The Salvation Army had the contract for processing the unemployed in the town and the system was simple. Once a month everyone on the dole mustered at the work skills centre to sign in.

The queue stretched out the door, through the car park, up the street past the Take Away and around the corner onto the main street sometimes as far as the BNZ. If you missed the sign-on your dole was cut off.

There was a similarity in everyone’s appearance in the queue. Everyone had long hair and most of the guys had beards. The women wore tight jeans or tie dyed leggings tucked into folded down gumboots. The guys wore work boots even though they weren’t working. Swannis and shearers shirts and padded jackets on everyone to keep out the cold while they waited.

People clustered in groups in the queue – smoking and talking and making plans for afterwards. It was a community atmosphere. The men outnumbered the women 3 to one. The women in this town mostly get the dpb – not the dole. Usually they outnumber the guys. A few men here had wives or partners at home and were signing on for the family but most were single because when you have so many to choose from you never settle for long.

She queued with two women she knew who’s surnames were close to the ones she needed to fill in. Two friends were in Australia looking for work and as long as she signed them on they could keep drawing money and looking. She did it for nothing – well maybe the thrill. Once you knew the system it seemed like a bit of payback after an hour of waiting.  

Only six people were allowed in the office at a time. Two ledgers to keep the line moving (what a joke!) and the same questions you had to answer verbally before you signed next to where your name was printed:Have you looked for work in the last four weeks? Did you write a letter or visit an employer at least once? If you had been offered a job would you have taken it? Are you interested in a work skills course to improve your chances of employment? 

Here’s the thing: these people wouldn’t have a job if she and the rest of them didn’t have one.Six people left the office with eight signatures on the ledger.  

Afterwards she headed to the Horse. There were four pubs in town – the main thriving business here. Everyone dreamt of owning a pub one day. On the way there she collected her gear from the car – pens, papers, some photocopies of reference material in a school ring binder which she’d collected from the library over the last nine months or so. The Horse wasn’t busy and she picked a table for her gear before putting 20 cents down on one of the pool tables. Stephen had seen her come in and asked her to partner him, so she was in to a game before she got a beer.

The first beer came from a guy she didn’t know but she’d seen around and knew was a local from the beach.He had to wait till she made the break and sank another ball before she sat down to look at his paperwork. ACC case – two lost fingers. Easy.

“OK”, she said, “I need to know the whole story from you and then I’ll write it up for them. I can write it straight on the forms but its better if I write it down and you take it away and get your lawyer or someone to look over it – have you got someone like that? Ok well tell the story and I’ll put it down for you”.

Hard to know how much he knew about the way things worked. You didn’t really need a lawyer but someone needed to be literate and understand the system. He was a crab fisherman, lost two fingers, nasty mess but fortunate because they were the outsiders – little finger and the one next to it. Not as much money but he could work again – if he could find work. Had he lost the fingers deliberately? He didn’t seem the type.

She and Stephen kept playing while she sorted out the story and got the details she needed and then she asked for another beer while she repeated it back to him. Finally, third beer, she wrote it down and sent him on his way.  

The pub went a bit quiet when three patched boys came in. She recognized one of them as the partner (or maybe ex partner) of a woman who was staying at the beach. No gang presence in this town and everyone gives patches a second look wondering if they mean trouble. She sticks to her business but sees the one she recognises look her way at least once.

The next guy wanted a generic letter to send to several children. They talked about him drawing around the letter and making it fun. She took a double whiskey for that and started to lose at pool because she was drunk.She made a date for the next day with a guy who wanted her to look at his stereo instructions and then got a toasted sandwich and joined some mates at the bar. More beers and more pool (she wasn’t a great partner) and she wasn’t fit to drive but at closing time she rolled out to the HT all the same and got in.

The HT was powder blue and had a 186 in it. The upholstery was red and there was bench seat in front. She bought it off Suzanne for more than she’d paid for it and they both still used it, except now it was hers and Suzanne had fixed the dog and three cats and fenced her section and paid the power bill.

There were always groups of people in the pub car park – smoking joints and doing deals. She’d been out here once already tonight. She didn’t think twice that three sets of legs were approaching or even that the passenger door was opening. The blonde patched guy slid into the HT. “Nice car.”“Yeah.” Hmmm. The other two were outside. What was this? He is reaching inside his jacket. Paper. She is relieved. Hands her a document.

“You know about this stuff?”

Property stuff. The address is in town. She reads: sale and purchase agreement. No, she doesn’t know about this stuff but…

“My office hours are over – and I don’t do business in car parks.”

Outside another figure – crab fisherman comes into view. He knocks on her window. “Coming round to Mels?”

He is giving her an out.

“Yeah – you still want a lift?”

Get in get in get in. He walks around to the passenger door and blonde patch asks if he can talk tomorrow.

“Nah – three days – Beach pub – opening time.”

He leaves and the crab man gets in. They sit for a while and then she clicks the ignition over.

“Yeah they hardly ever need keys.”

“You live at the beach right?’“

Yeah but my cars down the road – drop me off on the corner.”“

Sweet.”

Tomorrow she will get to the library and read up on conveyancing. Then she’s getting a quote from the local lawyer and see how much these guys would be paying for the real thing. She’s gonna think about what could go wrong and whether its worth the risk. But she kind of gets off on risk.