Food Stamps

The first time I went to the Department of Health and Human Services, it wasn't a trip I made willingly, like all trips to DHHS should be. Mandy called and begged me to go with her to re-up her food stamps. Over the course of the two hours we were there we met a Salt student living in the apartment my ex, a Salt alum, and I used to live, a tall friend who has since moved away, and a coworker from my old office. It was then that I first came to a startling realization: people who take advantages of social services aren't always unemployed single parents from Lewiston. People like me (sometimes) capable of holding down jobs (sometimes) need extra help, too!

Rewind to five years ago, when I first moved to Portland and thought I fell in love on the bus. The Greater Portland Metro Bus. If anyone reading this has ever been on the GPMB, you know how absolutely ridiculous this is- people on the bus are weird, smelly, sometimes downright scary. I've seen: a man give himself insulin injections on the bus, a man flashed someone ("I'm not surprised he couldn't keep it in- he was like, Long John Silver."), welfare moms, incredibly old people, a girl on the phone with her boyfriend telling him to stop threatening her with physical violence (next day, same girl, "No! You can not borrow a dollar!"), men talking about their recent time in jail or AA... I see a guy almost every day with two suitcases getting on and off different buses. It's worse than DHHS, and day to day it's better than the Social Security Office, but the SS office wins overall. (Another long, ridiculous story about my trip to SS.)

This guy wore Levi's jeans, had a big dark My Morning Jacket beard and I saw on his iPod that he was listening to Yo La Tengo. Sold. I had a job cold calling people, asking them to volunteer to raise money for charity. The only thing harder than asking people for money is asking them to ask other people for money. I was horrible and didn't last long. He and I rode the Number 4 to and from Westbrook together at like, eight o'clock in the morning. The ride was at least 40 minutes each way.

Before I quit on the same day I was getting fired, I was on my way home and a random bus person asked me if I was honestly wearing cowboy boots. Then asked me if I listen to country music, and I gave the standard yes, Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline. MMJ guy waited for random bus guy and asked me if he just asked me if I liked country music and we just kept talking.

The next day I brought MMJ guy to Bull Moose to meet Mandy, who stupidly invited him over for dinner because we were all positive that 21 year old virginal Amanda was going to fall in love with someone she met on the public transportation system because Portland is so urban! Turns out he was totally leading me on and had a girlfriend in Boston. The point of this story is that after seeing our dumpy apartment and realizing how little I was making at my job, he tried to convince me to apply for food stamps. I was insulted and embarrassed and did not. Food stamps were supposed to be for people who couldn't help themselves.

I was so wrong and please don't tell Paul LePage or Glenn Beck that I'm telling you this. I meet the requirements, and I signed up. Half of the customers at Rosemont on Munjoy Hill have food stamps, my best friend, one of my roommates, and me! I can afford meals other than Ramen, and occasionally I'll splurge on ginger beer for a cocktail party or fancy cheese, and I don't feel guilty because Maine is awesome. I am fully sustained and I buy local. Wasn't the state motto "The Way Life Should Be" at some point?