Staying Dry
We qualified for food stamps this month. It took everything I had to apply. I woke up early, at 6am, and drove 45mins to the office so that I could get there when they opened. I have a Master's degree and I drive a minivan. Food stamps don’t fit in my picture. Still, a week's worth of groceries is a week's worth of groceries, so I go.
"Cute baby," the girl in front of me said. She was holding her 5-month old daughter, she had a too-large blanket and a diaper bag. They arrived just moments before me on the city bus. She must have stood in line at her bus stop, in the rain, trying to keep her baby girl dry and warm in that too-large blanket. She fought the rain again from the bus stop to the DSHS office in order to get there when the doors opened. When it was her turn, I heard her find out that her appointment was an hour later. She just smiled and sat down. No anger, no big scene. I would have made a scene.
Later, I went to the store with all three of the kids. I circled the parking lot three times to find a space. It was a Wednesday afternoon and it seemed like everyone in town was there. I panicked and thought I should have gone to a different store--one where I wouldn't be recognized.
As a magic trick for a group of teenage boys smoking outside the entrance, I buckled the older kids into one of those 3-seater monster shopping carts. I felt like I did in high school when I passed by a group of boys in the hall—I made damn sure not to make a fool out of myself. Then I realized that I was nearly invisible to them. I’m almost thirty with three kids, a little overweight and now I’m on food stamps. I'm off the teenage boy judgment radar, it’s safe to say. The damn buckle on the cart wouldn't work, anyway. It was raining. Their cigarette smoke stunk.
We shopped. I was careful to seek out sale stuff, thankful to the taxpayers for taking care of this one. The store was hot. I was sweating. The baby, nestled in my sling, had rosy cheeks. The older girls were blotchy. We needed to get out of there but I dreaded the check-out. What if I did the food stamp thing wrong? What if they had to use the loudspeaker and call someone over? We got in line. My eldest daughter kept asking for candy, my middle daughter begged to get out of the cart. The baby was waking and hungry. I was sweating.
$172. Ok, I thought. I have enough money to pay the difference. I rang my food stamp card through the machine. "Credit or debit?" the checker asked. "Uh, Food
Stamps." "Oh," she said. Did she look me up and down? I don't know. I think she did.
"Your card was declined. You only have $117 worth of food stamps." I wonder if she could say it any louder. I don't think the person in the back of her line heard her. I was so hot I thought I might pass out. "Can't I just put some of it on my debit card?" I asked. She sighed like I should have said that before.
"Mama, I have to poo." Great. Of course she does. I rush her to the bathroom and hold the door open while I try and convince my two-year-old not to freak out. The baby has calmed down but is still fussing. I'm thinking to myself that $172 is a lot for what I got--everything I got was on sale. What did I do?
Then it hits me: I didn't give them my Big Brother card--you know, the one where you give them your name and information and they track your purchases? They usually ask me for it. I think the food stamp thing threw both the checker and I for a loop. I steeled myself for a battle as I walked to the crowded customer service counter and waited my turn.
A pretty older lady with white hair asked if she could help me. "I just went through the line and forgot to give the checker my store card--she never asked me and I forgot and I didn't get any discounts."
The lady looked at me and my too-full shopping cart and shot me a look of total and utter exasperation. "Well, I can go through the store and try to find all of the prices for each of your items and then refund everything by hand. Do you have time for that?"
"Um, well..."
"It's going to take quite a while. Do you have the time it will take for me to do this all by hand?" She makes sure I understand she was doing it all by hand.
I resign myself to it all. All I can think about is getting the money back. I need that money back. "Yes, please. I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience."
She sighed and got down to business. Surprisingly, at some point, she decided not to be pissed at the situation. We made small-talk as she manually refunded each of my items and then re-scanned them. I could tell she was having a change of heart. I was a food stamp mama, yes. But I mattered. I wasn't invisible to her. She looked up at me and said, with total sincerity, "Your children are so well-behaved. You do a good job."
Forty-five minutes and nearly $40 later, we were on our way out...again. My four-year-old was limping but I was ignoring it. She didn't want to put her sweater on. It was raining—absolutely pouring. Two of my three girls started crying. All I could think about was making it to the van but she was still limping really badly. "What is wrong?!" I demanded--just as old lady walked by us and said in a monotone but impressed voice:
"Why, she's got her boot on backwards."
Her boot was completely backwards--she had crammed her toes into the heel. In the rain, I doubled over with uncontrolled laughter. It was the slow-motion kind of laughter, the kind that explodes and keeps coming, like a volcano.
