Ch 2 (of 7) – Danny receives his letter of notification.
Danny Dawson, an eighteen-year-old school leaver with no job or training to go to upon his leaving education, arrived at his house having walked home from school for the final time. Danny was very happy. School was out – for good.
Now, Danny intended to follow the example of his free-riding, lazy-bones father, and embark upon a lifetime of uninterrupted leisure and pleasure – at the tax payers’ expense.
Immediately upon Danny entering his house, there was an eruption of loud, fierce-sounding barking and, in its customary expressions of enthusiastic welcome, Buster, the family’s German Shepherd dog, stood up on its hind legs and began licking Danny’s proffered face adoringly. Danny returned the dog’s affection, fondly scratching behind Buster’s ears. “Down, Buster! Down!” yelled Danny delightedly.
Upon entering the living-room and looking at the TV, Danny was irritated to see that his favourite soap was being delayed for a few minutes by a Party Political Broadcast by the Authoritarian Female Party.
Prime Minister Caroline Flint was in full flow. Speaking with her familiar ring of authority, she was assuring the British electorate that the A.F.P.’s manifesto pledges – in particular, those pledges with regard to “Sorting out” the country’s male unemployed, were being given priority, fast-tracked, and implemented without delay.
Danny, thinking that none of this mega-boring political stuff concerned him in the least, paid only scant attention to what was being said by the Prime Minister.
“… And, letters of notification are being sent out … put a stop, once and for all, to the shameless, workshy malingerers … clamping down, no more idle days … launching the Work Motivation Programme … from now on, claimants will be assigned to placements …” the Prime Minister was announcing ominously.
Danny noticed that his dad – normally of a very cheerful disposition, despite his being on Incapacity Benefit for the last fifteen years with ‘depression’ – had in his hand a letter from the local Job Centre. Danny’s dad was glowering at the TV like a bull glaring at a red rag, as he tried to come to terms with the awful enormity of this hideous new reality, as was outlined in his letter, and as was being so disturbingly described, by Prime Minister Caroline Flint, leader of the Authoritarian Female Party.
“Hiya Dad! What’s up?” asked Danny, at seeing his dad’s uncharacteristic, down-in-the-dumps demeanour.
Pointing an accusatory finger at the TV, Danny’s dad replied morosely, “It’s that ruddy bunch of bitches, isn’t it – the ruddy A.F.P. We’ve got enough authoritarian females in our lives as it is, our Danny, with your mother and your two sisters!”
“Oi! I heard that!” came mum’s tart rejoinder, from the kitchen where she was getting the family’s evening meal ready.
“What’s the letter from the Job Centre about, Dad?” asked Danny, still unconcerned, with political matters – still not getting it, that big changes were coming. Changes, that would affect him too.
“It’s a letter of notification from the Job Centre. That’s what it is,” said Danny’s dad peevishly. “I’ve been instructed to report to the Community Services Liaison Officer on Monday morning. In their words: to be assigned to a ‘placement’. From now on, it makes no odds that I’m depressed. I’ve got to earn my Incapacity Benefits, until I remove myself from the unemployed register by finding a job. And, if I don’t turn up to my placement, or if I don’t do the duties that I’m assigned to satisfactorily, my welfare benefits will be stopped, with immediate effect.”
“You’ve got a letter of notification from the Job Centre too, our Danny,” sniped Danny’s twenty-one-year-old sister, Elaine, nastily, and with a malicious gleam in her eye, cebeci escort as she twirled a tendril of her dirty-blonde hair around her index finger.
Danny knew from experience that, under the protection of their big sister Melanie, Elaine was trying to provoke him into a rash reaction – which would inevitably result in Melanie pinioning Danny’s arms behind his back, and letting Elaine bring him to heel, by giving Danny what was colloquially known as ‘a good slap’.
Not that Elaine wasn’t more than capable of punching above her weight in a fair fight, when it came to laying down the law with her younger brother. With her hurtful words and her painful slaps, she could reduce Danny to tears of humiliation.
It was just that Elaine revelled in having Danny rendered helpless; his threat neutralised, and unable to defend himself from her. So that, unhindered, and with Melanie’s active encouragement and assistance, she could give him ‘a good slap’.
Elaine could then, with her cruel, scornful tongue, and her vicious, punishing hands, properly and efficiently give Danny ‘a good slap’ – with impunity.
For Melanie was Elaine’s insurance policy, providing her with 5 Star cover against any possible come-back from Danny.
