Saltines and Water

A short about being pissed off and poor.

     My manager and I hovered over the cooler containing plastic trays of cold crab rangoon and leftover pepperoni pizza. My mouth was watering, and my EBT card was burning a hole in my pocket. I picked up a tray of egg rolls and examined them. They had been made earlier that day while the grocery store was hustling and bustling.

     With that arrogant smirk I've grown to hate, my manager says, "It's kind of ridiculous." I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he meant, but I gave in and asked him anyway.

     "You can buy this stuff with food stamps," he replied. My EBT card started to feel like a brick.

     I asked him why he felt that way. He stood there for a good ten seconds, trying to manufacture some kind of intelligent response. All he could come up with was, "Well, I'm not saying people with food stamps shouldn't be allowed to eat this kind of stuff..."

     That was all I needed to hear. His opinion was clear to me. During the day time when this Oriental and Italian food is piping hot, the suit and tied nine to fivers spend their hard earned cash on steaming, juicy trays of it. But when the moon rises and I come in to restock the shelves, I'm a bad person for spending my government assistance on the freezing scraps.

     Shaking my head, I walked away and recalled a conversation my manager and I had previously. He told me he was finally moving out on his own. I asked him where he was living, and he responded, "My father gave me his other house."

     His other house? My father has never had more than one home, and his were always rented monthly.

My blood began to boil. I realized this prick had never struggled in his life, but he was convinced that people like me shouldn't be able to consume the cold, microwave-safe remains of his warm meal. I'm hungry too. My EBT card began to feel like an anchor.

     I laughed and told myself, "Maybe one day, I will just bring a fork and knife and have my manager for dinner."

     That night I played it safe and used my food stamps to purchase a stick of Matador beef jerky and a bottle of Diet Coke. I decided it best to save the daytime meal remains for people with real income. As I unwrapped the jerky and unscrewed the cap on the soda, I imagined all the people who would scoff at the idea of using EBT to purchase these items.

     Ripping a piece of jerky off and chewing it, I thought to myself, "The privelaged won't be happy until I use EBT to buy saltines and water."

     After lunch I told my manager, "Congratulations on the new place."

Author's Note

Regardless of your social status, I would like opinions on the short as well as opinions on the subject matter.