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peachinspiration · 1 year ago

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This is my first day officially moved out and with a rented room in a friend’s house with my brother and I am so so terrified and paranoid, I don’t wanna fuck things up cuz I CANNOT go back with my parents, I’d rather kms. Like I have never felt this much real anxiety in a long time and I almost wanna cry but I’m not. I’m just so terrified. My tarot cards said the job I applied to will accept my brother and I, so I’m not so worried about that, but fuck man having to Uber to and back until we afford a car (after finally being able to complete drivers ed) is fucking terrifying to me idk.

I’m upset that I feel so paranoid and anxious, cuz I really thought when I moved out I’d feel freedom for the first time in forever, but no I’m fucking terrified help. But at least it shows me how much actual pain I need to overcome, cuz all of this feels like uhh ok so yk how it’s like when you get attacked and run you’re completely numbed out but when you finally find a resting spot all of it catches up at full force?? That’s how it feels rn. Except it’s like leaving a lifelong toxic home situation, I’m not used to it and I’m insanely antsy. I’m just really scared of fucking up.

I plan to apply for EBT and to check on the waitlist for me to get on adhd meds, and once hired I plan to hire a driver instructor since I still have nobody who can help otherwise. I sorta feel alone in this idk why, but I’m sure I’ll be ok. My cards told me to hear from others’ experiences of going through the same thing to help myself here and it’s right as usual.

Ok whew yea this feels good to write about cuz I finally feel myself calming down. I haven’t been able to actually journal write or anything in a long time and it’s just been choppy twt priv vents but yea again this is really therapeutic.

But ya idk I’m scared, but at the same time I know I’ll be okay deep down. Another thing I’m excited about is that with money saved up, I’ll be able to finally travel to see my bf without anyone stopping me :•) I’ll go to Chile without having to be interrogated about it or prevented from traveling there!! My brother said he may even wanna come with me. So I’m very excited about that. I’ll have to hurry up on my Spanish studies tho and begin to speedrun learning the Chilean dialect and accent haha thankfully I have my bf for that.

I think when I’m more settled in I’ll finally write that paragraph of educating to that one person I called out for being racist recently then block them after since I don’t wanna deal with anymore mess. It’s just too uncomfortable to deal with.

At the same time tho, life does feel super different. My past life feels very far away now, but now I’m stuck with all sorts of emotional baggage from it. It’s kinda making me realize how hurt and vulnerable I truly am from it. My older sister probably felt the same way when she was kicked out at 18. God I really don’t know what to expect. Maybe I’ll consult my cards about it since I have most of them with me now. I still have some things leftover back at the house but it’s ok. Maybe I’ll make myself a blessing jar.

I already miss my dog though. That’s a part that REALLY sucks cuz of how close we are to her. I miss her really badly and feel kinda sick over it :^( her mental health gets affected whenever my brother and/or I are separated from her and she’s also old and gonna be 14 sometime this year. I’m not worried about her passing on cuz she’s still very active and runs fast and has energy and still acts like a baby though. But man I want her so badly.

I’m terrified of appearing like a burden around here and I’m terrified of my friend or her parents hating me cuz I’m so used to people I live with hating on me in some way and treating me degradingly. I kinda wish I could just shut everything off for a moment and be somewhere timeless for as long as I want to let everything out then come back lolol like yk time stopping. I hope I make more friends. I’ve kinda gone through a huge irl friend purge in the recent years especially as I came to further terms about being trans. Also a lot of people turned out to be completely nuts now. Like how my childhood “best” friend slowly showed more and more abusive tendencies. First toward me and then toward everyone else, to the point of actually threatening lives all cuz this guy wouldn’t love her back.

Oh also wow crazy the moon is full in two days. Fun stuff I’d better prepare for it since I finally have the freedom to. I hope I have my lighter packed with me, I think I have my matches.

#peachs diary

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fuck-customers · 7 years ago

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I used to work at the 9/9 Sent Only Store and have a couple of things to share.

* one time a sweaty jittery man I was ringing up asked me if I knew where the nearest hospital was. I told him I didn’t and he said “yeah cuz I got shot” I was like ? Then he pulled the front of his jacket aside and there was a small red hole on his stomach. He paid and left and all. I’m just glad there was no one behind him bc I had to take a couple minutes to fucking collect myself

* what do you mean if we have any Black Friday deals everything is already…… 1$ (they were def not joking tho bc I laughed thinking they where and they got mad)

*for Easter we were all given those bunny ear headbands to wear! Most of the cashiers were ladies so cue the awful awful men being creeps. Lots of references to the playboy mansion. Also said to my face : “you are a very cute bunny I wish I can take you home and keep you tied up in my back yard” I didn’t wear the ears after that.

*speaking of creeps, one man in particular gave me the you should smile more comment. I didn’t . i guess that personally offended him because every time he came in after that he specifically went they my lane and told me “so are you going to smile now?”

*getting called the r slur because I misunderstood how the customer wanted his purchases to be half on his ebt half on his card or some shit. First time I cried too. Customer after him was extra nice tho which made me cry even more lol.

*our registers will not let us input 100$ qty on any purchase below 5$ literally cannot enter 1-0-0 it will show us an error message. “Well why don’t you just enter as if I gave you a 10 and give me the rest of the change when your register opens” Because Fuck YOu…

*At the time of my departure I was one of the few that had worked there longest yet passed over for promotions and raises because of bullshit excuses. As soon as I gave my two weeks? “We can give you 25cents more” Haaaaa shove it

#fuck customers #fuck managers #submission

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haltandcatchfiretothemax · 7 years ago

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2018 Fun a Day 28/31: Headcanon that Donna's idea results in unequivocal success

Donna pitches her idea for an improved handheld digital assistant and truthfully, Cameron isn't exactly thrilled by it, but then Donna says, "The problem is that PDAs are marketed to people like me. But I have an actual assistant now, and I don't know how much I need her. But you know when I did need an assistant? When I was a young mom."

Cameron still isn't really moved. "Okay, that also doesn't exactly speak to you. Maybe you could've used one as a student." Cameron thinks about it, and says, "I think what I really needed was support. I would've wanted a handheld digital device that would talk to me, and make me feel like I had at least one real friend." Donna nods, "I could have used that, too, when the girls were small."

