A (temporarily?) Poor Person's Polemic

How very humbling it is to find myself - a former executive assistant - queuing up for free groceries at the local food pantry. The last time I was here was a year ago Thanksgiving, making a donation of a turkey for a needy family. Now my daughter and I are the needy family.

Two and a half years ago, I decided to take a summer off. I hadn’t had a summer off in 35 years. A dear friend had died and my mortality was staring me in the face. I had a little cash, and reasonable reassurance that I would be welcome to return to my employer at the end of the summer. It didn't turn out that way.

Instead, I desperately accepted under-employment for $30K a year (which isn’t bad money, but $10K less than I made before). I was a customer service rep at an “online movies and DVDs by mail” call center. I tried to tell myself that it was fun - I was helping people watch movies! Most of my customers were very nice. In the “very nice” category, I would even go as high as 80%. But have you ever heard that expression, "A hundred atta-boys is negated by one aw-shit?”

Things that in my mind are not worth getting apoplectic about include: repeatedly calling up your “online movies and DVDs by mail” provider to badger the rep because your DVD took two days to arrive by mail instead of one. Cussing out the person on the other end of the line, because - since you didn’t update your credit card - the monthly charge did not go through, and now you don’t have any money to cover the bill and can’t stream. Screaming at the person who is trying to help you when they try to explain that it is NOT the website’s “fault” that you don’t have a decent internet connection.

So maybe I wasn’t too upset when I was let go after two years. I was even pleasantly surprised when I applied for unemployment benefits. $351 a week, which translates to $295 a week after taxes. My preteen daughter and I had just moved, thank goodness. We were forced out of the old place because the owners were divorcing and had to sell. So we had to pay for deposits, and a moving van. It seems like we can never get ahead.

The new place is definitely a downgrade (a friend recently referred to it as Section 8 housing). Our unit is about 1000 square feet and the complex is old (but “updated!”). It’s not the new construction and the 1800 square feet we have enjoyed in the past. I had to really “sell” it to my daughter, because we have lived in very nice townhomes since we sold our little cottage in a tiny burg about eight years ago to move to the city. We are nearer to my big, fun, obnoxious family, and the schools and cultural opportunities are so much better.

We fortunately live at the edges of my daughter’s very excellent middle school district, and there is an indoor pool at the “clubhouse.” Still, it’s not cheap – about $1175 a month, which includes rent, renter’s insurance, a storage area, covered parking, and water/sewer/garbage, which varies. A la carte really adds up. If it weren’t for child support of about $600 a month, we’d be totally screwed.

So a little less than $1800 a month minus rent leaves us with about $600 a month for food and fuel and the rest of the bills: car insurance, internet, electricity, natural gas, and phone. Fortunately, my car is paid for. Needing car maintenance sets us back in a big way – ditto a doctor visit for my daughter (I am just super grateful that her dad’s health insurance covers her, even though I have none for myself).

Things are squeaky tight. We don’t have “regular” TV, but we get lots of DVDs from the local library - the library where I can’t even get an interview for a part-time job, even though I was an assistant library director in a previous life.

So we get “food boxes” every 4 weeks from the local food bank. There are usually 4 or 5 liquor boxes filled with a variety of things, at least 1/3 of which we would never normally eat.

The mostly elderly volunteers at the food pantry are extremely sweet. If I make any sort of self-deprecating remark (because I am embarrassed to be getting food aid), they say, “We’re here to help, not to judge.” Some of them know my parents, since it happens to be their home parish, which is a little mortifying in itself. And my parents have been graciously helpful by slipping me a “little something” here and there.

So far I am concentrating on applying for jobs that pay $15 an hour or more - up to six applications a day, many of which require a bachelor’s degree, which I don't have. But I apply anyway, because I have work and life experience up the wazoo. When I’m not applying for jobs, I’ve been spending time with my dad, who at 79 is not only a self-employed arbitrator, but also maintains a 20-acre horse farm with his wife. He sometimes needs secretarial help for his arbitration business, and physical labor as well around the farm, which I am grateful to do – and I LOVE to drive the tractor.

Mom sometimes needs help around the house, or errand-running, since by choice she doesn’t drive any more. I take her grocery shopping every other Tuesday because that is “20%-off-for-seniors” day at her favorite store. We joke that she really goes to check out the old guys, and I am her “wing man.”




I'm really glad to have this time with my parents, because they're aging, and – let’s face it – may not be around for long. Many of my friends’ parents are already gone. Also we usually have a lot of fun together.

With the little extra I get here and there, I supplement the Food Pantry food we get. Why? Well, let me put it this way: it’s not easy to eat well when you’re poor.

