ATOS, I salute you. With one finger.
[Rare public post coming up, for reasons which will become apparent]
What with all the malarkey about cuts to DLA and ESA and whatnot in the news, we're hearing a lot about ATOS Healthcare these days. For the uninitiated, ATOS are the unutterable fuckwits hard working and efficient company who assess peoples' fitness for work having never seen their medical records ever, and pass people who are in no fit state as 'able to work' so they can have their benefits stripped away as well as their dignity and save Honest Dave a few quid.
Naturally, because the news by its very definition is full of worst case scenarios or nobody would watch it, all we ever really get to hear about ATOS is the cases where they pass people with terminal cancer or the like as fit for work, who usually die before they even get their appeals heard.
These cases are undeniably terrible and need to be reported. But what gets lost in the process are the stories of the rest of us, the more ordinarily-disabled folks, whose exorbitant income of £67.50 per week depends on ATOS's random hammer of judgement. So, here is a tale of their stunning incompetence at a normal level instead, the likes of which goes unreported on (undoubtedly) a daily basis.
Get some tea and biscuits; this is a good one. And long. Verrrry long.
~
At some point during your ESA claim - it's supposed to be after 13 weeks but it never is due to backlogs - you're supposed to be assessed to see which category you fall into: fit for work, fit to return to work eventually with some support, or never fit for work. If you fall under the first, they shuttle you off onto JSA, whereas if you fall into either of the latter two, you move onto the higher rate of ESA at 90-something quid a week. It's never 13 weeks. Never. The sceptic in me says that the 'backlog' exists purely to keep people on the lower rate of ESA for a bit longer and save a few pennies, but we'll gloss over that for now.
In October, after at least six months on the lower rate of ESA, I finally got my appointment through from ATOS for my assessment, due to be held at the Croydon assessment centre on November 28th. Now, being the fuckwits kind and helpful people that they are, ATOS sent me through a travel plan: step by step directions how to get to the assessment centre from my flat.
Here is the travel plan they sent me. Me, a person on two crutches, who cannot walk for more than a few minutes without severe pain - the reason I am claiming in the first place - and who cannot manage steps or interchanges at the railway station unless there is a lift:
WALK: from [home postcode] to Sydenham Rail Station: Duration 11 minutes
TRAIN: from Sydenham to West Croydon: Duration 15 minutes
WALK: From West Croydon Rail Station to Croydon Tramlink Stop: Duration 4 minutes
TRAM/LIGHT RAIL: From West Croydon Tramlink Stop to East Croydon Tramlink Stop: Duration 4 Minutes
WALK: From East Croydon Tramlink stop to assessment centre: Duration 8 minutes.
After I'd picked myself up off the floor and stopped laughing, and after I looked forlornly at the car sitting outside that I am not allowed to drive until they tell me I don't have epilepsy (or will never be able to drive if they tell me I do. Jury's still out on that one: results imminent.), I phoned them up, and asked politely if they could possibly change my appointment to the Balham assessment centre instead, and there begins a three month saga that would culminate in my benefit being suspended.
Why? they ask.
Well, I say, because I am on two crutches, this travel plan is impossible, I can't manage the walking or the interchanges, I'm not allowed to drive, and I simply can't get to Croydon. I know, however, that the Balham assessment centre is right opposite Balham station, and that Balham station is fully accessible with a lift to all platforms and is a 20 minute trip with no interchanges from my flat. I can manage Balham. I can't manage Croydon.
OK, say they, and duly change my appointment to Balham for the 6th December. I phone the DWP to let them know this in case they stop my benefit in the event that ATOS mark me down as 'did not attend' for my original appointment, as is their wont.
