Food Pantry

It's Thursday. On Thursdays, I volunteer at the food pantry. People stand in line, in the heat, in the cold, in the rain. They sign in when it's their turn. Mostly they wait politely and follow the rules. They are very grateful. They thank us for what we do. We are the face of the food pantry, but really I do very little. I spend 2 hours checking the computer for their name, giving them a card that lets them "shop." Behind the scenes are the staff and the donors that gather the food, other volunteers who sort it and put it on the shelves. If there is a problem, I get a staff person to deal with it. I don't have to tell someone, "no, you can't have any food today." The staff tries to avoid that, too. 

I ask them for proof of residence, mail that has a postmark from the last 30 days. Mostly I don't really check. I recognize them from last week. One week there were two people I hadn't met. One man was pushing the other in a wheelchair (he had lost the lower half of his legs). Of course, I didn't ask. They were veterans; I assume he was hurt in service to our country. They laughed and joked with each other and us. Sometimes people bring their children; we all love watching babies and entertaining toddlers while their Moms pick out groceries: fresh produce, canned goods, prepared foods donated by "high-end" stores. 

Most people are grateful, pleasant, agreeable. They have come to terms with a life that requires them to get discarded groceries for free. Some are quiet, maybe depressed, lonely; some are a little odd, they talk too much or don't always make sense. Many do not speak English--only enough to say thank you. Only once did a man become angry with me when I said he needed to bring mail with him. "I've been coming here for years," he said. "I always show my driver's license, no one ever told me I needed to bring a piece of mail." I explain we want to make sure he is still living in town, at the same address. I get the supervisor to tell him. We're not going to turn him away, just asking him to bring a piece of mail next time. We wonder, privately, if something happened and he has had to move. Is he living in his car? He has a boy with him, about 10. If you are a man, with no place to live, you can pull it together to go to work at McDonald's or wherever you need to go, but a boy? How do you go to school and concentrate on learning, be cool with your friends, when you slept in a car with your Dad and your few possessions? How do you go to school with no breakfast, no shower? 

I try to be grateful, I am grateful, I try not to flaunt my privilege, no expensive jewelry or fancy clothes. When I'm talking to another volunteer, we try to discuss light subjects. I don't want anyone to overhear me talking about going out to eat or planning a vacation. I am very aware that I am so lucky to have a place to live, food to eat. I married someone who did not abandon me, who did not lose his job, become addicted, go to prison or die of cancer. I was able to go to college, have a good job, buy a house, save money for retirement. These are not things I did because I was smart, I did them because I was born lucky and stayed lucky, in spite of life's challenges.

What do I give up to spend a couple hours volunteering? Scrolling through my e-mails, ordering something on line, making cookies, reading a book? I get a lot more spending time with people who need me and thank me for being there, being cheerful whether I feel like it or not. Trying not to be angry at a world and a system that spits out and discards so many, at least temporarily.