Then she says, quietly, "That's the idea. The real idea. The idea right now? Sturdy, affordable assistants for moms. But the real idea? A device that will eventually be useful to everyone, and have all kinds of applications. It's not just memos and addresses, it's GPS and locations for everywhere you need to go, it's email and messaging, it's music and video you want to carry around with you, it's a credit card, and probably a lot of other things I haven't thought of. And, sure, if you want, it could talk to you. Like The Giant was supposed to." Cameron grins. "And I've basically already written that OS, so, we're already ahead of the game."

They spend hours, nightly, at Donna's dining room table, brainstorming about what women ~want~ and figuring out how to make features and applications that would serve them (despite Donna's chronic fretting about how "A lot of it really will come down to the marketing, successfully marketing to women without patronizing them…."

On most nights Haley is there, doing homework, and on some nights, Vanessa is there too. (Haley is a good tutor, and the only thing getting Vanessa through her community college's calculus requirement.) Vanessa interrupts Cameron and Donna regularly, with insights that Donna eventually decides are mildly irritating but useful. "What about moms who take the bus? Does the GPS function do anything for them?" "What about moms who don't have credit cards? Or what if they use an EBT card? Food stamps," Vanessa explains, when Donna looks confused.

"I mean it's cool," Vanessa shrugs, "but…the way women as a class are expected to manage everyone's lives, is it really necessary to encourage that with a digital device?" Donna argues with her, "I don't think any device is encouraging that, that's the reality that women with families deal with, it's bigger than a digital assistant." "But the assistant is still helping women cope, or 'cope'," Vanessa makes finger quotes, "with being overworked and overwhelmed. It's for a symptom, rather than a problem. Which is how systemic sexism and capitalism maintain themselves."

Haley interrupts, "That depends on how the woman uses it, doesn't it? What if she uses it to help with the problems and the symptoms?" Donna finds herself beaming at both of them. Cameron is beaming at all three of them, and thinking, This is what I wanted to do with my life, this is what I wanted my job to be

Donna pays Vanessa a consulting fee and is happy to do so even though she mostly just makes Donna read everything on her womens' studies and women in science fiction courses, Donna is fascinated by "The Cyborg Manifesto" and humble enough to admit that she doesn't understand all of it

The night before their PDA debuts, Donna panics, and understandably so, but ultimately, it's a hit with the 'women's market', and so is both the award-winning advertising campaign, designed by and featuring working women (they're mostly white and middle class, but they all actually kind of look like actual women, they're not all 22 year old models at least) and Donna herself, who becomes a highly-regarded tech executive and talking head

Cameron and Haley record all of Donna's television appearances, which Donna finds endearing but also just slightly embarrassing

The PDA sells so well that a large tech company offers to acquire them for a vast sum of money, and without much thought, Donna and Cameron accept their offer. They're married by then, and after they sign that paper work, Cameron says, "So, on to the next thing then, Boss?" Donna smiles at Cameron as she climbs into her lap, and says, "Well, I do have an idea…." Cameron smiles back, "I’m all ears, then. What are you thinking?"

#FUN AND LIGHTHEARTED #not to Kanye my own headcanon but i would watch this #also imagine if an irl donna valued women's voices and work enough to make stuff for them and the world wasn't total garbage rn? L M A O #headcanons #headcanon #better living through headcanons!#cameron howe #donna clark #donna emerson #haley clark #vanessa!#vanessa the sjw

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hungrylikethekat · 5 years ago

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Last week I visited the North Berkeley Farmers' Market on Shattuck Avenue! It was my first time going there, even though I've driven by it several times. I was pretty hungry when I arrived, as I had been in class all day & didn't have any snacks. It's definitely smaller than the other farmers' markets I've seen in the Bay Area. It was easy to find parking right next to the market & it was a beautiful day! There was a band playing in one of the tents in the market, which I've never seen before in a farmers' market. The musicians were young & very talented. The first thing I did was walk up to the information tent, as I wanted to use my EBT card to buy tokens that I can use to buy goods at the other tents. The tokens are good for almost everything at the farmers' market, except ready-to-eat foods, like foods from food trucks. I knew this already as I've used my EBT card to get tokens at the Downtown Berkeley Farmers' Market in the past. The Ecology Center runs three Berkeley Farmers' Markets, including the North, South, and Downtown Berkeley Farmers' Markets.

At the information tent I talked to a young man named Mizam who said he's been working for the Ecology Center for two years. He said he usually works at the Downtown Farmers' Market, but that he has been helping out at the Thursday market more recently. He said that this market is much more relaxed and 'neighborhoody', so he likes it. I'd like to note that his boss was standing right behind him, so maybe he couldn't answer freely when I asked him what his favorite thing about working at the market was, and I didn't bother asking him what his least favorite thing was. He said he appreciated all the free samples the farmers give out, and he said getting to know the vendors was his favorite thing about working in the market.

#hungrylikethekat #hangry #5senses #snackattack

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obiternihili · 7 years ago

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I have to give a ‘persuasive’ speech in a couple days, so I figured I’d write it out as a tumblr post since I’m already a dumb argumentative fuck. At least it’ll serve as a sort of rough draft for me to articulate my ideas with. I actually can’t use a prewritten speech, tho, so I’m probably going to convert this index cards tomorrow. --- My fellow students are all likely aware of the growing crisis in student debt.

