More than shopping on a budget

By Duane Sweep
Associate for Communications

He calls out of the blue. (What does that mean, anyway? Ask Google. So I could have said, out of the sky.)

But that’s what he does - calls out of the blue. Wendell, I mean. It was Thursday.

He was probably sitting in a seaside lounge chair, wiggling his toes and drinking something that has a miniature patio umbrella as a swizzle stick. Banana is probably in the drink’s name.

I say hello. (Remind me to pay attention to the incoming-call number.)

He just says, “So what’s this I read?”

And I know who he is and what he’s talking about.

But I say, “What are you reading?”

“This food-challenge or SNAP-challenge thing,” he says. He says thing like it’s something you shouldn’t step in – avoid it if it’s on the sidewalk. Don’t step in that.

“Yes, Wendell, it’s called a food-stamp challenge or a SNAP challenge. We’ve been spending the week living on Minnesota’s average food-stamp payment.” I’m sure he’s already checked it to see that it’s $3.86 per person, per day.

“You’re still living,” he says, and I hear ice rattling.

“Of course,” I say.

“See,” he says, “It’s not that bad. If you can do it so can anyone else.”

“That’s not the point, Wendell.” He doesn’t like it when I use his name like that. It’s condescending, he’s told me. It’s just being nice, Wendell, I told him once. It helps me remember who you are, Wendell, I said. He could see right through me.

“And, Wendell, it’s not about living on what you spend,” I say. And I pause. He waits quietly. “It could have something to do with wastefulness, Wendell,” I say.

“Stop it.”

“No, there’s only a couple of days left. We won’t stop now.”

“No, not the challenge,” he says. “Stop calling me Wendell.”

“So it could have something to do with wastefulness. We don’t usually pay much attention to what we spend on groceries. This week was different. We actually planned our meals. Bought low-cost stuff, like a pound of margarine for 74 cents.”

“I’m not impressed,” he says.

“Well, think about this. We made my mom’s Spanish rice for Sunday dinner and then ate it as leftovers Monday. Then we made something like a package mix with hamburger Tuesday, pushing it further with a can of corn, and ate … ” And he didn’t let me finish.

“Your mom’s Spanish rice?” he asks.

“That’s what I call it.”

“She was Dutch,” he says.

“So I’ll just call it rice and tomato hotdish,” I say.

“Casserole,” he says.

“But we’re typically wasteful. We don’t pay attention to what we buy. We don’t often think about those who have to live on a limited budget or might be hungry. It’s easier not to. And I should think about that. I should think about it every time I step in the grocery store.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“It’s in morning where you are, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Friday morning, actually,” he says. “I couldn’t sleep. I was on Twitter.”

“So that’s where you saw the food-stamp challenge.”

“Yep. Had to call.”

“I know.”

“And I really don’t care that you’re wasteful.”

“Thanks, Wendell.”

“Don’t thank me,” he says. “Being wasteful doesn’t do much. I really don’t care if you’re thankful that you don’t need food stamps or that you can be thankful during the big holiday next week or that you think o others. What I’m wondering … ”

I interrupted him this time.

“I know where you’re going with this,” I say.

“Do something about it,” he says. “There needs to be more. Maybe you could share a little bit – not like sitting in a circle and sharing your thoughts – but sharing. You know, sharing what you saved on groceries this week. Just that little bit.”

“That’s the tough part, Wendell.” I say his name, and I’m sorry, but he didn’t notice. “Sharing doesn’t come easy.”

“As I see it, that’s what needs to happen,” he says. “Hey, just think about it. And it’s about time for me to get to work.”

I know he was sitting on the west side of the island, down on the beach, but still in the shade. I think it was in the 80s there, partly cloudy, rained last night. I hear him getting up.

“Hey, take care,” I said. “Wendell?”

Just like that – out of the blue.

(Yes, this phone call is fiction, but you knew that. There may have been a few guys like Wendell, but the character isn’t real – maybe a composite.)