Dom and I

just finished reading this really interesting book. It's called Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America by Barbara Ehrenreich. Basically, this middle to upper middle class woman goes out to three different places in the country with a small amount of money and tries to live working low paying jobs. I'm probably not explaining it correctly, but it really is interesting. If you want to read more about it or order it, click here. Some of the last paragraphs actually made me almost tear up. Here is a paragraph that both Dom and I just kind of paused and looked at each other in horror after reading.

When someone works for less pay than she can live on—when, for example, she goes hungry so that you can eat more cheaply and conveniently—then she has made a great sacrifice for you, she has made you a gift of some part of her abilities, her health, and her life. The “working poor,” as they are approvingly termed, are in fact the major philanthropists of our society. They neglect their own children so that the children of others will be cared for; they live in substandard housing so that other homes will be shiny and perfect; they endure privation so that inflation will be low and stock prices high. To be a member of the working poor is to be an anonymous donor, a nameless benefactor, to everyone else. As Gail, one of my restaurant coworkers put it, “you give and you give.”

I feel absolutely horrible after this. I mean, my mom was really unstable when I was younger and we've been evicted from almost every home we've had. We've gone days without eating, weeks without electricity, years without a phone. I remember being maybe six years old and going to a church by myself to get food. I missed half of fifth grade because I had no address and couldn't register for school without one. (Somehow, I wound up going onto sixth grade anyway.) When I was eleven, we slept in a shelter for a few days until my grandparents let us stay their house while they were on vacation at the beach. So I can relate on some level to being poor, but I've never sacrificed myself in order to please someone else. I mean, my first real job was as a teller at a bank and after a few years of working there I was making $2,100 a month after taxes. And I was only 17. I can't imagine what it must be like to actually work yourself to the bone and not get any recognition. To live in poverty so someone who pays you shit can come home to a squeaky clean house. I honestly feel heartbroken after this. If I think about this anymore, I'm going to wind up crying. Somehow, I feel worse that I want to put it out of my mind so I can feel better when this is actually someone elses reality. They don't have the option to just put it out of their mind. I really don't know what else to say.