According to the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, since 2006, the total student debt of the US in terms of GDP has expanded from 3.5 to 7.5%. In raw dollars, that’s $480.1 billion to $1,397.3 b. According to the Department of Education, the average tuition price in this country has risen from 6,500$ to over 20000$. I don’t think I need to prove to anyone how heavy that burden is. Nor should I have to explain to people how much harder this hits working class families. Because debt stays with you. It’s not something you can declare bankruptcy over. It’s going to constantly garnish your wages, stealing from you the opportunities you need to move to pursue better work, opportunities to save and insure yourself from loss, opportunities to pay for those losses when they arise. And what then? Interest kicks in, as debt just balloons and balloons. My mom made the mistake of going to a for profit in the 90s and now she’s saddled with over 20K in debt. The institution’s reputation wasn’t good, making what she did learn from it useless, and not merely because it was how to use a word processor back on dos. And yeah, she’s made her share of mistakes over the years, but are the consequences proportionate? Minimum wage and below minimum wage has left her with no savings, her mental and physical health have been getting steadily worse for years stopping her from being physically able to do a lot of the minimum wage work out there anyways. With no steady income in savings, she can’t get a place, leaving her dependent on friends and abusers to show her charity. Trapped in debt, she spends everything she has now on gas to go to work, and that’s if her EBT wasn’t randomly canceled. Are sickness, hunger, homelessness and abuse really an appropriate consequence for wanting to provide for her children? That’s a growing reality. More and more people are finding themselves trapped in debt slavery, struggling to get by, living day by day. You’ve seen the unrest this is causing - the Occupy Movement, the rise “economic insecurity”, the attacks on immigrants, and so on. But this is largely limited to the US, the UK, and Canada. Why? Since the 80s, the northern Anglophone countries have seen a trend towards privatization. But students aren’t normal consumers - the current world, not just the US, has undergone degree inflation, wherein the typical job-seeker becomes more educated, raising the expectations of employers of what to expect out of the average hire. Work is necessary, education has become necessary. Just as people can’t realistically go without power or water, the consumers must necessarily consume education, but education isn’t fungible, the infrastructure can’t simply be relocated by the consumer, quality varies according to time, and the reputation of your institution matters more than maybe anything else. And on top of all of that, there aren’t many services where you’re not guaranteed your purchase in the way Education isn’t. Education isn’t a simple commodity. There’s next to no reason for the costs to be eliminated through competition. We have no choice but to buy education. And there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Wherever you get such a thing, time and labor still had to be expended in order to move the raw materials to you, even if it’s only measured in the calories you burnt tending to your own garden. Instead, what’s happened is the governments of the states have simply shifted the costs. By slashing the budgets for universities, they seek to recompensate their necessary expenditures from the other other sources they have, in terms of endowments and tuition. But reputation matters more than anything, and all it takes is one bad semester for reputation to fall, causing students to flee, causing income to fall, causing reputation to fall, etc. Paying institutions according to student performance basically has the opposite effects as desired, because of failure spirals like that.

And in the name of competition every institution is also in a race to bring their services up to a competitive level.

And therein lies the joke; they don’t even feel the market effects of that. The Fed’s raising of the amount of debt we can take accumulate and guarantees to the colleges and loan companies has created a twisted chain shift in costs. How do other countries pay for education? Just fine from normal tax revenues, such as Austria’s VAT, which is basically a better kind of sales tax. This just isn’t really a problem for most of the developed world, our cultural sisters and cocommitters of our mistakes excluded. Even countries not traditionally considered developed don’t have this debt-slavery problem, even if they have to deal with corruption or lack of tax revenue. Our country pays for it by the Fed giving that money to us students, saddling us with debt, paid to loan companies, who are guaranteed by government anyways, who eventually pay the universities. We’re already paying for it as a country! Just in the most asinine way.

So what should we do? Cut the crap.

Obama’s ‘Pay as you Earn’ plan was a bandaid and whether or not it’ll be ripped off, I don’t know. But pressuring our representatives every election from now until they do something is one place to start. Raise education budgets, forgive outstanding debts, and pay colleges directly from progressive revenues instead of trapping the poor in Sisyphean hells. Simplify the flow of money by eliminating as many actors in the process as we can, so that budgets, debts, and performance can remain accountable and efficient, instead of this asinine process of deferring inflating debt to the people least capable of paying it off.

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annaddendy-blog · 6 years ago

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This Woman's Story Will Change the Way You Think About Public Assistance

I had a kid… once.

Her name was Averi. She looked like my daughter, but she was my niece.

My sister was unable to care for Averi. It came down to me or foster care. I decided my life was no more important than hers, so the Florida Department of Children and Families (DCF) granted me temporary custody. At 27, I was suddenly responsible for keeping a 4-year-old alive.

Most parents get months to prepare; I had less than a week.

I made $360 a week, about $18,500 a year. Now, I had to squeeze caring for a child - day care, food, clothes and all those unexpected expenses - out of an already razor-thin budget.

On top of that, I was consumed by grief from losing my own mother that same year.

I kept telling myself I could do this. After all, it was only supposed to be for two months.

My First Days in the Single-Mom Hustle

My first days as a stand-in mommy presented more questions than my sleep-deprived brain was prepared for: Who was going to watch her while I work? How the hell was I going to afford this?

Luckily, there was a voluntary prekindergarten, or VPK, and day care two blocks from my apartment, and they graciously let me bring Averi by the same evening I picked her up from the DCF.

Averi curiously roamed about the classroom as I quietly explained the situation to the teachers and administrators.

Back in my apartment, we settled into our first night together.

I rolled out an air mattress on the floor of my bedroom. She was required to have her own bed, and an air mattress was the fastest and cheapest solution.

The first day I dropped her off at day care was emotionally taxing for both of us. I cried the entire drive to work.

And once I got there, I could barely focus. I kept thinking through this new set of obligations, commitments and sacrifices I was only beginning to unravel. My mind raced through checklists, appointments and my shoddy finances.

I knew my salary was no match for the expenses of child care. I lived paycheck to paycheck as it was.

Rebekah, my roommate and childhood friend, shouldered the circumstance alongside me. We split rent and utilities, which lowered my core costs considerably. But my credit card debt had nearly doubled since my mom's death.

My approximate monthly expenses were:

Rent payment: $375

Car payment: $350

Electric bill: $75

Internet and cable: $65

Car insurance: $115

Cell phone: $75

Gas: $40

Credit card: $200

Groceries: $150

Total monthly expenses: $1,445.

My average monthly income: $1,440.

Adding in the cost of caring for Averi took me to a new level of financial anxiety. Trying to map out an impossible budget only made it worse.

It started to suffocate me.

The Maze of Applying for Public Assistance

During my first home visit with Averi's social worker, I reluctantly shared my concerns. I was so scared of losing her to the system.

The social worker urged me to apply for public assistance, which I hadn't even considered. I had never seen myself ever needing it. But I had to do something.

Asking for help wasn't in my familial toolbox. My parents always struggled financially, but they rarely ever asked for help. So not taking “charity” was in my blood - from gifts to handouts, I always paid my way even if it secretly broke me.

But I cared more about Averi's well-being than my dignity. It was too real. I needed the help. Any help.

I had no idea where to begin, so the social worker provided me with a list of all the programs I was eligible for. I dove in headfirst.

I swallowed my pride and signed my name on all the dotted lines I could. Applying for government assistance at 27 years old was my new reality.

School Readiness

The first program that came through was Florida's School Readiness financial assistance program.