The very first time we got boxes from the food pantry, I was newly unemployed and felt very vulnerable and I cried with gratitude. There was meat – steak and salmon even, and chicken – and some fresh produce, and cheese – good, “real” cheese, not “government” cheese. Of course, there were a lot of canned goods: beans, veggies, fruit, tuna, and peanut butter. We got milk, butter, and eggs, and even some really yummy “gourmet” items, like scones and frozen enchiladas. And there is always a “snack size” baggie of coffee, which I imagine little old ladies dole out of big cans, although the intake lady at the food pantry always points out, “It’s Starbucks!”

There is usually a single roll of cheap toilet paper, and a bar of soap of a brand that I would normally never use – Irish Spring, or Dial (I’ve had an aversion to Dial since my mom used it to wash my mouth out when I was a gutter-mouthed kid – not that it helped!). There’s strong-smelling powder laundry detergent, in a little baggie usually nestled in a box next to another little baggie full of sugar. I wonder if people ever confuse the two items and imagine how easily one could ruin their tiny allotment of coffee with detergent mistaken for sugar.

I am super grateful for the food, but the bulk of is starch: ramen noodles, cereal, pasta, rice, oatmeal, frozen bread, and sometimes cookies. That first week, there was even a box of Ho-Hos, which amused the heck out of me for some reason. We will never ever ever run out of rice, oatmeal, and beans. My daughter loves pasta, but there is often no protein to supplement it, unless I sprinkle some cheese on it.

That first time must have been a banner week at the food pantry, because it has not been as bountiful since then. Very little meat and cheese. There’s been ground chicken, which has bits of bone in it, I think. I reminds me of the "pink slime" that was all over the internet about a year ago. I used it once with Hamburger Helper. My daughter said it was fine, but the grittiness nauseated me, and I felt like I was serving her Soylent Green. I have thrown away any that we have received since then, but it’s not like you can pick and choose what you get.

Once I made a huge pot of chili with some ground turkey that was out of date, but I figured it must have been frozen before that date. A few hours after having a very small bowl, I became violently ill. You know that worst-case scenario picture you have of vomiting into a bucket while you’re sitting on the toilet with liquefied bowels? Yeah, it was like that.

Just yesterday I picked up our fourth every-four-weeks allotment. As in previous weeks, there were wrinkly peppers, potatoes with eyes, and other moldy “fresh” produce. My thumb impaled a rotten onion.

There’s always a can or two of chili or beef stew or pork and beans that I set aside to give to my local ramp hobo. Ya know – the one who holds a sign on the freeway ramp? Maybe I’ll even carry a can to give to the smartass street kid who occasionally accosts me for change and yells at me for walking by. On second thought, it might be hurled at me, along with the inevitable invectives. Never mind.

We will not eat the margarine, the off-brand pot pies, nor the “all-natural veggie (cardboard) pizza” with the torn cellophane. Ditto the hardened baked goods and microwave popcorn. We don’t have a microwave. I reluctantly keep the tons of white rice – which is nutritionally void – because my daughter loves rice. But it’s a “last resort” food.

How hard must it be for a person on a special diet? Someone I know once pointed out that dietary restrictions are for rich people. If you have diabetes or gluten intolerance, being low-income is not for you. A couple of friends have asked why I don’t get food stamps? Unbelievably, we bring home too much money to qualify. Not that SNAP benefits will be around for much longer for all but the poorest anyway.

With any “extra” money I have, I fill in the blanks. Even though we get food boxes every four weeks, most of it is gone within two. And I have to buy toilet paper, toothpaste, moisturizer, remedies, band-aids, q-tips, feminine products, paper towels, baggies, shampoo, soap, dishwasher detergent, and fabric softener, although I go to the dollar store for most of those items.

I shop at the cheapest grocery store for juice and milk for my daughter, half and half for me (if I feel really extravagant!), yogurt and eggs (that dozen teeny tiny “USDA small” from the food box lasts maybe a week), and as much cheap cheese and meat as I can afford.

We sometimes need spices, oils, condiments, baking needs, and soup that isn’t generic chicken noodle or tomato, and cereal that isn’t generic Cheerios. And not-rotten fresh produce. Berries and nuts are now considered a delicacy in our home. I splurge on chocolate for my daughter, because it’s practically medicinal for a girl that age, and because I never want her to feel “poor.”

I used to be the person who would go to food bank events with a couple of cans of corn or green beans. When I have an income again, I will be the one who brings aseptic containers of real juice and Oregon Chai. I will bring Frappuccino and nuts and olives and oils and canned salmon and even fancy frozen food that is NOT past the due date. Because being poor is demoralizing. I have never been the person who gripes about what “welfare queens” buy with their SNAP cards. But if I had been that person before, I would be ashamed of it now.

