Here a Dispatcher. There a dispatcher. Everywhere a dispatcher.
It’s rude to interrupt people, but lately, speaking out of turn has become something of a regrettable habit for me. Instead of waiting for injured workers to fully explain their WCB stories, I often interject, cutting them off mid-sentence. Why? Because I already know how the story goes. I’ve heard it too many times before.
The phone line falls silent—workers confused, probably wondering if I’m psychic, a mind reader, or just a lucky guesser. But it’s none of those. I don’t have a crystal ball. What might seem like ‘presumptuousness’ is really just experience. I hear the same story a dozen times a week from workers across Alberta. With only slight variations, it’s a frustratingly familiar narrative for anyone who’s dealt with the WCB system.
It’s the same refrain—different day. Here’s how it usually goes: John Doe gets injured on the job. Maybe he was a truck driver who wrecked his back hauling equipment. Maybe he worked in a warehouse, and years of lifting heavy boxes finally caught up with him. Or maybe he’s a mechanic, hunched over engines for decades until his hands give out. The injury specifics don’t really matter because the WCB trajectory is usually the same.
John recovers well enough, but he can’t return to his old position. His employer, for whatever reason—maybe it’s budget cuts, maybe it’s sheer disinterest—can’t accommodate him. So, John gets funneled into WCB’s Reemployment Services. At first, he’s not too worried. After all, WCB is supposed to help him find a new job, right? He’s enrolled in a 12-week Supported Job Search program, and if he can’t find work, his benefits should have his back.
John’s not the type to complain. Sure, he finds it amusing when WCB offers him computer training, considering he’s a 58-year-old diesel mechanic who’s never owned a computer. But, always the good soldier, he gives it a shot. He spends hours each week hunched over a keyboard, learning how to use programs he’ll likely never need.
For the first few weeks, everything seems fine. John’s optimistic, thinking he’ll eventually find something suitable. But by week 5, things start to feel off. His gut tells him something’s wrong, but he pushes the feeling down. He seeks some reassurance that his benefits will still be there if he can’t find work. His case manager’s response?
“We don’t guarantee employment; we just try to make you more employable.”
What the hell does that even mean?
The pit in John’s stomach deepens. Maybe he misunderstood. Maybe the case manager was just having a bad day. Surely, WCB wouldn’t leave him hanging… would they?
John applies to over a hundred job postings, but the responses never come. His reemployment coach keeps telling him to “stay positive.” Stay positive? John’s a fifty-something guy with a partial disability, no high school diploma, and zero computer skills. Was WCB seriously expecting him to be a hot commodity on the job market?
It’s as if they think slapping a “retraining” sticker on his forehead magically makes him employable. But everyone know that employers aren’t lining up to hire disabled, middle-aged people without qualifications.
Even his reemployment coach eventually admits there’s little chance of finding something suitable. John starts to feel relieved. WCB must know what they’re doing, right? They wouldn’t just throw him to the wolves. He’s done everything they asked.
Then, the letter arrives.
“Dear Mr. Doe, as we discussed, you are eligible for reemployment benefits until you find a job or receive a current, viable job lead, whichever happens first.”
The letter goes on:
“We’ve determined you are competitively employable as a Bulk Fuel Trucking Dispatcher. You may not have the exact skills or experience, but you have an equivalent combination of education and experience to compete for this position.”
John doesn’t know the first thing about dispatching. His benefits are now based on this fantasy job that WCB insists he can do. They’ll pay him a grand total of $1,812.15 a month—just shy of poverty wages. How are he and his wife supposed to survive on that?
Panicked, John calls his case manager. No answer. He calls again. Radio silence. Days later, an email arrives—from a case assistant, not even his case manager. The message? His claim is closed. If he’s not happy, he can appeal.
Sitting alone at his dinner table, John is in shock. He mutters to himself, “I did everything they asked. I never complained. I’ve never been a drain on the system. How can they abandon me now, when I need them most?”
Oh, but they can. They do.
And that’s why, when an injured worker starts telling me their story about being in the Supported Job Search program, I don’t let them finish. I ask one simple question: “So, are they making you a dispatcher, a Walmart greeter, or a heavy equipment operator?”
It happens so often you’d think Alberta is drowning in dispatcher job openings. WCB must have done their homework, right? After all, if they’re funneling injured workers into these roles, the market must be ripe with dispatcher jobs.
Wrong.
As of this writing, there are just over 100 dispatching vacancies listed on Indeed across Alberta. Sounds like a lot? Think again. Subtract jobs that require trauma/security response training, jobs that are night shifts or in remote locations, and those that need able-bodied workers for physically demanding tasks. Then, add the fact that most positions require logistics experience, cloud-based dispatching systems proficiency, and a high school diploma.
Now imagine hundreds of injured workers, all told by WCB they’ll be “successful dispatchers,” competing with thousands of qualified candidates for the same jobs.
What WCB refuses to acknowledge is the human toll this takes. These aren’t just numbers on a spreadsheet. These are people—real people—who’ve worked their entire lives in physical, demanding jobs. Their bodies are worn out, and now, they’re being told they have to start over.
Oh, and good luck with that new career path, John. You’ll be competing against candidates who aren’t disabled, who have years of experience, and who are much more “marketable” in the eyes of employers.
Here a dispatcher, there a dispatcher, everywhere a dispatcher.
WCB often talks about ‘transitional careers’ and ‘second chances,’ but they overlook the reality that most workers in middle to late age will struggle to reinvent themselves, even if highly motivated. The job market simply doesn’t offer many opportunities to start fresh, and for many, it’s too little, too late.
If John’s story sounds familiar, or you know someone stuck in this same mess, call Blue Collar Consulting. We can help you fight back. And don’t be surprised if we interrupt you mid-sentence—we’ve heard it all before.