It subsidized the weekly day care costs, so I could continue working without spending most of my salary on child care, like so many parents are forced to do.

After a $125 deposit, I paid $9.20 a week for Averi's day care.

She attended VPK in the morning and an after-school program within the same building after. I had to pick her up by 6 p.m. every day, or else face a non-subsidized, minute-by-minute late fee.

Temporary Cash Assistance

Initially, my circumstance made me eligible for temporary cash assistance (TCA), a $180 monthly stipend designed to help struggling families with minors.

The benefits help keep children in their own homes, or in the home of a blood relative, instead of foster care.

I received an Access debit card, the same card people use for food stamps. (The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) wasn't born yet.)

The card was automatically loaded with $180 each month. I could use it anywhere that accepted electronic benefit transfer (EBT) payments.

Suddenly, I was that person scouting the exterior of stores for a “We Accept EBT” sign, or quietly asking the cashier if they accepted EBT cards, worried about being judged by other customers.

Eventually, DCF approved me for the Relative Caregiver program, and the $180 increased to $240 monthly.

Women, Infants and Children

Because of Averi's age, I was also eligible to receive assistance from the U.S. Department of Agriculture's supplemental nutrition program for Women, Infants and Children, WIC.

WIC provides assistance for low-income women with children under 5 years old. WIC serves 53% of all infants in the United States.

Thankfully, my 32-hour-a-week job allowed some wiggle room for the sloth-like government waiting rooms. I spent a whole morning waiting.

Eventually, I walked out with a handful of food vouchers. They had date ranges and expirations and a list of specific items they could be exchanged for. How hard could it be?

The items on my monthly food allowance weren't exactly the nutritional foods I'd hoped for.

But I had to face it: These were the times of white bread, cereal and canned beans. No more organic eggs and vegetables or soy milk, which I'd become accustomed to consuming before I became responsible for Averi.

The monthly allowance included a whopping $8 for fruits and vegetables. While I would have hoped for more, I was thankful for food in our mouths, regardless of the form it came in.

Averi loved bananas and green beans, so I would purchase those fresh, along with a bag of carrots or apples, whichever I could squeeze out of that voucher.

I won't forget the first time I tried to use them at the register. I dreaded the whole experience, fearful of the disgusted eyes cast by other customers as they waited for me to shamefully get my government-issued rations.

I'd read the voucher over and over to be sure I followed the instructions perfectly to avoid any holdup at the register.

But at the checkout, the cashier informed me I'd made a mistake.

I'd picked up a 24-ounce loaf of bread when the voucher clearly stated I was only allowed the 20-ounce loaf. I was mortified. I couldn't leave Averi there while I ran back, so I put everything back in my basket, careful to avoid the gaze of the line forming behind me.

There it was on the shelf, the 20-ounce loaf of bread with the letters “WIC” plain as day on the price tag.

After that, I spent much more time at the grocery store than necessary, cross-referencing my vouchers so I could avoid any unwanted hubbub at the register.

Medicaid

Averi caught a cold the first week at day care, and then I caught it. I hadn't been sick in over a year, but my stressed immune system was no match for kid germs.

After that, it was pink eye.

Then Averi's repeated sinus infections, futile prescriptions and doctor visits led to a diagnosis of asthma. She was prescribed a nebulizer treatment three to four times a day.

She hopped and bopped around with the cough of a 50-year-old smoker. Eventually, her breathing improved a little, and she got off the nebulizer.

The symptoms kept creeping back, though, so we went to the pediatrician again. She got chest X-rays that determined she had pneumonia. She needed bed rest. That meant finding babysitters or missing work.

By the summer, we both contracted scabies from visiting the place my grandmother lived. The scratching saga continued for months. I wouldn't wish that itching on anyone.

I'm scared to think what may have happened to her if she didn't have Medicaid.

What Life as a Single Parent Was Like

After the first week, I was informed that the original two-month timeline would actually be six months.

To pass the time, I kept her busy.

I found plenty of free kid-friendly events happening around town. We went to community festivals, parks and free concerts.

Friends gave me free tickets to museums and local events like the Renaissance Festival. Averi thrived on all of the new experiences.

I registered her for a Busch Gardens preschool pass, offered free for children ages 5 and younger. I already had a monthly pass - with a $7 monthly rate I'd been grandfathered into - so we frequently visited the park for free entertainment.

When she outgrew her clothes, there was someone bringing me hand-me-downs so I didn't have to buy more. When I did, we went to thrift stores, making it a fun treasure hunt to pick out an outfit she loved.

You learn a lot about people when you fall between a rock and a hard place.

I'd come into work to find a handwritten note and AMC gift cards on my desk. Or a friend's mom would slide me $20 when I hugged her. My boyfriend would treat us to dinner, or his mother would make breakfast on a Sunday morning without asking for anything in return.

Many endured DCF-required background checks just to babysit her for a few hours so I could have a wink of sleep, or time to catch up on work or other obligations.

On Averi's fifth birthday, more than 40 people attended her party at Chuck E. Cheese.

At home, we danced around in all of the tissue paper from the gifts. The joy on Averi's face showed she didn't know about our struggle. She only knew the kindness of friends and family, which is exactly how I wanted it.

The network of support humbled me, and I allowed myself to lean into it.

That August, Averi started school. She received free lunches, and I made her breakfast at home. She adapted with ease, and I shouldered the expense of fundraisers, classroom activities and gifts for her classmate's birthday parties.

One night before bed, I saw the light bulb click in her eyes as the words to Dr. Seuss' “Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now!” started to make sense. She read every last one of them (except Zumble-Zay).

Sharing that milestone was priceless; I'll forever treasure the memory.

The Financial Toll of Being a Caregiver

Soon August rolled into September, and as the time toiled on, so did my financial problems.

While everyone thought I was due some karmic reward, I was busy maxing out my credit cards.

I knew I'd literally pay for it in the end, but I didn't care. My maternal instinct was to protect her at any cost.

The credit card companies started to lower my limits, because I was only making the minimum payments and overspending.

Overdraft fees on my checking account sent me to my Bank of America branch. I didn't mean to cry when I talked to the teller, but the flood came anyway. All I wanted was to reverse a $30 fee for going $2 over my balance.

It happened more than once. One bank associate began to know my face and my circumstance. His patience and benevolence will always be beyond me, as was his advice.

He told me about financial hardship programs that would allow me to close my credit cards and pay little to no interest.

