.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not taking that job,\u201d David said. \u201cIt\u2019s against my beliefs.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re the party of florals, not morals<\/em>,\u201d she sang.<\/p>\n \u201cThat doesn\u2019t make any sense,\u201d David said. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t even rhyme.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt does.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt doesn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt looks like it does.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell it doesn\u2019t,\u201d David said. \u201cJust listen to yourself saying it.\u201d<\/p>\n Margaret soundlessly pushed another red token across the desk.<\/p>\n \u201cFour,\u201d she mouthed.<\/p>\n \u201cI suppose that means you\u2019ll have me killed now?\u201d David sarcasmed.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Margaret replied. \u201cIt means I\u2019ll have to call my supervisor on you.\u201d<\/p>\n Margaret pressed a button on her desk and a klaxon started blaring and all the light sin the room went red and smoke rose up from the floor and suddenly a supervisor apparitioned out of the murk.<\/p>\n \u201cHi, I\u2019m Margaret, how can I help you?\u201d said the supervisor, who was 4 foot 8 tall, with KKK breasts and a cloak made out of ermine. Under that she might well have been naked, or possibly she was wearing a smart black trouser suit from Debenhams.<\/p>\n \u201cFour,\u201d Margaret mouthed at her, and shook her head. The supervisor looked at David, a ferocious fury blazing in her eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s people like you who ruining it for the rest of us,\u201d she said, picking up David\u2019s passport, his driver\u2019s licence, and his signed letter of acknowledgement and approval from Lord Puttnam and ripping them slowly and deliberately into thin strips, each one exactly 0.25 centimetres wide. \u201cWe\u2019re the party of citizens, not clucking hens<\/em>.\u201d <\/p>\n She threw the strips of his identity up into the air and David watched, mesmerised as they fluttered off like paper butterflies across the room, caught oddly in the unpredictable eddies of the air conditioned atmosphere.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you want an identity, you\u2019ll have to take this job,\u201d the supervisor said. \u201cThen, you\u2019ll be one of us, a worker not a shirker<\/em>, and we can assign you a new one. Otherwise, you\u2019re no-one, nameless. Nothing.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n A strip of David\u2019s passport fluttered down and landed in the supervisor\u2019s hand. She looked at it and read the name written there. \u201cAnd you had such a nice name, a Conservative name. A pity.\u201d<\/p>\n She shook her head and vanished back into the smoke.<\/p>\n \u201cNow, you saw that Margaret there wasn\u2019t very happy,\u201d said Margaret. \u201cAnd you\u2019d like to please her, wouldn\u2019t you? Please her very much. She would\u2026 make it worth<\/em> your while.\u201d<\/p>\n (The salary met precisely all National Living Wage requirements.)<\/p>\n \u201cHow come you\u2019re all called Margaret?\u201d David asked, in an attempt to change the subject.<\/p>\n \u201cIt is government policy,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cThe only women\u2019s name on the list.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat list?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe list of approved names.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, every woman here is called Margaret?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo she\u2019s called Margaret, is she?\u201d David asked, pointing at the woman working at lectern #64.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd her?\u201d he asked, pointing at the woman at lectern #1.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, that\u2019s Winston,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cTransgender women are considered men for the purposes of naming. And marriage. And most other rights. In line with government policy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about her,\u201d David asked, pointing at the short-haired woman working at lectern #846476382. \u201cI know her, and she\u2019s definitely not called Margaret.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re right, that\u2019s Harold.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut she\u2019s not transgender. Her name\u2019s Angela. We used to do some art shows and stuff together.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe arts.\u201d Margaret rolled her eyes. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t do that sort of thing anymore. Also, lesbians are now considered men. For the purposes of naming.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s not even a Conservative,\u201d David insisted.<\/p>\n \u201cShe works, therefore she is,\u201d Margaret said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat would you call a transgender man?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMargaret, obviously.\u201d Margaret said. \u201cTransgender men do not exist, according to government guidelines. And they are forbidden from trying to claim an official designation of lesbian, before you try and think you\u2019ve found a loophole.\u201d<\/p>\n David tried changing the subject again. \u201cSo, you\u2019re working for the state. Surely that\u2019s the least bloody Conservative thing you can do. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re destroying the system from within,\u201d said Margaret firmly. \u201cSo, about this\u2026 opening<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t want it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t not have it. It\u2019s the rules. Our<\/em> rules,\u201d Margaret told him. \u201cYou have to take a job. There\u2019s nothing you can do about it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I don\u2019t want it,\u201d David said. \u201cI don\u2019t. I can\u2019t. I don\u2019t want to have to have sex!