“I can’t believe I’m back here,” Thomas said as he lowered himself to the bench with one quick full body drop. It shook the table like a small earthquake. I could feel his fatigue.
“SNAP makes you intentional about food,” he said. “You can’t waste it. You can’t impulse buy. You plan every meal. When it’s gone it’s gone.”
Five years ago, during the pandemic, Thomas and I met under different circumstances. He was a bartender in a downtown hotel, laid off as the hospitality world shut down, and forced to apply for SNAP. That was his first time enduring the process, and he had mixed emotions about needling it.
“I never thought I would need it,” he told me then. “I’ve always taken care of myself easily.”
Today, Thomas is an assistant manager at a busy hotel–a position he’s very proud of, and he smiles deeply as he speaks of it. But a very painful foot and knee issue has forced him out of work again.
After more than a year of ongoing pain, surgery is the only fix. He expects to be out of work for three to five months. Short term disability will replace about 60% of his pay, though that won’t happen immediately.
He has already reapplied and is waiting on a decision. This time, he tells me the stigma feels smaller.
“That shameful part, that was all in my head,” he said. “If you’re between paychecks because of something you can’t control, that’s exactly what it’s for.”
What he has anxiety over now are the mechanics of SNAP. He has heard about time limits of three months, and work requirements, but he is unsure how they apply to someone recovering from surgery.
“If I’m physically unable to work, does that count if I have a doctor’s note?” he asked. “I don’t want to miss something because I didn’t file the right paper. I’m not even sure what my partial disability payment will be.”
Thomas has already cut his monthly food spending from around $500, partially offset by meals eaten at work midday and evening, to $50 a week.
“You can do it if you’re disciplined,” he replied. “Especially if you have to.”
After we agreed to stop our documented conversation and just speak normally. He and I both stood to leave, he adjusted his crutches and said one thing that has rested with me.
“I’m not my circumstances this time around. I know that,” he said. “I’m still resilient.”
