Today I was in line at the grocery store : oranges, cheese, milk, spinach, sour cream. I loaded the belt more slowly than usual, because I was waiting for Gracie to bring a box of pasta that we had forgotten.
While I was emptying the cart, a man and woman got in line behind me, waiting for their turn to check out. I looked to see if Gracie was on her way. The clerk started to scan my items, and I swiped my SNAP card as surreptitiously as I could. Using food benefits is not something I wanted to advertise.
The man behind me- white, fiftyish- said rather loudly to his wife, “You see her groceries? We’re paying for them.” His wife groaned and answered, “God, I hate freeloaders. She looks like she could work, but I guess getting a job would be too much trouble.” I knew they wanted me to hear, and I guessed that this wasn’t the first time they had played out this scene.
Options went through my mind. I could turn and glare. I could say a witty and biting retort if I could think of one, (I couldn’t think of one.) I could spout statistics about federal spending for food stamps in comparison to other programs.
Instead I shriveled.
Its humiliating to need help. I raise a lot of our food in our garden, and we could absolutely go without dairy products, grain products, sugar, and imported fruit, but we don’t. Instead, the eighty dollars of food benefits our family receives is wonderful for buying the spices, milk, ketchup, flour and sugar that makes it easier for me to round out meals, to fill in when there is no garden produce, and to make treats for celebrations.
I hunched my shoulders inside my coat against their disapproval. I tried to be invisible. Then I heard a bright voice with a heavy lisp. “Mom! I found it! This is the spaghetti you use, the blue box. I remembered!” Grace was there, talking quickly like she does when she’s proud of herself.
She squeezed into line beside me, and put the box on the belt behind the other groceries. Gracie turned and started talking to the man and woman behind me. “I just got off work. I work here. I bag groceries and get carts from the parking lot. It was really cold today but I wore my new gloves. I bought them with my paycheck.” She held out her gloved hands for the woman to see. “Do you have gloves? You should wear gloves in the winter.” She beamed at the couple.
The man said gruffly, “At least you work. Your mom should get a job.”
“My mom works!” Gracie said, “Are you mad at me? Why do you look so mad?”
By then our groceries were bagged and loaded in the cart.
The clerk, who works with Grace, said clearly, “Don’t worry about it Grace. Some people should be thankful this time of year, but instead they are busy being hateful. Its sad, isn’t it?”
“We should feel sorry for them, “ I agreed, and smiled gratefully at her as Grace pushed the cart out the door.
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I am a fairly typical food stamp user. I’m white, female, with young children and a disabled person in the household. I work. Like most food stamp users, I spend at least 90% of the benefits on vegetables, fruit, grains, meat and dairy.
Most people who use food stamps only need them for 36 months, and I’m hoping to beat those statistics. Until then, though, I’m very grateful for the milk on my oatmeal, and the sugar in my tea.
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Update: Thanks for all the positive words. I hope this isn’t seen as a ploy for pity; I wrote it because I was hurt and angry, and hoped that by putting a human face on food assistance that I could help ease some of the stigma for those who need a helping hand sometimes.