By September, I started closing my credit cards. I knew this would kill my “age of credit history,” but it was the only way I could keep from drowning in debt, consolidate and lower my interest rates.

The Life I Chose for Averi

I was granted permanent guardianship of Averi that November.

I wanted to keep her as close to my chest as she'd become, but I knew deep down I couldn't continue to provide for her or afford our life together.

My older brother had recently moved back from out of state. We discussed the option of Averi living with him and what would serve her best long term.

On paper, I was single and broke. He had a wife and daughter and was financially stable.

We both knew living with him would be best for her, regardless of how it made my heart ache.

That Christmas came fast.

Between the donations set up by DCF and the continued generosity of family and friends, Averi wanted for nothing. Santa supplied maybe her best Christmas yet. Gifts towered over our 3-foot pink Christmas tree.

While she tore open presents, I snapped a ridiculous amount of photos, mentally preparing myself for the fact that our time, like 2010, was nearing an end.

I was coming to terms with letting go and the decision to give her a better life. A life not supported by the system. A life still with family and within an arm's reach of me.

A week shy of a full year together, I packed her stuff, swallowing back tears.

Her moving in with my brother was an easy sell. She adored her little cousin and wanted to have sleepovers with her every night. The only problem, she said, was that she would miss me.

As we piled her stuff into my brother's black Suburban, she hugged me tight and said, “I love you with all my heart, Aunt Stephanie.”

What My Year on Public Assistance Taught Me

My year of living on public assistance was eight years ago.

Averi now lives 2,000 miles away.

My brother took a job up north, so they moved a year after she left my care.

We've seen each other only a handful of times since; we stay in touch with handwritten letters.

It took me some time to readjust to life without her, both emotionally and financially.

I had plenty of credit card debt before Averi, but it nearly doubled after a year of unexpected child care. The public assistance support ended the moment she left me.

While I did receive a boost in my tax return for claiming her as a dependent, it barely made a dent.

It took me a few years to get serious about paying it off instead of wallowing. I felt like I'd made enough sacrifices that I just wanted to live without worrying about it.

Obviously, ignoring debt doesn't work. I couldn't escape the financial obligations lest I file for bankruptcy. That wasn't me, or who I wanted to be. I'd already danced with the public assistance system, and this time, I wanted to clear it for good. So I faced it.

I slayed that interest-laden beast with balance transfer credit cards and a personal loan to consolidate other outstanding debts.

I inched my way out of debt every year since, and as of August 2018, I'm finally debt-free - aside from a car payment - for the first time in 16 years.

My credit score rebounded, but I had to learn some costly lessons.

I'm not embarrassed to admit that public assistance helped me through the hardest year of my life.

My experience with social workers, courts and public assistance offices made me realize how many kids need our help. Those insights led me to seek out opportunities locally.

I learned that while it isn't easy, asking for help is OK; people love you and want to help you.

And one day, you might even have the chance to help them.

Stephanie Bolling is a staff writer at The Penny Hoarder. She'd love to talk to you about your experience on public assistance.

This was originally published on The Penny Hoarder, which helps millions of readers worldwide earn and save money by sharing unique job opportunities, personal stories, freebies and more. The Inc. 5000 ranked The Penny Hoarder as the fastest-growing private media company in the U.S. in 2017.

The Penny Hoarder Promise: We provide accurate, reliable information. Here's why you can trust us and how we make money.

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forebodingowl · 4 years ago

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i haven’t written a journal in the past two days because i was SO BUSY. here’s what happened friday, my moving day:

picke dup the uhaul in the morning, put my stuff from Rels house, a bookshelf, and my hanging ceiling globes in the uhaul, hugged her goodbye. went to my parent shouse, got a big nightstand and a new bed with a memory foam mattress. drove the 2 hours to boston, went to my old place, Justin and Jazz had already packed all my boxes for me and put them all outside, so all i had to do was run in and triple check that i got everything. they loaded all the boxes for me in the uhaul which was so fucking nice.

then i went grocery shopping, $180 worth of groceries of my own money because my EBT card still didnt come in yet somehow

then i drove the uhaul to my new place, and started unloading the things that i could. i put my groceries away too. a man across the street asked me if i was new there and he said his name was jose and he owns the meat market that’s next to me. he said he lives right next door to it and that he tries to keep this neighborhood safe. (i don’t live in a great area lol). but i appreciated that and i want to visit his store soon. i went to the dollar store to get conditioner and shampoo since i didnt have any here, and then i bought a small bottle of organic vodka next door to that to celebrate my move. i waited for asa to get here, and he did all the really heavy stuff and then we set up my super comfy new bed with new blankets and sheets and pillows and everything

then i’m pretty sure we fucked even though we were disgustingly sweaty and i was so exhausted for my long day so i was lazy. tjen i was backing up the uhaul because i needed to drop it off at the uhaul place, and i accidentally hit a car when i was backing out. my roommate ran outside to back it out for me without hitting anyone, and then i was going to leave my name and number on the car but my roommate said there was no damage since i was backing out so slow so she said to just leave it, hahaha. then after we dropped off the uhaul. asa bought me panera bread and we had some food at my place (since you cant go inside restaurants because of the virus), and i drank some cranberry juice with vodka. then we both took some of the fancy homemade cookie edibles i bought from this person in framingham, that i sent justin to pick up for me last week.

then we went and fucked again i think??? there was a lot, and we laughed all night until probably 3am and watched a cute video of a bird on youtube. i’m pretty sure there was a lot of fucking going on. we went to sleep and he woke me up with more sex lololol. he’s the only person who ever made me cum and he’s so good at it. then he got all ready in the morning and left and we said our i love youuuu good byes, and then since i was still tired because construction outside my window kept waking me up, i fell asleep again till 2pm. and now i’ll make another journal post about yesterday, which was saturday.

#journal

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kennethherrerablog · 6 years ago

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This Woman’s Story Will Change the Way You Think About Public Assistance

I had a kid… once.

Her name was Averi. She looked like my daughter, but she was my niece.

Most parents get months to prepare; I had less than a week.

I made $360 a week, about $18,500 a year. Now, I had to squeeze caring for a child — day care, food, clothes and all those unexpected expenses — out of an already razor-thin budget.

On top of that, I was consumed by grief from losing my own mother that same year.

I kept telling myself I could do this. After all, it was only supposed to be for two months.

