Eating Free On Me!

 

This missive is going to chap a lot of people off. Hey, that’s OK. After all it is my site and my commentary, and one reason I’ve gone into forging my own future with my own business is that I was never one to keep my mouth zipped for sake of expediency.

 

Over the past several weeks I’ve been growing more and more impatient with what I call the “food freeloaders.”

 

What are food freeloaders you ask?

 

It’s an ever growing number of individuals who think I should be paying for their daily bread. In other words, what used to be known as food stamps but now comes in a pretty, flag covered piece of plastic looking exactly like a credit card.

 

A credit card that uses my money to pay for their purchases.

 

Now, before you get into a frenzy and call me a heartless bastard, I’m not. If a person is truly in need, and it’s either the public dole or the grave – OK. Cut ‘em some slack. If they have kids (that I hope they thought about supporting before doing the big nasty) and times are tough, OK again.

 

But three instances in as many weeks have set my teeth on edge.

 

Instance 1:

 

My wife & I were waiting on line at the local supermarket. A petite young lady was ahead of us, looking a bit antsy. She turned to us and said it was OK for us to go ahead of her. Her cart was full of stuff, so I asked if she was sure.

 

She said she was waiting for her boyfriend, and couldn’t pay because he had the food card. That didn’t immediately register with me, but I thanked her anyway and took her spot in line.

 

A minute or so later appeared her boyfriend.

 

Now, I’ve seen walking jokes of humanity that only a cat would drag into a public place, but by the looks of him, his particular cat was not very choosey or exceptionally well bred.

 

The dude looked like he fought a hermit for wearing apparel – and lost. Dirty, ill fitting clothes adorned his rather smelly frame. A frame, by the way that was covered from head to bare legs with ugly-assed tattoos. Face, neck, hands, fingers, arms… and probably places I’d rather not see, even in a fit of morbid curiosity.

 

It appeared his aversion to soap and water was especially poignant around his facial area – a scruffy, patchwork of blondish beard offset the greasy locks on his unkempt head.

 

He smiled at his young partner, and handed her the food card – the red white and blue swipe and eat piece of plastic - courtesy of my taxes.

 

Yeah, I know jobs are hard to come by, but why would anyone in their right mind even think of hiring this slob for anything at all? The answer is they wouldn’t – so he & his paramour qualify to eat free on me.

 

I’m sure the local body ink shop doesn’t do their work on credit – so they must be getting paid somehow. C’mon already. If this excuse for a citizen can afford full body tattoos, then he can afford his eats.

 

Instance 2:

 

I’m standing on line at another supermarket a week later, trying to buy a Powerball ticket. Yeah – I know… I’m stupid. But what the hell, a buck a week is OK by me. Where else can you buy such nice dreams of grandeur for only 8 bits? (Besides, unlike taxes – I choose to part with my dollar. And unlike taxes, I might actually get something worthwhile for my expenditure!)

 

The guy ahead of me is a spaced out, dread-locked wise ass. It seems he’d just taken a vow of silence, because when asked if he could be helped, he merely pointed to the lotto machine and a Powerball ad – and grinned. The cashier asked how many he wanted. He put up two fingers.

 

She printed out the tickets and asked for 2 bucks. He handed her… the swipe and eat plastic food card.

 

She said sorry, but he had to pay for lotto with cash. His first utterance was heard, and it went something along the lines of… “SH*T” – and he walked away, apparently disgusted his magic card didn’t come with Lotto purchasing privileges.

 

Instance 3:

 

This happened just yesterday, Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday).

 

I’m again at the local supermarket, near the service desk waiting for my wife to come along with the cart she’s gone to capture.

 

As I’m standing there, I see a small commotion between the clerk and a well dressed lady over some canned items. Salted peanuts and whatever.

 

After the manager comes, the dispute seems to be resolved. Now, the lady doing most of the disputing was wearing gold earrings, a thick gold heart chain, three gold and precious stone rings, fashion sunglasses and a designer handbag. Her hair was perfectly coiffured, and her clothes were obviously top class.

 

Then it came… the clerk was swiping the card this lady handed her. What was it?

 

Of course –Uncle Sam’s Club Private Buying card – complete with red, white and blue stripes and patriotic eagle.

 

That got me. The lady is wearing thousands of dollars in jewelry, fancy eyewear and whatever… and I’m paying for her g-dammed eats.

 

It used to be that being on food stamps was a mark of shame. One would slink into a grocery store and hope to god no one would recognize them as they handed in their paper chits.

 

No more. It’s happy hour at the supermarket – 24/7.

 

And chumps like me actually pay money to earn our food.

 

Yeah… we’re being taken for a ride.

 

 

Back To The Gallery