\u201d<\/p>\n The entire job centre fell quiet at this outburst. Margaret looked disgusted. <\/p>\n A bare chested man at the lectern next to them turned round and said, \u201cWhat the fuck, mate? What sort of fucking gay sort of thing is that? The fucking state of you.\u201d The man turned back to his overseer and said, \u201cThis is Essex. We shouldn\u2019t have to put up with that sort of shit round here. It\u2019s disgusting. There\u2019s kids round here.\u201d<\/p>\n David crossed his arms and said, \u201cI\u2019m not taking it. I can\u2019t. I have a phobia.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t see any medical exemptions listed on your form.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook, I have a letter, from my Doctor.\u201d David removed it from his trouser pocket and passed it across the lectern to Margaret. \u201cSee. Ubbtophobia<\/em>. A fear of breasts. I can\u2019t possibly take this job. I\u2019d be too scared.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, but Ubbtophobia isn\u2019t on our list of medical exemptions,\u201d Margaret said. \u201cThe current list of accepted phobias, in line with government policy is as follows: islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia, pedophobia, arachnophobia, xenophobia, and taxophobia.\u201d<\/p>\n Margaret put down her ipad and looked at David lasciviously.<\/p>\n \u201cIs it true that, well, the things<\/em> you\u2019re scared of look bigger to you, when you see them? My sister\u2019s scared of spiders and she’s always saying how huge they are.\u201d She thrust her breasts forward and David drew back, nodding.<\/p>\n \u201cHow much bigger?\u201d<\/p>\n David started stammering some fucking nonsense, and she cut him off by saying, \u201cHow big do you think my breasts are, David?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t. Please, don\u2019t.\u201d David wept. <\/p>\n Margaret pushed her breasts closer to him, closer and closer, until they knocked all the red tokens off the lectern and came perilously close to touching David\u2019s belly and he pushed out with his hands in a panic, as if he thought he could swat them away. But they were too hefty to be moved aside.<\/p>\n \u201cYou touched them!\u201d Margaret said. \u201cYou touched my breasts.\u201d <\/p>\n She put the ipad down on the lectern and said loudly, to the room, \u201cHe touched my breasts.\u201d<\/p>\n The supervisor rematerialised and said, \u201cYou touched her breasts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUbbtophobia my fucking arse, \u201c said the Margaret from reception. \u201cIf you can touch them you can\u2019t be that scared of them.\u201d<\/p>\n The three Margaret\u2019s stood round him in a circle, the Supervisor\u2019s incredible breasts having already knocked the lectern onto the floor. Margaret\u2019s ipad screen shattered as it crashed to the floor.<\/p>\n David tried to turn away but everywhere he looked breasts pushed in towards him. Closer and closer and closer and closer. He screamed.<\/p>\n \u201cJoin us,\u201d said Margaret. \u201cTake the job.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecome a worker,\u201d said Margaret. <\/p>\n \u201cBecome a Conservative!\u201d said the final Margaret. \u201cAnd never worry about anything again.\u201d<\/p>\n David felt a nipple brush against his beard, and then push further and further in, down into the tangle of it, deeper and deeper until it almost seemed to be inside of him. And then the pressure of it against his skin, the caress of it against his cheek. David took the job, and was assigned the name John. He has recently set up a campaign group devoted to the abolishment of the European Convention Of Human Rights. He lives in Chelmsford.<\/strong><\/p>\n __________<\/p>\n Notes:<\/p>\n 1. Written in May 2016<\/em> David entered the job centre building and looked around, trying to get his bearings. It had been five years since he\u2019d last been here and everything had subtly changed. Amidst the crowds of people it was hard to see where he was supposed to go for his appointment. Having located what appeared to be the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[36],"tags":[118,418,421,417,162,164,419,420],"class_list":["post-1176","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-a-short-story-or-two","tag-autobiography","tag-conservatism","tag-employment","tag-erotica","tag-short-stories","tag-terror","tag-the-death-of-the-soul","tag-unemployment"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1176","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1176"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1176\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1178,"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1176\/revisions\/1178"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1176"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1176"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/accumulationofthings.com\/things\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1176"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n_______________<\/p>\n
\n2. Obviously, every word of his is completely true<\/em>
\n3. And now, two years later, even more true<\/em>
\n4. Although I suppose the list of acceptable female names has now doubled in size<\/em><\/p>\n__________<\/br>Support An Accumulation Of Things<\/a><\/h3>If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon<\/a> or my ko-fi<\/a>. <\/br><\/br>Patreon subscribers<\/a> get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.<\/br><\/br>(Ko-fi contributors<\/a> probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more). <\/br><\/br>Thank you!<\/i><\/br><\/br>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"