You don’t really know a person until you see how they behave under pressure. We were ten, they were over five hundred. A closetful of space and a clusterful of people flooding out into the street quickly resulted in short tempers and quick miscommunication as the day wore on.
A lady walked in at 1PM, African American, dressed in dirty ragged clothing, wearing a faded backpack and carrying bags reused one-too-many times. In front of her were about twenty Cantonese women, grabbing, pushing, yelling. Behind her were about 19 more, looking on to see how much food was left, scoping the area for a way to get in faster or a method to sneak more food into their bags. About 80% of them didn’t understand English, but almost all were bent on getting more than they were allowed to take. This was what it was like on most distribution days at Rainier Valley Food Bank, and today was no exception.
A lady walked in at 1PM, African American, dressed in dirty ragged clothing, wearing a faded backpack and carrying bags reused one-too-many times. In front of her were about twenty Cantonese women, grabbing, pushing, yelling. Behind her were about 19 more, looking on to see how much food was left, scoping the area for a way to get in faster or a method to sneak more food into their bags. About 80% of them didn’t understand English, but almost all were bent on getting more than they were allowed to take. This was what it was like on most distribution days at Rainier Valley Food Bank, and today was no exception.
That day had been one of the higher food bank client frequencies of the month, with almost 500 people rushing in and out within the first three hours. The good produce had been picked clean, the volunteers at each station wearied out. With a food quota sticker on her arm, she made her way to each station, stopping at each volunteer to receive her items. It so happened that, before the lady had made her way to the fridge station, the volunteer who was manning the frozen section had rushed off to use the restroom. The lady saw this as the perfect opportunity to unzip her bag and quickly stuff everything she could grab from the refrigerator – a gallon of milk, tubs of yogurt, cheeses, dips, etc.
Meanwhile, I was located at the entrance of the food bank, checking clients in, making sure there was neither fraudulent reporting nor fake IDs (there were often cases of families lying to get extra food). I was going into the fourth hour, had tried to communicate with hundreds of clients, and all in all was having an especially exhausting, nonstop check-in experience. Before this lady had come in, I had already uncovered about 30 or so families who had lied about their family size and lost their integrity with the food bank, using fictional stories and double cards to maximize their gains. As volunteers, it was our responsibility to help make sure everyone who went through our doors left with the food they needed, not wanted, and that everyone would have a right to food. We trusted in our client’s honesty both in reporting their family size and maintaining their identity. It was our job to make sure they got what they needed, and not more, so that others behind them would also have a right to food.
And so, with a disappointed and suspicious state of mind, I saw the lady stuffing her bag with frozen items. Telling another check-in volunteer to cover the desk, I quickly made my way over to her and firmly told her that because she had a family of one, she was only allowed to take one item from the refrigerator.
“Ma’am, you’re only allowed to take one item.”
She ignored me and kept shoving containers into her bag. I took the container back out and put it back into the fridge.
I repeated myself, holding up one finger. “One item, so that others may have some too. Just one.”
She ignored me again, snatching the yogurt I had taken out and putting two more into her bag. Other volunteers had joined in to help me make the point across, but the lady refused to give up her items. Some volunteers directly shouted at her, ordering her to put her food back.
By this time the food bank manager had heard the commotion and had stepped out of his office to see what was going on. He was completely calm, listened to what she had to say, then shut the fridge door and allowed her to move on to the next station. Just like that, all commotion ceased.
Looking back on the situation, one thing the lady said really stuck with me, made me question my privilege, my place as both an intern and a volunteer. Regardless of whether or not we all had been frustrated or disheartened by the actions of previous clients, each client who came in deserved the same amount of respect, the same amount of patience as the first client who came in that morning. Yes we were giving out free food, but that didn’t make us more privileged, more superior as people, compared to those who had been unfortunate enough to be caught in poverty. The patience and calm with which the manager dealt with the situation, the way he treated her, could have eased her burden that day, made her look and feel not like a woman struggling to survive by taking extra handouts, but a woman who graciously accepted a booster to help her start up her life. To serve as a temporary stepping stone so that clients have one less thing to worry about and focus more on finding a better job or looking for more opportunities – that is the food bank’s goal. And to do that, we and all other workers against poverty must always be patient, respectful, passionate, and understanding. It is definitely easy to get caught up in the moment, to place yourself in the title of “helper” and “fixer” when faced with people less fortunate than you, but in reality that is not our place, and we don’t know these people, what they’ve gone through, and what they’re dealing with in the present. We can only serve them in a way that allows them to help and fix themselves.
Rhona Ke
Duke Student '16
Meanwhile, I was located at the entrance of the food bank, checking clients in, making sure there was neither fraudulent reporting nor fake IDs (there were often cases of families lying to get extra food). I was going into the fourth hour, had tried to communicate with hundreds of clients, and all in all was having an especially exhausting, nonstop check-in experience. Before this lady had come in, I had already uncovered about 30 or so families who had lied about their family size and lost their integrity with the food bank, using fictional stories and double cards to maximize their gains. As volunteers, it was our responsibility to help make sure everyone who went through our doors left with the food they needed, not wanted, and that everyone would have a right to food. We trusted in our client’s honesty both in reporting their family size and maintaining their identity. It was our job to make sure they got what they needed, and not more, so that others behind them would also have a right to food.
And so, with a disappointed and suspicious state of mind, I saw the lady stuffing her bag with frozen items. Telling another check-in volunteer to cover the desk, I quickly made my way over to her and firmly told her that because she had a family of one, she was only allowed to take one item from the refrigerator.
“Ma’am, you’re only allowed to take one item.”
She ignored me and kept shoving containers into her bag. I took the container back out and put it back into the fridge.
I repeated myself, holding up one finger. “One item, so that others may have some too. Just one.”
She ignored me again, snatching the yogurt I had taken out and putting two more into her bag. Other volunteers had joined in to help me make the point across, but the lady refused to give up her items. Some volunteers directly shouted at her, ordering her to put her food back.
By this time the food bank manager had heard the commotion and had stepped out of his office to see what was going on. He was completely calm, listened to what she had to say, then shut the fridge door and allowed her to move on to the next station. Just like that, all commotion ceased.
Looking back on the situation, one thing the lady said really stuck with me, made me question my privilege, my place as both an intern and a volunteer. Regardless of whether or not we all had been frustrated or disheartened by the actions of previous clients, each client who came in deserved the same amount of respect, the same amount of patience as the first client who came in that morning. Yes we were giving out free food, but that didn’t make us more privileged, more superior as people, compared to those who had been unfortunate enough to be caught in poverty. The patience and calm with which the manager dealt with the situation, the way he treated her, could have eased her burden that day, made her look and feel not like a woman struggling to survive by taking extra handouts, but a woman who graciously accepted a booster to help her start up her life. To serve as a temporary stepping stone so that clients have one less thing to worry about and focus more on finding a better job or looking for more opportunities – that is the food bank’s goal. And to do that, we and all other workers against poverty must always be patient, respectful, passionate, and understanding. It is definitely easy to get caught up in the moment, to place yourself in the title of “helper” and “fixer” when faced with people less fortunate than you, but in reality that is not our place, and we don’t know these people, what they’ve gone through, and what they’re dealing with in the present. We can only serve them in a way that allows them to help and fix themselves.
Rhona Ke
Duke Student '16