6th December comes. I get on a train to Balham, arrive at the assessment centre at 11.15 for my 11.30 appointment to be told there's at least a 90 minute wait over and above my appointment time because they're 'very busy that day'. I look round at the hard chairs in the waiting room; if I spend 90 minutes sitting on one of those, I won't be able to walk at all the next day, something I know from bitter experience. They offer to reschedule my appointment and give me the first slot of the afternoon so I don't have to wait and cripple myself in the process. I ask if doing so will affect my benefit. Will I be marked down as 'failed to attend?' No, they tell me, definitely not, as they reschedule it for the 20th December. At Balham? I ask. Yes, she says, after another 10 minute argument about why I can't get to Croydon ('But Croydon is nearer your house!!' 'Yes, I know, but [points at crutches, points at self, points at ridiculous travel plan, explains for the seventy-eigth time]').
She even writes 'Balham' on my appointment slip. Lookie. In their own hand:
I get home deflated, because I've psyched myself up for this appointment (you have to, y'know. It's like having to defend yourself for daring to exist) and I've trogged all the way to Balham and back for nothing, and it hurts, dammit. And it's cost me four quid.
Some time later, I get a letter confirming my appointment for the 20th. They've booked me in at Croydon. Again. This time I'm not laughing. I get on the phone to ATOS and explain. And they say that because the appointment has already been 'rescheduled' twice, they can't do it again on their system. But I haven't just randomly rescheduled it, they say. I couldn't get there, and then at the next appointment, they couldn't see me for 90 minutes. I did attend, but they couldn't see me. No dice. Computer says no. They have to send me a BF223 form, which will enable me to explain my 'reasons for not attending' and then they can book me another one. OK fine, I say. Will this affect my benefit? No, they say. Definitely not.
In the spirit of covering my own arse, because I know damn well ATOS won't do it for me, I phone up the DWP to tell them what's happened. They take detailed notes and agree that my benefit won't be suspended for non-attendance, because it's not my fault.
Christmas comes and goes, and my BF223 form hasn't arrived. I phone ATOS again and ask for another one to be sent out. Oh, you have to phone Balham, they say. The forms are kept there. So I phone Balham and speak to a lady who promises to send me one in the post that day.
That one doesn't arrive either.
I give it a week, then I phone ATOS again and ask where it is. Oh, your claim's been returned to the DWP, they say. You haven't sent back your BF223, so we've marked you down as 'failed to attend'. But I didn't get it, I say. We don't send them out anyway, they say. But I spoke to someone at Balham who said she would, I say, exasperated. Well, it doesn't matter now, they say. All your paperwork has gone back to the DWP. You'll have to phone them.
I bang my head on the desk for a few minutes and then phone the DWP, where I'm on hold for 18 minutes - on an 0845 number, I hasten to add - before I get through to someone. I explain yet again what's happened. Their response? Your claim has been suspended because you failed to attend your medical assessment.
By this time I'm ranting and raving a bit. But I did attend, I say. The first appointment was completely inaccessible. I attended the second, and couldn't be seen. My appointment was rescheduled and again was completely inaccessible. I ask what I need to do to get this sorted out. Well, we can't unsuspend you until you've been for your medical assessment, they say. That's ridiculous, I say. At this stage I don't even have an appointment because ATOS are so incompetent, all my paperwork has been sent back to you, and I haven't had a payment since December and it's now nearly February. I'm sorry, I say. I'm not having this. Put me through to a manager. We can't do that, they say. We can take your number and ask someone from the Benefit Delivery Centre to call you back. OK, fine, I say. I wait for the call, and to their credit, they call me back within a couple of hours.
I speak to a very nice lady in Belfast who agrees that this is absolutely ridiculous, and tells me to put it in writing, then a Decision Maker will look at my reasoning for 'non-attendance' and almost certainly unsuspend me straight away because it clearly isn't my fault. If you can send it through by fax, she begins. I interrupt her, politely, Hold on, I say. Clearly, I don't have a fax machine hanging around. Who does? Can you give me an email address to send it to? We're not allowed to give out email addresses, she says. But if you go to the job centre with your letter and any supporting evidence, they'll fax it all over to us for you. Great, I say. Thank you very much.
