Centerlink
I cringed as I saw the logo hanging from the roof of the white building.
The building was located off the industrial area, and showed it. It was white, and both at the top and bottom were white frames, and between them large tinted windows.I walked closer, now being able to read the sign. It displayed the soothing mint green "Centerlink" and a green C logo.
I turned left, hiking up the disability ramp over the stairs and dancing round a scarily young mother of three wielding a dual pram.
I went to the automatic doors, enjoying the semi-cool air conditioning and the sight of cheap carpet and wood-pulp desks.
I took steps inward, and my skin crawled.
In front of me was two large desks, with a line behind each.And to my right, a row of seats, half of which were occupied.
The occupants. Ergh.
My skin crawled as I saw them.
In my line (Students, job seekers, losers) going from closest to my position to the front was an elderly aboriginal man, grey hair, needing a shave and wearing a once-black collared shirt and red board shorts and mismatching thongs.
I named him Noel.
In front of him was Angel and Joel.
Angel was a 20-something short blonde girl. She had a bareback top and black tight pants. I could see Chinese symbol tattoos going from her neck downward. She
had a thick silver-plated bangle on her left wrist, and her right was clutched by Joel.
Joel looked older than her, and much taller. He could have been hispanic - dark skin, black hair, chronic peach-fuzz and one of those stupid baseball caps with stickers all along the brim. He clutched what looked like a HSC booklet in his free hand.
In front of him was Dave, the 30-ish caucasian guy with long brown hair in a pony tail, tie-die shirt and faded jeans. He had a letter that looked like mine in his hand.
In front of Dave, and first in the cue was Jarahd.
Jarahd was of some kind of African descent, and possessed a dauntingly-long collection of (What is that hair called... braids? Something like that...)
He held a skateboard and an empty red backpack. He also had one of those moronic hats. They seemed to reduce IQ points in my opinion.
After studiously examining my fellow line-dwellers, my eyes wandered to the Families, Carers and Seniors cue.
Oh. My. God.
The whole area over there teemed with 0-3 year old children. And their over-worked, exhausted, financially desperate mothers. Of the four or five families there (Totaling about 20 kids, for f*ck sake...) one of the fathers was present, arguing in whispered tones with his girlfriend/spouse/?
A few seniors dotted the line, elderly women with dark-coloured perms and gentlemen either pompous and arrogant, looking like they didn't belong, or old and worn out and sour.
Past them was the computer terminal. Populated curiously by 30-something women with annoying accents and poor english and extremely short hair. And disturbingly so, summer clothes.
Someone's phone rang. One of the lesbians at the computer terminal.
"Yeah?"
"Oh hey love"
"Nah thats bullshit, that is"
After that, I ignored her.
To my left, to the row of seats now:
There sat two late 20s guys, one oriental and one aboriginal, both in turn being tended to by a large man wearing a centerlink shirt and clutching in his podgy fingers a clip board.
By this stage, the line still not having moved I checked out the people behind the desks.
What a bunch of tired old malcontents. Getting their god-complex fix by making us wait as long as they want. They really piss me off.
Back to the desk in my line, a new jacket-wearong receptionist removed the CLOSED sign from her desk and was immediately interrupted by a 40-something woman wearing an "Ask me if I care" shirt. With her loud, pissed off voice she began (and everyone watched) to complain how she'd been waiting hours and hours and had to also last week, byt the "guy" hadn't asked for papers she knew he needed, so she was back. The receptionist put on her sympathetic face and pretty much said "I don't care. Not my problem, why are you coming to me with this?"
Well, that was the subtext anyway.
Eventually, the line grew and it was finally my turn. I sat my arms on the bench and took care of my business.
My skin crawled a little as I imagined all the unsavory people's arms on that bench.
Finally, the borish receptionist was done typing extremely slowly (Or just grew bored of it...) and said it was all done.
Glee spread within my soul as I walked out those automatic doors and down the disability ramp, this time nearly being run-over by some jerk in a wheelchair...
I f*cking hate Centerlink...
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