Wow.

There is no such thing as a normal day at this job. I mean, there are certain things that I do every day or every week, but there is never a day that is exactly the same as any other.

A few days ago, a female client of ours got $700 on a a food stamp card (which works like a debit card, but only on food). The average food stamp award for a single person is only $160 a month, but she hadn't received them for quite a while even though she was entitled to them, so they gave them to her all at once. She has been clean for less than a month, and she told staff that she was concerned she would use the card to buy drugs. My first thought was, holy crap, I knew this was a bad area but they sell COCAINE in the GROCERY STORE?, but that wasn't it. She was afraid she would sell the card, then use that money to buy drugs, which is apparently pretty common (reason #64 why I would be a pretty bad drug addict).

She and the rest of the staff agreed that the best thing to do would be to spend the money on the card so it would be less of a temptation. I had my car here today, so I was given the task of taking her to the store to spend the money. She was really excited about being able to get lots of "extras" to share with the house. The shelter is fully stocked with food, of course, but only basic things, and they're the same all the time. So, off to Save-a-Lot we go, her food card in my hand, to feed the homeless.

The main thing she wanted was crab legs. We got $45 worth (about 5 pounds). We got tons of chips and cookies and soda and pies. I threw in a few bags of grapes, apples, and bananas. We got about 6 boxes of "fancy" cereal (off-brand Lucky Charms, Cookie Crisp, etc). We also got a 10 pound bucket (yes, BUCKET) of chitterlings. Google it. Then guess which one of us picked THAT one out.

It was nice being out with her, walking around the store, talking about our families and what foods we like and don't like. She was surprised but pleased that I don't have kids. She has 4 and is currently pregnant. But at the same time, it just seemed so odd. I wondered what the cashier thought as I pulled the card out of my pocket and gave it to her to use to pay. Of course, the reason they switched to cards was to make it less obvious that people were purchasing food with government assistance, but they're still pretty recognizable (and the fact that they have "INDEPENDENCE CARD" written in big red letters doesn't really help). We ended up spending about $300, mostly on junk. I was torn between being excited for our residents, some of whom have spent years living on the streets, who now get to have special things like cookies and cake and soda and crab. Another part of me was thinking about the dead babies I saw in Kenya who had starved to death. From anorexia to involuntary starvation to compulsive eating to $700 in back payments on food stamps that need to not be spent on drugs.... we, as a collective humanity, have a pretty f-ed up relationship with food.

When I got back to the shelter, I went through the mail, which I do every day. I also alphabetize it every day, but the overnight staff always mess it up. WHY? I don't know. You should ask them. Anyway, today we had a letter from prison. I LOVE when we have letters from prison, because I get to be the one to answer them. Granted, it's with a form letter explaining that we do take ex-offenders and has numbers and addresses for them to use to get housing through us, but I still like answering them. I like reading them and feeling like I get to help a person I might never see.

This letter wasn't seeking housing, though. It was from a 58 year old man seeking employment. He didn't say how long he had been in prison for, but he did say he has his masters degree in social work. He also said he has schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder. He ended the letter with, "I need to get back to work. I am sober now for the long run. Starting over is hard at my age. Please help me." When I took the letter to my manager to ask what I should write back, she pointed out that his release date had already passed and that he hadn't left an address other than the one of the prison, so we have no way to contact him.

Educationally (which is probably not a word), that man is more qualified for this job than I am. Actually, he is probably more qualified based on life experiences, too, and would probably not have to use urbandictionary.com to translate the drug slang the clients use. But here I am, working, smelling the crab legs that a client is so excited to serve her friends. And where he is? I can't know.