Backwards. The boot was backwards but it still functioned, still kept her dry. That was us right now. We may not be on completely right, but we are here. We are still limping along, staying dry.
Sometimes that is all you can do.
"Cute baby," the girl in front of me said. She was holding her 5-month old daughter, she had a too-large blanket and a diaper bag. They arrived just moments before me on the city bus. She must have stood in line at her bus stop, in the rain, trying to keep her baby girl dry and warm in that too-large blanket. She fought the rain again from the bus stop to the DSHS office in order to get there when the doors opened. When it was her turn, I heard her find out that her appointment was an hour later. She just smiled and sat down. No anger, no big scene. I would have made a scene.
Later, I went to the store with all three of the kids. I circled the parking lot three times to find a space. It was a Wednesday afternoon and it seemed like everyone in town was there. I panicked and thought I should have gone to a different store--one where I wouldn't be recognized.
As a magic trick for a group of teenage boys smoking outside the entrance, I buckled the older kids into one of those 3-seater monster shopping carts. I felt like I did in high school when I passed by a group of boys in the hall—I made damn sure not to make a fool out of myself. Then I realized that I was nearly invisible to them. I’m almost thirty with three kids, a little overweight and now I’m on food stamps. I'm off the teenage boy judgment radar, it’s safe to say. The damn buckle on the cart wouldn't work, anyway. It was raining. Their cigarette smoke stunk.
We shopped. I was careful to seek out sale stuff, thankful to the taxpayers for taking care of this one. The store was hot. I was sweating. The baby, nestled in my sling, had rosy cheeks. The older girls were blotchy. We needed to get out of there but I dreaded the check-out. What if I did the food stamp thing wrong? What if they had to use the loudspeaker and call someone over? We got in line. My eldest daughter kept asking for candy, my middle daughter begged to get out of the cart. The baby was waking and hungry. I was sweating.
$172. Ok, I thought. I have enough money to pay the difference. I rang my food stamp card through the machine. "Credit or debit?" the checker asked. "Uh, Food
Stamps." "Oh," she said. Did she look me up and down? I don't know. I think she did.
"Your card was declined. You only have $117 worth of food stamps." I wonder if she could say it any louder. I don't think the person in the back of her line heard her. I was so hot I thought I might pass out. "Can't I just put some of it on my debit card?" I asked. She sighed like I should have said that before.
"Mama, I have to poo." Great. Of course she does. I rush her to the bathroom and hold the door open while I try and convince my two-year-old not to freak out. The baby has calmed down but is still fussing. I'm thinking to myself that $172 is a lot for what I got--everything I got was on sale. What did I do?
Then it hits me: I didn't give them my Big Brother card--you know, the one where you give them your name and information and they track your purchases? They usually ask me for it. I think the food stamp thing threw both the checker and I for a loop. I steeled myself for a battle as I walked to the crowded customer service counter and waited my turn.
A pretty older lady with white hair asked if she could help me. "I just went through the line and forgot to give the checker my store card--she never asked me and I forgot and I didn't get any discounts."
The lady looked at me and my too-full shopping cart and shot me a look of total and utter exasperation. "Well, I can go through the store and try to find all of the prices for each of your items and then refund everything by hand. Do you have time for that?"
"Um, well..."
"It's going to take quite a while. Do you have the time it will take for me to do this all by hand?" She makes sure I understand she was doing it all by hand.
I resign myself to it all. All I can think about is getting the money back. I need that money back. "Yes, please. I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience."
She sighed and got down to business. Surprisingly, at some point, she decided not to be pissed at the situation. We made small-talk as she manually refunded each of my items and then re-scanned them. I could tell she was having a change of heart. I was a food stamp mama, yes. But I mattered. I wasn't invisible to her. She looked up at me and said, with total sincerity, "Your children are so well-behaved. You do a good job."
Forty-five minutes and nearly $40 later, we were on our way out...again. My four-year-old was limping but I was ignoring it. She didn't want to put her sweater on. It was raining—absolutely pouring. Two of my three girls started crying. All I could think about was making it to the van but she was still limping really badly. "What is wrong?!" I demanded--just as old lady walked by us and said in a monotone but impressed voice:
"Why, she's got her boot on backwards."
Her boot was completely backwards--she had crammed her toes into the heel. In the rain, I doubled over with uncontrolled laughter. It was the slow-motion kind of laughter, the kind that explodes and keeps coming, like a volcano.
Backwards. The boot was backwards but it still functioned, still kept her dry. That was us right now. We may not be on completely right, but we are here. We are still limping along, staying dry.
Sometimes that is all you can do.
posted by thefreelancemama at 11:22 PM
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