Fight The Good Fight

“Is the AC on the fritz again?” 

“I wouldn’t know. Power’s out.”

“What?” I felt sweat dripping down my back. No air conditioning was not what I wanted to hear. There was too much work to do, and the room was already stifling in the early morning hours.

“Yeah. Seems like someone didn’t pay the electric bill.” Carol looked at me square in the eye, hands on her hips. Was she daring me to argue that fact?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Call them. Use my credit card.” 

“Are you sure, boss?”

“I’m sure. Hurry, please. Maybe we can salvage the day. Anything in the fridge we need to throw out before the stink of rot fills the air?”

“I don’t think there was anything in the fridge at all since last weekend.”

“At least nothing got spoiled. Come on, let’s start unpacking.”

I went outside to the open van and began pulling boxes out while I heard Carol on the phone shouting “Representative”. I laughed despite myself. I just won’t look at the credit card statement. That would be next month’s problem.

***

After putting the last can of peas and carrots on the shelf, I stepped back to survey the room. Not good, I sadly admitted to myself, not good at all. 

I sighed, reaching for the “Two Items From Each Shelf” sign. I would have to find a way to get more donations by next weekend. Too many hungry families counted on us, and this meager selection wouldn’t do.

My thoughts went to Freddy and his crew, and I felt the familiar anger rising. Working to beat the system, they made the rounds of food pantries as if their career. Hoarding and returning our precious donations for store credit gave them free beer and cigarettes. To outsmart their con, my staff used a thick sharpie to cover the bar codes. Such a waste of time and energy, I thought for the millionth time. However, other than the internal chastising and the black marker, my hands were tied.

“Boss, want me to unpack the clothes?” Carol glanced over at the black garbage bags near the door. “Looks like we got a lot dropped off this week.” 

“Yes, please. Check for hangers in the back. Otherwise just fold everything neatly on the table.” 

I allowed Carol to think the bags were dropped off, donated by locals. I wished it were true but even that had dwindled down to almost nothing. She didn’t need to know I went thrifting during the week meticulously picking out the best for the least, searching for the half price tags, and using my senior discount. New clothes are always a treat, even those gently used. Having options to wear to the office or an afternoon in the playground could mean the difference between going out and staying in feeling unworthy.

The door opened making my heart skip a beat for we weren’t ready yet. I was relieved to see Erica with her flushed face juggling the brown paper bags. 

“Sandwiches made already?” I asked my friend.

“Nope. No time. I got the goods, though.”

She unpacked the white bread along with the peanut butter and strawberry jelly. I started the production line ending it with the saran wrap and sign reading “Help yourself to two sandwiches.” Wincing at our frugality, I knew we had no choice. I couldn’t ask Erica to give any more as she and her children were frequent visitors to our pantry. A revolving door for her, she gave what she could and then had to take what was left at the end. My heart ached every Sunday while she looked longingly around the room as dinner time drew near.

“Ready, ladies?” I gave one more look around, wiped my forehead and took a sip of water. The electricity was back on whirring happily, but it would take more than a minute to cool off the room. Feeling a bit dizzy from the heat and exertion, I hoped for the stamina to get through the day. I said a silent prayer and opened the door to the masses.

Freddy and crew pushed their way in first as per usual, filling their bags to the point of overflowing. My polite little sign didn’t stand a chance against their greed. Maybe next week I would have the energy to stop them, but for now I was just grateful when they left. The last thing I needed was doubt creeping in to question my efforts as I focused on staying positive.

“Good morning! How was your treatment this week?” I slipped a new headscarf into Evelyn’s bag, the cornflower blue the same shade as her beautiful eyes. 

“Doctor says it’s going well,” the older woman smiled warmly as she began filling up her tote bag.

I motioned to Maria waiting patiently at the door that it was okay for her to come in. Eager to hear how her new job was going, her smile told me everything I needed to know. It wouldn’t be long before her visits would slow down and eventually end as she got back on her feet.

Harry entered, passing Evelyn on her way out. His eyes had the same haunted look week after week. Time would eventually soften the tragedy, but for Harry the loss of his son was still raw. He walked through the maze of shelves as if in a trance allowing Carol to pick out his weekly groceries.

Glancing back at the door I gasped to see the young woman in the tattered t-shirt enter. It had been weeks since her last visit, her absence leaving me optimistic. The mounds of makeup on her cheek shattered that hope, as did the angry bruises on her upper arm. Trying to meet her gaze proved impossible as I stepped back giving her the space that she needed. 

What can I do to help? I felt their desperation although I did not know their stories. What led to their poverty was irrelevant, the goal was to lead them out of it.

The line was long, and the shelves were emptying at a faster pace than I was comfortable with. I quickly replaced my polite signs with the large poster from the back room. “Please take one item from each shelf” which would hardly fill their bags even halfway. I would have to go back to basics, cold calling the larger stores seeking donations. Perhaps I could push the boundaries by contacting stores from several towns over.

“Mommy, look! Crayons,” the sweet little voice interrupted my business planning. I turned to see a mother and child at the “Back to School” table I had set up. The cutouts of yellow school buses saved from last year and the year before made for a cheerful display.

“Honey, don’t touch,” the young mother scolded, her face pale despite the warm summer day, her clothes baggy and somewhat stained.

“It’s okay,” I quickly jumped in. “Are you getting ready for school? Let me guess, are you going to college?” 

“Nooo,” the little girl giggled, “I’m going to kindergarten. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Gordon. Right, Mommy?”

As her mother softly responded, I made a mental list of what they could use. New to the pantry, I wanted to make sure they had a good experience and would return when necessary. Their comfort was top priority.  

“Erica, bring out a backpack, please,” I called out. We had received a small quantity of backpacks filled with classroom essentials which were hidden away from greedy hands. This little girl was special, the sparkle in her eye was still shining. Let’s keep it that way, I thought, glancing at her mother’s weary expression. Let’s hold onto that joy for as long as possible. 

Watching the little girl skip away with her backpack on her small body I was reminded why we fight the good fight. The Freddy and crew of the world would always be there with their greed and cunning ways, but there would only be one first day of kindergarten.