My First Days in the Single-Mom Hustle

My first days as a stand-in mommy presented more questions than my sleep-deprived brain was prepared for: Who was going to watch her while I work? How the hell was I going to afford this?

Luckily, there was a voluntary prekindergarten, or VPK, and day care two blocks from my apartment, and they graciously let me bring Averi by the same evening I picked her up from the DCF.

Averi curiously roamed about the classroom as I quietly explained the situation to the teachers and administrators.

Back in my apartment, we settled into our first night together.

I rolled out an air mattress on the floor of my bedroom. She was required to have her own bed, and an air mattress was the fastest and cheapest solution.

The first day I dropped her off at day care was emotionally taxing for both of us. I cried the entire drive to work.

I knew my salary was no match for the expenses of child care. I lived paycheck to paycheck as it was.

My approximate monthly expenses were:

Rent payment: $375

Car payment: $350

Electric bill: $75

Internet and cable: $65

Car insurance: $115

Cell phone: $75

Gas: $40

Credit card: $200

Groceries: $150

Total monthly expenses: $1,445.

My average monthly income: $1,440.

Adding in the cost of caring for Averi took me to a new level of financial anxiety. Trying to map out an impossible budget only made it worse.

It started to suffocate me.

The Maze of Applying for Public Assistance

During my first home visit with Averi’s social worker, I reluctantly shared my concerns. I was so scared of losing her to the system.

The social worker urged me to apply for public assistance, which I hadn’t even considered. I had never seen myself ever needing it. But I had to do something.

Asking for help wasn’t in my familial toolbox. My parents always struggled financially, but they rarely ever asked for help. So not taking “charity” was in my blood — from gifts to handouts, I always paid my way even if it secretly broke me.

But I cared more about Averi’s well-being than my dignity. It was too real. I needed the help. Any help.

I had no idea where to begin, so the social worker provided me with a list of all the programs I was eligible for. I dove in headfirst.

I swallowed my pride and signed my name on all the dotted lines I could. Applying for government assistance at 27 years old was my new reality.

School Readiness

The first program that came through was Florida’s School Readiness financial assistance program.

It subsidized the weekly day care costs, so I could continue working without spending most of my salary on child care, like so many parents are forced to do.

After a $125 deposit, I paid $9.20 a week for Averi’s day care.

She attended VPK in the morning and an after-school program within the same building after. I had to pick her up by 6 p.m. every day, or else face a non-subsidized, minute-by-minute late fee.

Temporary Cash Assistance

Initially, my circumstance made me eligible for temporary cash assistance (TCA), a $180 monthly stipend designed to help struggling families with minors.

The benefits help keep children in their own homes, or in the home of a blood relative, instead of foster care.

I received an Access debit card, the same card people use for food stamps. (The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) wasn’t born yet.)

The card was automatically loaded with $180 each month. I could use it anywhere that accepted electronic benefit transfer (EBT) payments.

Suddenly, I was that person scouting the exterior of stores for a “We Accept EBT” sign, or quietly asking the cashier if they accepted EBT cards, worried about being judged by other customers.

Eventually, DCF approved me for the Relative Caregiver program, and the $180 increased to $240 monthly.

Women, Infants and Children

Because of Averi’s age, I was also eligible to receive assistance from the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s supplemental nutrition program for Women, Infants and Children, WIC.

WIC provides assistance for low-income women with children under 5 years old. WIC serves 53% of all infants in the United States.

Thankfully, my 32-hour-a-week job allowed some wiggle room for the sloth-like government waiting rooms. I spent a whole morning waiting.

Eventually, I walked out with a handful of food vouchers. They had date ranges and expirations and a list of specific items they could be exchanged for. How hard could it be?

The items on my monthly food allowance weren’t exactly the nutritional foods I’d hoped for.

But I had to face it: These were the times of white bread, cereal and canned beans. No more organic eggs and vegetables or soy milk, which I’d become accustomed to consuming before I became responsible for Averi.

The monthly allowance included a whopping $8 for fruits and vegetables. While I would have hoped for more, I was thankful for food in our mouths, regardless of the form it came in.

Averi loved bananas and green beans, so I would purchase those fresh, along with a bag of carrots or apples, whichever I could squeeze out of that voucher.

I won’t forget the first time I tried to use them at the register. I dreaded the whole experience, fearful of the disgusted eyes cast by other customers as they waited for me to shamefully get my government-issued rations.

I’d read the voucher over and over to be sure I followed the instructions perfectly to avoid any holdup at the register.

But at the checkout, the cashier informed me I’d made a mistake.

I’d picked up a 24-ounce loaf of bread when the voucher clearly stated I was only allowed the 20-ounce loaf. I was mortified. I couldn’t leave Averi there while I ran back, so I put everything back in my basket, careful to avoid the gaze of the line forming behind me.

There it was on the shelf, the 20-ounce loaf of bread with the letters “WIC” plain as day on the price tag.

After that, I spent much more time at the grocery store than necessary, cross-referencing my vouchers so I could avoid any unwanted hubbub at the register.

Medicaid

Averi caught a cold the first week at day care, and then I caught it. I hadn’t been sick in over a year, but my stressed immune system was no match for kid germs.

After that, it was pink eye.

Then Averi’s repeated sinus infections, futile prescriptions and doctor visits led to a diagnosis of asthma. She was prescribed a nebulizer treatment three to four times a day.

She hopped and bopped around with the cough of a 50-year-old smoker. Eventually, her breathing improved a little, and she got off the nebulizer.

By the summer, we both contracted scabies from visiting the place my grandmother lived. The scratching saga continued for months. I wouldn’t wish that itching on anyone.

I’m scared to think what may have happened to her if she didn’t have Medicaid.

What Life as a Single Parent Was Like

After the first week, I was informed that the original two-month timeline would actually be six months.

To pass the time, I kept her busy.

I found plenty of free kid-friendly events happening around town. We went to community festivals, parks and free concerts.

Friends gave me free tickets to museums and local events like the Renaissance Festival. Averi thrived on all of the new experiences.

I registered her for a Busch Gardens preschool pass, offered free for children ages 5 and younger. I already had a monthly pass — with a $7 monthly rate I’d been grandfathered into — so we frequently visited the park for free entertainment.

When she outgrew her clothes, there was someone bringing me hand-me-downs so I didn’t have to buy more. When I did, we went to thrift stores, making it a fun treasure hunt to pick out an outfit she loved.