The next day, I get on a bus and trog into Forest Hill, where the job centre is. Handily, the library is a few doors down, and I'm able to go in there and print out my letter and photocopy my supporting evidence (ridiculous travel plan, appointment slips, reschedluing letters, medical appointment letters (pain management clinic, cardiologist, neurologist, for those keeping count) just to prove I'm not actually a malingerer). I hobble down to the job centre where I'm met by Scary Reception Woman, and I explain that Belfast have sent me here to send a fax to them.
You can't do that without an appointment, she says.
What?! I say. They never told me that. Why?
Well, because they need a paper trail, she says. We need to know who you've seen here, who sent the fax and who received it at Belfast. You'll have to phone Job Centre Plus and get them to book you an appointment. You'll have to come back.
No, I say. No bloody way. I've just hobbled down here on the fucking bus on my crutches, and it hurt, and I'm not bloody coming back. She directs me to the row of phone booths in the main office. Press 3 then 4 on the phone and you'll get through to someone who can book you an appointment, she says. What, you can't do it? I say. I have to phone someone else, in another office to get them to do it, when I'm already here?
Yes, she says, folding her arms in what I can only assume is defiance.
I go over to one of the phone booths, press 3 then 4 as directed and speak to someone who, as it turns out, can NOT book me an appointment for that day, because it's after 12. Even if there are appointments left, they can't book them after 12. So what do I do, I say? You'll have to come back on Monday at 11.35, he says (it's Thursday). That's ridiculous, I say. I'm sitting here, IN THE JOBCENTRE, and you're telling me I have to book an appointment and come back again another day, WHILE I'M ALREADY HERE, just so they can send a fax to Belfast for me FROM HERE, WHERE I ALREADY AM so I can get myself unsuspended for something that WASN'T MY FAULT and you can release my two-and-a-half-months-worth of backpayment?
Yes, he says.
I have no choice. All I can do is make the appointment. I do that, probably bang my head on their desk this time, and go home, fuming.
But hey, at least I've joined the library, right?
Today, I go down for my 11.35 appointment. I'm met by a scary security guard whose English is so pigeon-like that I actually can't understand him. Not his fault, but still. It turns out he's saying that I'm too early and I'm not allowed to wait. (It's 11.20). We don't have facilities for people to wait, he says (eventually). But there are about 20 seats over there, I say, pointing to a row of empty seats. You can't wait, he says. Where's my appointment? I say. 2nd floor, he says. Right, well that'll kill 10 minutes, I say. I need someone to take me up there in the lift. We don't have a lift, he says. Yes you do, I say. I've used it before. It's over there *points*. You have to get a member of staff to take me round there and accompany me to the 2nd floor with the door pass. I know the drill, I've done it before. We stopped customers using the lift, he says. Please get me a manager, I say. Now.
Manager comes over, bolshy as all fuck, and looks at me like something he scraped off his shoe. No, customers aren't allowed in the lift, he says. We've changed it. We used to do it, but not any more. Well, that's a bit discriminatory, I say. Have you not heard of the DDA? At mention of this, he grudgingly gets on the phone and informs my advisor that he'll have to come down to the ground floor to 'deal with me'. I'll just sit down over there and wait for him, I say. Which I do, flashing a smile at the security guard who told me I wasn't allowed to. I admit, that was satisfying: file under 'little things'.
To his credit, the advisor comes down straight away and sorts everything out. He's a nice man, I've dealt with him before, and he appears just as frustrated by the interminable bullshit as I am. He sends everything off via fax and takes the photocopies to send as hard copies in the internal post to Belfast, to make doubly sure. Simon Ellis of Forest Hill Job Centre, you are a diamond floating conspicuously in a never-ending sea of shit.
In the end, it took the lovely Simon Ellis less than two minutes to send my fax to Belfast. Two minutes, for which I had to make about five phone calls and two trips on the bus on m'crutches. I still don't know if they've received it or dealt with it - I just haven't got the mental energy left to deal with it today.
All this, for £67.50 a week.
Tomorrow, I get to go through all this bullshit again with my GP, who has to send in 'supporting evidence' for my DLA claim. This is what we have to go through, to fleece Hard Working Tax Payers so we can sit on our arses and, y'know, buy food.
