Wendy and the troublesome refund form.

Being unemployed has its benefits (see what I did there? Chortle chortle...) I can spend all the hours of the day scribbling down as much inane doggerel as I wish without being clipped around the ear and told to "get the hell on with QAing that batch of analysis". Or something. I also get any dental treatment absolutely, unequivocally, stonkingly free. Fork out a ludicrous £181 for a crown? Pah! Not on your nelly. I'm on Jobseekers, I don't do payment. Except actually, yeah, I do. I had to pay the extortionate sum up front, after having been told that I didn't have to, at the end of my treatment and now I can claim a refund. Well... okay. I'm not happy about it but at least, in the end, about seventeen years down the line, I'll get it back. Fine. So I was handed a form, an HC5, told to fill it in and, as per the detailed instructions on it, send it to my local Job Centre, which I had an appointment at this morning anyway. Thus, I took it along. When I broached the subject with the advisor I was speaking to, he had no idea what to do. All right, so maybe this is a specialist area. He asked for assistance from a colleague. They hadn't a clue. After five minutes of pontificating, I was directed to the front desk. The security guy I spoke to referred me to a woman called Wendy who has an office of her own, the lucky so and so, not one of these desks in an open plan room that you're called to to discuss employment possibilities. She recalled having had an e-mail about this very subject but had no idea when it was received, who it was from or even what it said. Well, there's a woman who's proficient at her job. She even remarked to me, "It's probably one of those things where you just don't expect anyone to actually do it." Riiiight. So you're telling me no one claims these costs back? She's never dealt with something like this before? Hmm... anyway, so I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Half an hour went by, she tootled backwards and forwards around the office, walked past me again, apologised for the delay and then said "I'm liable to knock your teeth out in a minute." Now, okay, so she was joking but the comment betrayed her evident frustration at having to deal with my inquiry. I kept schtum, of course, smiled and reassured her that it was no bother. I didn't mind sitting around, twiddling my thumbs while she attempted to discover just what to do with this refund form. Ten more minutes passed. Ten more. Finally, 53 minutes after having first plonked my backside on the chair outside her office, she reappeared and told me that she'd rang the NHS helpline and they'd informed her that... drum roll please... I need a different form. Well, that's just great. So now, they're sending me an HC5D (whatever that is) through the post, I have to fill that in and... second drum roll... take it to the Job Centre. Where, no doubt, Wendy will have no idea what to do with it.

It's all a conspiracy, I tell you. Bloody corporate dentist fatcat scum.