But, before Danny could foolishly respond to Elaine’s snide, goading remark, his other sister – and the eldest of the three siblings, twenty-three-year-old, dark-haired, and heavily pregnant, Melanie – only too pleased to be the bearer of Danny’s bad tidings, gleefully handed over to Danny his letter of notification from the local Job Centre.
“You thought you were going to have a lifetime of sheer idleness at the taxpayers’ expense – just like Dad – didn’t you, our Danny?” sneered Melanie. “Well, think again, dipstick! Read that letter. Read it, and weep!” gloated Melanie.
Well, that’s rich, coming from our Melanie! thought Danny sourly.
Melanie: who had, herself, on purpose and purposefully, got pregnant on a one-night-stand so as to be able to claim a rent-free council house when her baby arrived. This being the long established tactic of women of her ilk for maintaining a work-free, all-expenses-paid lifestyle. More importantly: a Single, lifestyle. Melanie didn’t want a husband – who needed a man, doing nothing but squandering all the money on beer and betting? Oh no. Melanie wanted to be the one holding the purse strings. And, when she wanted the … attentions, of a man … well, she was attractive enough not to have any problems in that department. Melanie could ‘get her leg over’ anytime – as the crude colloquial saying went.
Danny, at seeing that his letter from the Job Centre had been opened, yelled peevishly, “Bitch! You’ve opened my mail! Dad, our Melanie’s opened my mail! She’s been reading my letter! The nosy fat cow, she’s—”
In an instant, her state of advanced pregnancy apparently of little impediment to her agility, Melanie had firm hold of Danny’s right ear. Melanie effortlessly hauled the now fearfully cringing Danny from his chair, lifting him until he was standing on the very tips of his toes; her fingernails digging into his tender flesh painfully.
“Shut it, cretin!” snarled Danny’s big sister menacingly. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that, you little whippersnapper – unless you want a ruddy good slap!”
“Steady on, our Mel! You’ve got a bun in the oven! You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this!” advised Danny facetiously, in trying to save face.
“Go on, our Mel!” encouraged Elaine. “Give the cheeky little sod a ruddy good slap. I would, and no mistake! I’d teach the little pipsqueak a lesson! Go on, our Mel – make him cry. He ruddy well deserves it!” urged Elaine maliciously.
This sort of thing was an all-too-familiar scene, in the Dawson household – and in most households, come çeşme escort to that, in those rough and tough suburbs of Manchester.
Elaine – another ruddy hypocrite, thought Danny sullenly.
Elaine: who had been talking, lately, of emulating the grasping example of her free-loading older sister, and getting in the ‘family way’. So that she also could hop aboard the welfare benefits gravy train. So that she also could apply for a rent-free council house when her baby arrived – plus all of the many other associated welfare benefits attendant to that particularly lucrative claim. The welfare benefits gravy train was waiting for Elaine at Platform 1, and she was going to get herself a First-Class ticket for the ride.
Elaine’s eyes gleamed in gratification, as she saw a tear leak from Danny’s left eye as a result of Melanie’s painful and humiliating chastisement of him – especially humiliating to Danny, as he was being ‘disciplined’ right in front of Elaine.
As she watched this splendid entertainment, Elaine had her right leg crossed over her left knee, and she was causing her right flip flop to repeatedly slap-slap-slap against the bottom of her bare heel. Elaine was doing her … ‘thing’.
This attracted Danny’s eye – as it always did. He couldn’t help himself: whatever else he thought of Elaine, Danny thought she was a champion flip flop dangler and manipulator. The way Elaine could … oh, he couldn’t put it into words. And, despite himself, he had to admit that she had great feet, too … feet, that he secretly yearned to worship. Danny knew that Elaine must never make that discovery. If she did …
“Ha ha ha ha!” laughed mum from the kitchen, who had been listening to and enjoying these boisterous exchanges and, who always loved it when the ‘Sisterhood’ came down on Danny like a ton of falling female footwear. The women ruled, in the Dawson household – just as women were now ruling the country.
Eventually, dad spoke up, albeit in a conciliatory, kowtowing tone, to his eldest daughter. “All right, Princess, that’s enough,” dad said mildly.
To his son, dad said, “Danny, show more respect to your sisters – you’ll be a lot better off in the long-run, you’ll see. Now, sit down and read your letter from the Job Centre – it’s important – before we all sit down to our tea.”
“Okay, Dad,” said Danny, still rubbing his sore ear as he sat down – and defiantly and impudently sticking his tongue out at Melanie.