You couldn't make it up.
Could you?
What with all the malarkey about cuts to DLA and ESA and whatnot in the news, we're hearing a lot about ATOS Healthcare these days. For the uninitiated, ATOS are the unutterable fuckwits hard working and efficient company who assess peoples' fitness for work having never seen their medical records ever, and pass people who are in no fit state as 'able to work' so they can have their benefits stripped away as well as their dignity and save Honest Dave a few quid.
Naturally, because the news by its very definition is full of worst case scenarios or nobody would watch it, all we ever really get to hear about ATOS is the cases where they pass people with terminal cancer or the like as fit for work, who usually die before they even get their appeals heard.
These cases are undeniably terrible and need to be reported. But what gets lost in the process are the stories of the rest of us, the more ordinarily-disabled folks, whose exorbitant income of £67.50 per week depends on ATOS's random hammer of judgement. So, here is a tale of their stunning incompetence at a normal level instead, the likes of which goes unreported on (undoubtedly) a daily basis.
Get some tea and biscuits; this is a good one. And long. Verrrry long.
~
At some point during your ESA claim - it's supposed to be after 13 weeks but it never is due to backlogs - you're supposed to be assessed to see which category you fall into: fit for work, fit to return to work eventually with some support, or never fit for work. If you fall under the first, they shuttle you off onto JSA, whereas if you fall into either of the latter two, you move onto the higher rate of ESA at 90-something quid a week. It's never 13 weeks. Never. The sceptic in me says that the 'backlog' exists purely to keep people on the lower rate of ESA for a bit longer and save a few pennies, but we'll gloss over that for now.
In October, after at least six months on the lower rate of ESA, I finally got my appointment through from ATOS for my assessment, due to be held at the Croydon assessment centre on November 28th. Now, being the fuckwits kind and helpful people that they are, ATOS sent me through a travel plan: step by step directions how to get to the assessment centre from my flat.
Here is the travel plan they sent me. Me, a person on two crutches, who cannot walk for more than a few minutes without severe pain - the reason I am claiming in the first place - and who cannot manage steps or interchanges at the railway station unless there is a lift:
WALK: from [home postcode] to Sydenham Rail Station: Duration 11 minutes
TRAIN: from Sydenham to West Croydon: Duration 15 minutes
WALK: From West Croydon Rail Station to Croydon Tramlink Stop: Duration 4 minutes
TRAM/LIGHT RAIL: From West Croydon Tramlink Stop to East Croydon Tramlink Stop: Duration 4 Minutes
WALK: From East Croydon Tramlink stop to assessment centre: Duration 8 minutes.
After I'd picked myself up off the floor and stopped laughing, and after I looked forlornly at the car sitting outside that I am not allowed to drive until they tell me I don't have epilepsy (or will never be able to drive if they tell me I do. Jury's still out on that one: results imminent.), I phoned them up, and asked politely if they could possibly change my appointment to the Balham assessment centre instead, and there begins a three month saga that would culminate in my benefit being suspended.
Why? they ask.
Well, I say, because I am on two crutches, this travel plan is impossible, I can't manage the walking or the interchanges, I'm not allowed to drive, and I simply can't get to Croydon. I know, however, that the Balham assessment centre is right opposite Balham station, and that Balham station is fully accessible with a lift to all platforms and is a 20 minute trip with no interchanges from my flat. I can manage Balham. I can't manage Croydon.
OK, say they, and duly change my appointment to Balham for the 6th December. I phone the DWP to let them know this in case they stop my benefit in the event that ATOS mark me down as 'did not attend' for my original appointment, as is their wont.
6th December comes. I get on a train to Balham, arrive at the assessment centre at 11.15 for my 11.30 appointment to be told there's at least a 90 minute wait over and above my appointment time because they're 'very busy that day'. I look round at the hard chairs in the waiting room; if I spend 90 minutes sitting on one of those, I won't be able to walk at all the next day, something I know from bitter experience. They offer to reschedule my appointment and give me the first slot of the afternoon so I don't have to wait and cripple myself in the process. I ask if doing so will affect my benefit. Will I be marked down as 'failed to attend?' No, they tell me, definitely not, as they reschedule it for the 20th December. At Balham? I ask. Yes, she says, after another 10 minute argument about why I can't get to Croydon ('But Croydon is nearer your house!!' 'Yes, I know, but [points at crutches, points at self, points at ridiculous travel plan, explains for the seventy-eigth time]').