When we’ve been flush, I’ve always donated money and goods and I have always volunteered – I am the original Badass Do-Gooder. I thought I would use this time out of work to volunteer, but aside from the endless searching and applying for jobs and helping my parents, I have no motivation, and sometimes don’t even want to shower or get out of bed. In the end, I usually do, because I don’t want my daughter to see me this way, although often when she is at school I have a good cry. Sometimes I cry in front of her. I can’t help it – I cry a LOT. My despair is exacerbated by menopause, and I have no insurance for my happy pills, but surely it’s better than keeping it in.

I have some savings, and a couple of retirement funds, but I have invested so that it is virtually impossible to touch those funds for many years without paying penalties, although I will if I have to. At the moment, I have the luxury of not having to take just “any” job, although I suspect I will become a lot less picky when I get to the last month of my benefits.




I am 52 years old, and I don’t relish the idea of spending the remainder of my working years in retail. The idea of retirement seems impossible at this point, but once I reach retirement age, my savings and retirement funds will make it easier.

Another aspect of our situation is the Judgy McJudgersons. I am not afraid to ask for help, but one person with whom I said I wanted to speak privately bullied me into asking her in front of her adult children. I was humiliated. And even though she had previously offered to buy me dinner, she still needed to get a dig in when the check came and she said sarcastically, “Well, since you’re destitute, I’ll pay for your $10 meal.” It’s the little indignities that count. One person unbelievably suggested I sell my car. She actually said, “You can’t be poor – you have a car.” Um, WHAT?

People have made comments like, “Can you really afford Starbucks?” even though I used a gift card. And even if I didn’t have a gift card? Kiss my ass! A $4 splurge is usually quite calculated on my end, and truly no one else’s business. I’m just grateful that I quit smoking a couple of years ago. The finger-pointers would have a field day with that one. I don’t dare advertise that I got a beauty school pedicure a couple of months ago. How lavish is that? And I cut my own hair now. Badly.

I’ve even gotten the hairy eyeball from strangers while at the Coinstar machine. Hey, I saved this change for many moons, and now I need it. Go back to your shopping, people – there’s nothing to see here. And I have never placed more faith in the lottery, silently bargaining with the Universe about all the good I would do if I could just win! Having that hope to nurture is worth the price of a ticket.

Still, there is beauty in all of this. My daughter took me to the movies with her birthday money from her granny, since going to the movies is definitely not in the budget. At first I resisted, but it was an exercise in grace for us both. We go to free events, and parks, and we live in a vital funky city, with lots of places to bring a picnic and soak up local atmosphere and people-watch for free.


We have a community of friends and family members who do nice things for us: I get taken to lunch or dinner every once in awhile, and I sometimes get slipped a twenty. One deposit of $50, and another of $100 recently showed up in my PayPal account unbidden, and I got $200 (gasp!) in Trader Joe’s gift cards in the mail the other day from a friend who has been where I am right now. A check for $150 came from a friend just in time for my daughter’s 13^th birthday. These are my guardian angels.

I’ve sold crafts for extra cash, and I know my friends pay me more for them than they would for a stranger’s. One friend took me to a concert the other night. Another friend came to visit from out of town and he told me my money was no good while we explored my hometown. He bought meals and even filled my gas tank.



My daughter’s older cousins give her snazzy hand-me-downs, and she is alternative enough to like thrift shopping for clothes. Very generous friends allowed us to live in their guest room for three months while we shopped for a new place after losing the previous one.



So many people have it worse than we do. And I am grateful to have resources to take advantage of. If anyone ever deigns to interview me, I can go to the local “Dress for Success” chapter to be outfitted and get my hair done. I haven’t bought clothes for myself in eons, although if I lost some weight, I would have a great wardrobe. Quitting smoking and sitting on my ass for two years as a customer service rep put on the weight, and I do my best to avoid the food pantry carbs. I try to keep moving, which also keeps the blues at bay.

Hopefully I will find an amazing job soon. Not like the last “better than nothing” job I had. We’ve never been well-off, but we did okay. It’s never easy to be a single parent. And we are still doing a lot better than many others.


I am not even going to address the politics of why things are the way they are. I just hope things get better. Even though she is young and she might change her mind, my daughter says she does not want children, and I am relieved to hear that. As much as I love her, if I knew what direction the world was headed before I had her, I don’t know if I would have been so eager to reproduce.

Meanwhile, I try to view this as a social experiment in grace, in humility, in trying to make do. We all have a story to share, and this is just a part of mine.