Danny just never seemed to learn … anyone would think that he actually enjoyed being chastised by his two sisters. Sisters, who were never slow to put their foot down, where their younger brother was concerned. Never slow, to impose their discipline.
Danny Dawson’s letter of notification from his local Job Centre, read as follows:
Dear Mr. Dawson,
as you have no job or training to go to immediately upon your leaving education, your local Job Centre has therefore, under the government’s new Work Motivation Programme, assigned you to a placement.
The official title of the placement that your local Job Centre has assigned you to, is that of ‘Air Purification Technician’.
No formal qualifications are required for your placement, as full, on-the-job training will be given.
You will remain in your allocated placement (or placements, as might be directed, at the discretion of your local Job Centre), until such a time as you remove yourself from the unemployed register by finding gainful employment.
You are hereby advised, that the instructions as set out in this letter of notification are mandatory, and are as follows:
Should you either:
1 – Be repeatedly late (more than once, in any given week, or more than twice, in any given month).
2 – Fail to report to your placement, without a covering cim cif yapan escort note; either from your doctor, or a placement supervisor.
3 – Fail to perform the duties of your assigned placement to the satisfaction of your supervisors … your unemployment benefit payments will be stopped – with immediate effect.
Your placement will be based at Manchester Airport – Terminal 2.
Always bring your passport with you. Our records show that you have a currently valid passport, which will be updated for you should that become necessary: in the event that you have still not removed yourself from the unemployed register by finding gainful employment, at the date of your passport’s expiration.
At 06:00 on the Monday following your leaving education, you will report to the ‘Sunshine Holidays’ Information Desk, at Manchester Airport – Terminal 2 Departures. You will be met by a representative of Sunshine Holidays, who will take charge of you, and conduct you to your placement.
From then on you will report to your placement on alternate days.
This day on, day off, schedule will afford you every opportunity to look for gainful employment – your Job Centre will be happy to assist you.
Please note: Placements are a strategic initiative of the Authoritarian Female Party government. Under the Work Motivation Programme, placements are intended as corrective measures, specifically designed to motivate welfare benefits claimants into gainful employment.
Yours sincerely, Angela Cross – Job Centre Supervisor.
Danny Dawson, eighteen-year-old school leaver with no job or training to go to upon his leaving education, and second-generation (would be) ‘career claimant’, upon finishing reading his letter of notification from his local Job Centre, looked up – his face bleak; almost chalk-white from shock – and said, “An ‘Air Purification Technician’? What the …? Aw, bollocks! Ruddy bollocks!!”
Elaine and Melanie, and Danny’s mum, who had come in from the kitchen – ostensibly, to announce that tea was nearly ready, but, really, to watch her son’s reaction to his letter of notification – started laughing, and laughing.
Then Danny, upon his suddenly realising that he would actually have to get out of bed at 5 a.m. on Monday morning, to report to his ruddy so-called placement, looked at the TV again.
Danny looked at Caroline Flint, Prime Minister and leader of the Authoritarian Female Party. And, Danny listened to her, taking more notice of her words now than he had ever taken before, until she concluded the A.F.P.’s Party Political Broadcast.
And then, at last, he understood that she was a woman to be reckoned with – a woman to fear.
Danny Dawson, at receiving “Something in the post,” and so suddenly finding himself saddled with a so-called ruddy ‘placement’, instead of embarking upon a lifetime of leisure and pleasure at the taxpayers’ expense, disgustedly echoed the sentiments of his equally disgusted dad.
“That ruddy bunch of bitches!”
Elaine and Melanie and Danny’s mum, just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Well, they couldn’t help it. It was the funniest thing that had happened in the Dawson household for ages! The sight of dad’s and Danny’s glum, crestfallen, disbelieving faces – it was too much! Even Buster joined in the fun with his barking.
And Danny was so knocked out of kilter by his letter of notification, to the extent that he quite forgot about the special ones – his white-socked, absentmindedly shoe-playing female classmates, who every school day unwittingly exercised their enthralling powers over him.
Quite forgot, about reporting to his bedroom, lying on his bed, and making his daily ‘devotions’.
Quite forgot, about replaying in his mind the exciting, under-the-seat scenes of the day – his ‘sightings’.
Quite forgot, about pulling his penis, in worship, as he made his solemn, ritualistic ‘sacrifice’ to his Goddesses.
For, the very thought of it had quite gone from Danny’s mind.
For once, he wasn’t in the mood.
Flight SH 123 to Corfu continues in Ch 3 (of 7).