They’ve never asked for a handout and till now never needed one. “Bob” and “Mary” have that expression in their eyes, the look of “we were headed toward our preferred future when a very different future just broadsided us from out of nowhere.”
He’d had a comfortable job and a growing retirement fund. An illness forced him into a way-too-early retirement. He still has his retirement, but can’t touch it for several more years. Unable any longer to handle the skilled work he had been doing for so long, he has found a thirty-some-hour a week job without benefits.
He’s thinking about going back to college to get a master’s degree in a different field, yet isn’t sure how to support his family in the process. And by the time he graduates? Though age discrimination isn’t allowed, it is hard to hide the fact that he is early-mid-fifties, that black hole of an age category between too-old-to-hire and too-young-to-retire.
Mary was a stay-at-home mom who kept busy with various church and service activities after the kids grew older. When Bob’s illness came on, she started looking for work thinking her general college degree could be of some use. However that was just when the economy took a swan dive and all she could come up with was a part-time barely-above-minimum-wage job, also without “bennies”.
As they open up about their struggles, I ask about health insurance. This is way past the usual questions, but I sense they need to talk.
“After Bob lost his company insurance, we checked into OHP (the Oregon Health Plan), but it is a totally random lottery” (for getting into it that is, except for minors). And Bob’s pre-existing would only be covered if he was in a group plan. Don’t the new laws change the pre-existing requirements, I ask? Well, yes, now, but now it is either health insurance or everything else. They can’t afford both.
What about extended family? “My father died years ago,” Bob said. “My mother lives nearby and does okay, but she can’t help us. I’ve got a brother who is on disability. Mary’s parents live [out-of-state] and haven’t talked much with us since …”
We sit quietly for a few seconds until I manage to shift topics. I explain how our food program works. We’re open three days a week – Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays 1-4 pm. They can come any day we are open for produce and bread and three times in a six-month period for an emergency food box.
They keep their eyes low, rarely allowing direct contact with mine. I ask for their identification, not required, though we ask anyway. It helps, especially with the majority of our clients not speaking English as their primary language. That is not an concern with Bob and Mary, though the official ID ensures greater accuracy on the part of the intaker. I type in their address from his driver’s license and get their names, ages, birthdates.
“Anyone else in your household? Kids?” It affects how much food we can provide for them – 3-5 days of food or about 20 pounds per person.
An older daughter found a job in Seattle back four years ago and is doing okay. A son in college lives at home. I can provide food for the son as well, I tell them, and we add his information to the database. I mark the boxes concerning ethnicity (Caucasian) and household relationship and ask them if they want to visit our clothing room as well as get the food. Maybe we’ll look and see, they respond finally giving me solid eye contact. Bob could use a decent pair of pants for an upcoming interview – he’s still looking around for a full-time job or additional work.
I explain our gently-used clothing room is better stocked for women and infants than men and children and throw out my standard crack about gently-used men’s clothing being an oxymoron. I am awarded the typical response – smiles all around. They relax a bit. When we have enough clothes, I explain, we allow four items per family member, otherwise just two. I think we are back up to four now, but I can’t really remember and wander off into useless trivia that even I don’t care about.
We’re about done with the intake interview. It doesn’t usually get this involved and we have a crowded waiting room, but I sense they need this slower pace. Asking for help is just not in their emotional DNA. They keep telling me they are used to donating food, clothing and money, not asking for it. “I understand,” I say, and I mean it.
Their savings are depleted and the inadequate income from their jobs leaves a gap that grows by the month, in spite of their best efforts. They really can’t see past the next few weeks, but maybe we can help them keep going one emergency food box at a time until he can land that extra job or their ship comes in.
“Come on down.” I lead them out of the intake room and down the cemented slope to our food pantry. “One of our volunteers will walk you through. Thanks for coming in.