She even writes 'Balham' on my appointment slip. Lookie. In their own hand:
I get home deflated, because I've psyched myself up for this appointment (you have to, y'know. It's like having to defend yourself for daring to exist) and I've trogged all the way to Balham and back for nothing, and it hurts, dammit. And it's cost me four quid.
Some time later, I get a letter confirming my appointment for the 20th. They've booked me in at Croydon. Again. This time I'm not laughing. I get on the phone to ATOS and explain. And they say that because the appointment has already been 'rescheduled' twice, they can't do it again on their system. But I haven't just randomly rescheduled it, they say. I couldn't get there, and then at the next appointment, they couldn't see me for 90 minutes. I did attend, but they couldn't see me. No dice. Computer says no. They have to send me a BF223 form, which will enable me to explain my 'reasons for not attending' and then they can book me another one. OK fine, I say. Will this affect my benefit? No, they say. Definitely not.
In the spirit of covering my own arse, because I know damn well ATOS won't do it for me, I phone up the DWP to tell them what's happened. They take detailed notes and agree that my benefit won't be suspended for non-attendance, because it's not my fault.
Christmas comes and goes, and my BF223 form hasn't arrived. I phone ATOS again and ask for another one to be sent out. Oh, you have to phone Balham, they say. The forms are kept there. So I phone Balham and speak to a lady who promises to send me one in the post that day.
That one doesn't arrive either.
I give it a week, then I phone ATOS again and ask where it is. Oh, your claim's been returned to the DWP, they say. You haven't sent back your BF223, so we've marked you down as 'failed to attend'. But I didn't get it, I say. We don't send them out anyway, they say. But I spoke to someone at Balham who said she would, I say, exasperated. Well, it doesn't matter now, they say. All your paperwork has gone back to the DWP. You'll have to phone them.
I bang my head on the desk for a few minutes and then phone the DWP, where I'm on hold for 18 minutes - on an 0845 number, I hasten to add - before I get through to someone. I explain yet again what's happened. Their response? Your claim has been suspended because you failed to attend your medical assessment.
By this time I'm ranting and raving a bit. But I did attend, I say. The first appointment was completely inaccessible. I attended the second, and couldn't be seen. My appointment was rescheduled and again was completely inaccessible. I ask what I need to do to get this sorted out. Well, we can't unsuspend you until you've been for your medical assessment, they say. That's ridiculous, I say. At this stage I don't even have an appointment because ATOS are so incompetent, all my paperwork has been sent back to you, and I haven't had a payment since December and it's now nearly February. I'm sorry, I say. I'm not having this. Put me through to a manager. We can't do that, they say. We can take your number and ask someone from the Benefit Delivery Centre to call you back. OK, fine, I say. I wait for the call, and to their credit, they call me back within a couple of hours.
I speak to a very nice lady in Belfast who agrees that this is absolutely ridiculous, and tells me to put it in writing, then a Decision Maker will look at my reasoning for 'non-attendance' and almost certainly unsuspend me straight away because it clearly isn't my fault. If you can send it through by fax, she begins. I interrupt her, politely, Hold on, I say. Clearly, I don't have a fax machine hanging around. Who does? Can you give me an email address to send it to? We're not allowed to give out email addresses, she says. But if you go to the job centre with your letter and any supporting evidence, they'll fax it all over to us for you. Great, I say. Thank you very much.
The next day, I get on a bus and trog into Forest Hill, where the job centre is. Handily, the library is a few doors down, and I'm able to go in there and print out my letter and photocopy my supporting evidence (ridiculous travel plan, appointment slips, reschedluing letters, medical appointment letters (pain management clinic, cardiologist, neurologist, for those keeping count) just to prove I'm not actually a malingerer). I hobble down to the job centre where I'm met by Scary Reception Woman, and I explain that Belfast have sent me here to send a fax to them.