You learn a lot about people when you fall between a rock and a hard place.

I’d come into work to find a handwritten note and AMC gift cards on my desk. Or a friend’s mom would slide me $20 when I hugged her. My boyfriend would treat us to dinner, or his mother would make breakfast on a Sunday morning without asking for anything in return.

Many endured DCF-required background checks just to babysit her for a few hours so I could have a wink of sleep, or time to catch up on work or other obligations.

On Averi’s fifth birthday, more than 40 people attended her party at Chuck E. Cheese.

At home, we danced around in all of the tissue paper from the gifts. The joy on Averi’s face showed she didn’t know about our struggle. She only knew the kindness of friends and family, which is exactly how I wanted it.

The network of support humbled me, and I allowed myself to lean into it.

One night before bed, I saw the light bulb click in her eyes as the words to Dr. Seuss’ “Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now!” started to make sense. She read every last one of them (except Zumble-Zay).

Sharing that milestone was priceless; I’ll forever treasure the memory.

The Financial Toll of Being a Caregiver

Soon August rolled into September, and as the time toiled on, so did my financial problems.

While everyone thought I was due some karmic reward, I was busy maxing out my credit cards.

I knew I’d literally pay for it in the end, but I didn’t care. My maternal instinct was to protect her at any cost.

The credit card companies started to lower my limits, because I was only making the minimum payments and overspending.

Overdraft fees on my checking account sent me to my Bank of America branch. I didn’t mean to cry when I talked to the teller, but the flood came anyway. All I wanted was to reverse a $30 fee for going $2 over my balance.

It happened more than once. One bank associate began to know my face and my circumstance. His patience and benevolence will always be beyond me, as was his advice.

He told me about financial hardship programs that would allow me to close my credit cards and pay little to no interest.

The Life I Chose for Averi

I was granted permanent guardianship of Averi that November.

I wanted to keep her as close to my chest as she’d become, but I knew deep down I couldn’t continue to provide for her or afford our life together.

My older brother had recently moved back from out of state. We discussed the option of Averi living with him and what would serve her best long term.

On paper, I was single and broke. He had a wife and daughter and was financially stable.

We both knew living with him would be best for her, regardless of how it made my heart ache.

That Christmas came fast.

While she tore open presents, I snapped a ridiculous amount of photos, mentally preparing myself for the fact that our time, like 2010, was nearing an end.

I was coming to terms with letting go and the decision to give her a better life. A life not supported by the system. A life still with family and within an arm’s reach of me.

A week shy of a full year together, I packed her stuff, swallowing back tears.

Her moving in with my brother was an easy sell. She adored her little cousin and wanted to have sleepovers with her every night. The only problem, she said, was that she would miss me.

As we piled her stuff into my brother’s black Suburban, she hugged me tight and said, “I love you with all my heart, Aunt Stephanie.”

What My Year on Public Assistance Taught Me

My year of living on public assistance was eight years ago.

Averi now lives 2,000 miles away.

My brother took a job up north, so they moved a year after she left my care.

We’ve seen each other only a handful of times since; we stay in touch with handwritten letters.

It took me some time to readjust to life without her, both emotionally and financially.

I had plenty of credit card debt before Averi, but it nearly doubled after a year of unexpected child care. The public assistance support ended the moment she left me.

While I did receive a boost in my tax return for claiming her as a dependent, it barely made a dent.

It took me a few years to get serious about paying it off instead of wallowing. I felt like I’d made enough sacrifices that I just wanted to live without worrying about it.

Obviously, ignoring debt doesn’t work. I couldn’t escape the financial obligations lest I file for bankruptcy. That wasn’t me, or who I wanted to be. I’d already danced with the public assistance system, and this time, I wanted to clear it for good. So I faced it.

I slayed that interest-laden beast with balance transfer credit cards and a personal loan to consolidate other outstanding debts.

I inched my way out of debt every year since, and as of August 2018, I’m finally debt-free — aside from a car payment — for the first time in 16 years.

My credit score rebounded, but I had to learn some costly lessons.

I’m not embarrassed to admit that public assistance helped me through the hardest year of my life.

My experience with social workers, courts and public assistance offices made me realize how many kids need our help. Those insights led me to seek out opportunities locally.

I learned that while it isn’t easy, asking for help is OK; people love you and want to help you.

And one day, you might even have the chance to help them.

Stephanie Bolling is a staff writer at The Penny Hoarder. She’d love to talk to you about your experience on public assistance.

The Penny Hoarder Promise: We provide accurate, reliable information. Here’s why you can trust us and how we make money.

This Woman’s Story Will Change the Way You Think About Public Assistance published first on https://justinbetreviews.tumblr.com/

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mykatesingh-blog · 7 years ago

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On Fridays, I take my 5-year-old to Fox Walkers in Nevada City. I’m a homeschooler and I’m creating and foraging for classes that will teach him to appreciate Mother Earth and make friends from like-minded families. This class is out in the woods and teaches the 4 elements of earth and Native American ways. They do all sorts of great stuff like hike, track animals, analyze skeet, finding clay and making things (he tried making me a coffee cup, God bless that boy), sit around fires and sing, play drums, get dirty, build things out of sticks. Perfect for a boy. Arjan already has two friends named Oliver and Durin. He is learning the art of storytelling and singing. This is real school as far as I’m concerned.

We are a strange family, I’m part modern and get the itch to shop just like everyone else. The other side of my personality is green and sustainable, old-fashioned and crazy frugal. I’m conservative and a hippy tree hugger. I’m working on balancing this out. One thing I have made peace with is that I just can’t shop at the box stores or Walmarts any longer. They represent all the many things I find disappointing with this new age. Not to mention I feel I need a spiritual scrub down and exorcism each time I leave that store. There is a certain crowd that gathers at that watering hole and they scare me when I think the group represents modern times. Of course, there are the grandmothers and me that bring balance but there is only so much we can do.

I’m a Libra at heart and I love all that is lovely and quaint. I love the old Victorian because back then homes and products were made to last and made charming and sweet. Look at old homes with the details or the old parts of town that were made for walking and gathering. Old buildings shadowed by the ugly, cold steel and cement of the modern skyrise. So sad.

