Second Class Citizen

The year is 2027 and I’m a SNAP (formerly known as Food Stamp) recipient. I heard something about new guidelines in place that help SNAP recipients make more healthy food choices. Well, it’s time to go grocery shopping, so I guess I’ll soon find out what that really means.

Arriving at the store, I see that there are now two separate entry doors. One says, “SNAP Recipients.” The other says, “Productive Members of Society.” Hmm… this does not look good. I’m obviously a SNAP recipient, but I’m also productive every day. I’m a widow with three children and I work at a gigantic, well-known store that pays minimum wage. With a sigh, I enter through the SNAP Recipient door, knowing I will regret it, but curious. I grab a cart, but the carts here look different – not at all like the ones I can see for use by other customers.

I peruse the aisles as I normally do. I notice that every time I place something in my cart, I either get a pleasant-sounding tone or an annoying buzz coming from some hidden place on the cart. I haven’t been able to find the source of the offending noise, so I just continue on my way. I hear tones and beeps coming from other aisles around me. Once, I even heard a shriek, then “Don’t put that in here! It burns, it buurrnnns!”

This is becoming a bit frightening. I hurry through the rest of my shopping, determined to get out of that place as quickly as possible. Hearing one more shriek, I immediately decide that I have done enough shopping. Time to go.

Arriving at the front of the store, I see that there are seven checkout counters marked “NO SNAP,” and two marked, “SNAP ONLY.” Apparently, SNAP cards cannot be processed in the non-SNAP lines. The SNAP lines are very long. Each cart or person must pass through an automatic scanner that looks just like the ones at the airport. Looks like it reads your potential purchases. A yellow, rotating light activates if there are items considered to be "unhealthy choices” in your cart.

There are four-foot-tall, mini-terminator-looking robots manning the scanners. They’re shiny and skinless. Maybe that’s supposed to remind us that skinless is healthy. They are pulling aside unfortunate customers who have made less-than-optimal choices. The robots are filling huge containers that look like oil drums with the word “contraband” written on them. I’m afraid. I want to just abandon my cart and make a mad dash from the store, but I don’t know what the penalty might be for that. Too late now. It’s my turn.

I timidly walk through the scanner and of course, the yellow lights come to life. One of the mini terminators steps up to me and announces, “You must step aside for inspection.” It escorts me over to what is apparently the naughty customer holding area, then examines the content in my cart, item-by-item. “I will remove contraband now,” it says. It begins and explains as it throws my groceries in the oil drum thing:

"Ground beef -- must be at least 90% lean.

Chuck roast -- buy leaner cut.

Ramen noodles – empty carbs.

Chichen legs -- have skin.

Chicken thighs -- have skin.

Chicken wings -- have skin.

Whole chicken roaster – has skin.

Canned mixed vegetables -- not fresh.

Canned string beans, canned spinach, canned yams, canned beets, canned lima beans -- not fresh.

Canned creamed corn (It looks at me as if to say, “Really?”)

Spam, bologna, hot dogs -- not classified healthy in any food group.

Whole milk -- Use non-fat or 2%.

Canned fruit – Not Fresh.

Bread -- make your own.

Flour – should be wheat.

Toasty vowel cereal, sugar-coated lump cereal, toaster tarts – devoid of nutrition.

Frozen fries – Make your own.

Sugar – Use sugar substitute.

Cookies, cake – Make your own.

Pasteurized process cheese food – What is that?

Canned soup – make your own.

Potato chips, tortilla chips, cheese curls -- Junk.

Little Debbies – You should know better.

Diet pop – No nutritional value. Drink juice or water."

By the time that thing is done, all I have in my cart are beans, onions, potatoes, Smoked turkey, bananas, and four expensive apples.

It then turns its attention to my 2-year-old baby in the top seat of the cart. “He’s chubby,” the thing says.

I grab my son in a fierce hold and say, “He’s mine. You can’t have him.”

“What is he eating?” the thing asked.

“It’s a lollipop. Here’s the wrapper. I was going to pay for it at the register.”

“It is contraband,” the thing says as it snatches the treat from my son’s hand. “While your child was eating the contraband, he drooled on the cart handle. Now it will have to be sterilized. Here is your ticket for contamination of store property with bodily fluids.”

As I clutch my screaming boy to my chest in an effort to comfort him the thing says, “You may check out now.”

“But… But everything you suggested costs too much for me to afford and feed my family.”

“Silence!” it says in a menacing tone. “You’ll be back.”

I run from the store in a state of such intense anger that I am crying now.

And I will not be back.