You can't do that without an appointment, she says.
What?! I say. They never told me that. Why?
Well, because they need a paper trail, she says. We need to know who you've seen here, who sent the fax and who received it at Belfast. You'll have to phone Job Centre Plus and get them to book you an appointment. You'll have to come back.
No, I say. No bloody way. I've just hobbled down here on the fucking bus on my crutches, and it hurt, and I'm not bloody coming back. She directs me to the row of phone booths in the main office. Press 3 then 4 on the phone and you'll get through to someone who can book you an appointment, she says. What, you can't do it? I say. I have to phone someone else, in another office to get them to do it, when I'm already here?
Yes, she says, folding her arms in what I can only assume is defiance.
I go over to one of the phone booths, press 3 then 4 as directed and speak to someone who, as it turns out, can NOT book me an appointment for that day, because it's after 12. Even if there are appointments left, they can't book them after 12. So what do I do, I say? You'll have to come back on Monday at 11.35, he says (it's Thursday). That's ridiculous, I say. I'm sitting here, IN THE JOBCENTRE, and you're telling me I have to book an appointment and come back again another day, WHILE I'M ALREADY HERE, just so they can send a fax to Belfast for me FROM HERE, WHERE I ALREADY AM so I can get myself unsuspended for something that WASN'T MY FAULT and you can release my two-and-a-half-months-worth of backpayment?
Yes, he says.
I have no choice. All I can do is make the appointment. I do that, probably bang my head on their desk this time, and go home, fuming.
But hey, at least I've joined the library, right?
Today, I go down for my 11.35 appointment. I'm met by a scary security guard whose English is so pigeon-like that I actually can't understand him. Not his fault, but still. It turns out he's saying that I'm too early and I'm not allowed to wait. (It's 11.20). We don't have facilities for people to wait, he says (eventually). But there are about 20 seats over there, I say, pointing to a row of empty seats. You can't wait, he says. Where's my appointment? I say. 2nd floor, he says. Right, well that'll kill 10 minutes, I say. I need someone to take me up there in the lift. We don't have a lift, he says. Yes you do, I say. I've used it before. It's over there *points*. You have to get a member of staff to take me round there and accompany me to the 2nd floor with the door pass. I know the drill, I've done it before. We stopped customers using the lift, he says. Please get me a manager, I say. Now.
Manager comes over, bolshy as all fuck, and looks at me like something he scraped off his shoe. No, customers aren't allowed in the lift, he says. We've changed it. We used to do it, but not any more. Well, that's a bit discriminatory, I say. Have you not heard of the DDA? At mention of this, he grudgingly gets on the phone and informs my advisor that he'll have to come down to the ground floor to 'deal with me'. I'll just sit down over there and wait for him, I say. Which I do, flashing a smile at the security guard who told me I wasn't allowed to. I admit, that was satisfying: file under 'little things'.
To his credit, the advisor comes down straight away and sorts everything out. He's a nice man, I've dealt with him before, and he appears just as frustrated by the interminable bullshit as I am. He sends everything off via fax and takes the photocopies to send as hard copies in the internal post to Belfast, to make doubly sure. Simon Ellis of Forest Hill Job Centre, you are a diamond floating conspicuously in a never-ending sea of shit.
In the end, it took the lovely Simon Ellis less than two minutes to send my fax to Belfast. Two minutes, for which I had to make about five phone calls and two trips on the bus on m'crutches. I still don't know if they've received it or dealt with it - I just haven't got the mental energy left to deal with it today.
All this, for £67.50 a week.
Tomorrow, I get to go through all this bullshit again with my GP, who has to send in 'supporting evidence' for my DLA claim. This is what we have to go through, to fleece Hard Working Tax Payers so we can sit on our arses and, y'know, buy food.
You couldn't make it up.
Could you?