Anyway, let’s talk shop. I prefer the local health food coops for their cozy, wholesome and sustainable feel. I have found one in Grass Valley so when I drop Arjan off in the forest with his Fox Walkers group, Sammy and I go to the Briar Patch Coop and get our drinks, his cocoa, and my soy latte, and we do all the weeks shopping. I love the cozy lights, the smell of sprouts, yeast, and lavender, the healthy customers that look like they will be taking a morning hike after they purchase their carrots and granola.

Sammy and I explore new vegetables and find the best apples. I’m an apple connoisseur. We collected different colored and shaped pumpkins to decorate with. He gets a free banana or apple of his choice on the house and we have a produce man that is a celebrity to us since the boys saw his photo on the website. We love his french carrots and eat bags of them like a horse.

After the shopping that we go about like a tourist, we select delectables from the deli and bakery. When we’ve paid for all our goods we sit in the cafe by the window and dine together. Sammy and I discuss deep topics such as why one doesn’t put pepper on their lemon poppyseed muffin and that goes for salt as well. I attempt to read the San Francisco Chronicle that has made it all the way up there in the forest town. I am instantly disgusted and turn back to the discussion of the real purpose of salt and pepper. That is a much more satisfying topic. We then put the groceries in the truck and take a walk with our drinks to take pictures of fall foliage and walk a trail that leads to the local college and collect pine cones on the way.

This is a very fun time for us and we look forward to every Friday. Who would think that grocery shopping could be so lovable?

Now, shopping at the local health food store or coop can be very pricey. Everything is organic and natural and it ain’t easy growing food and making products without the aid of chemicals. It’s labor intensive. That is why it cost more. Read The Dirty Life by Kristin Kimball and you’ll have a great appreciation for real food.

Why pay those crazy prices? Because food and products made organically means that nothing was poisoned and ruined and destroyed or killed beyond recognition with hideous poisons that are proven to cause cancers and other diseases that we are always “fighting”. This fight against cancer could be cut very short if we actually removed the root of the problem. For example, recently it has been determined that yes, Round Up causes cancer. You would think they would have a worldwide emergency round up of this Round-Up and ban it completely and promptly. No, they just put a small label on it so your dingy neighbor will probably still spray the hell out of his yard and the fumes and runoff will come into your healthy yard. Stupid. But let’s get out there in pink t-shirts and march against cancer. Hey, why don’t we march against corporate farming, Monsanto, and Round Up and similar chemicals? Would that be too forward?

When you pay the extra money you pay for healthy soil, clean water, clean air, healthy ecosystems, healthy birds, bees, and farm workers. You pay for no cancer and disease which saves you so much time, pain, money, doctors visits, and your families hardship in the end. Wow, put that way it seems like not that much to pay.

The other great benefit is that organic food, free range, grass fed, cruelty-free, old-fashioned farmed food tastes great!

I hear all the time “but when people are poor they just want to fill their bellies”. I get that and there are times you just can’t do all that organic and free-range feeding. However, when you eat real food loaded with nutrition, it does fill you up and you are less hungry. When you are eating dollar burgers or mac and cheese you are getting fatter but feel hungry all the time because your body isn’t getting any real nutrition to actually work with. That is another long health and nutrition dialogue and I am bored already.

Here is how you take that small coin purse or EBT card and make it happen. And yes, I have done the coop on an EBT card.

First, you join the coop because you will get discounts and can do a lot of wholesale bulk purchasing. You can volunteer a few hours now and then to get a 10% discount and they have sales all the time.

I joined for $10 every 6 months until I pay off $200. I just ordered some Quorn Turkey roast (faux turkey made out of mushrooms) in a case and saved so much. Usually, it’s $9.99 a roast but with the wholesale case and discount, I got it for around $5.55 a roast. You can order bulk beans, rice, flour and so on. You save 30% to 50% when it’s all totaled up.

Eating very clean helps. If you eliminate the snacks and healthy junk food you save. If you cook from scratch you save big time. I purchased tortillas out of sheer laziness the other day and it was $6 for a pack of those flour delights. I could make 3 packs for $1 at home. Lesson learned…again.

When you only buy rice, beans, flour, wheat, produce in season…you spend very little. You can buy bulk and choose the brown rice that is the least expensive. Pintos are the cheapest and think of all the bread and tortillas you can make from a 25 lb bag of flour and wheat. You can even make your own pasta easily. That’s next on my bucket list.

If you love your meat and eggs and dairy then get the loose eggs. Some stores have a bowl of eggs. You bring your own carton. Get whole chickens. A whole chicken can last a family a week. We don’t need to eat all that meat. In the old days and in other countries meat is a garnish, not the whole meal. Move over Adkins we need to de-clog that heart valve.

Dairy is not something I recommend. My son used to get all sorts of ear infections until I cut it out. Both my sons had chronic and mucusy colds all the winter long. Now they get sick a day in the Fall. Butter is a luxury. Use sparingly or learn to use vegetable stock or make your own bone broth from the leftover chicken carcass. This is for simmering.

You may say, “rice, beans, wheat? How boring?” No, no senora or senor or senorita! I can’t even list what you can do with these main items. Just get a bag of onions, tons of garlic and some olive oil and sea salt and you will be a chef in no time.

Potatoes. God, I love the spud. French fries (baked of course), baked, au gratin, casseroles, soups, hash browns, country fries…

I’ll write another blog on “what to do with boring foods”.

With produce in season, you can whip up amazing salads, snack on fruit. Eating with the seasons is more flavorful and smart. God knew what he was doing when he made oranges ripe in the winter. Baked squash and corn in the cold weather…yummy!

You can also start growing your own food and raise a few hens. That supplements. A fruit tree in the front yard? seeds and trees and hens are cheap and give you food for years. And that doesn’t get any more organic than that.

I’ll be back with more ideas and tips as I master this coop business.

How to do all your shopping at your local health food store on a tight budget. And why it’s a great idea. On Fridays, I take my 5-year-old to Fox Walkers in Nevada City. I'm a homeschooler and I'm creating and foraging for classes that will teach him to appreciate Mother Earth and make friends from like-minded families.

#how to save at the healthy food coop #how to save with bulk buying #how to shop at the health food stores on a budget #shopping at good stores with very little money #supporting the local food coop

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amethystgamer · 7 years ago

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Things that piss off a convenience store attendant.

Aka things that really annoy me at work.

1. Taking something out of a display I'm setting up. Like really it takes you two seconds to walk to the cooler and you gotta pull it out of my display instead. Now I have to fix it!

2. Setting something on the counter and leaving to grab something else. Bonus points if I have already started ringing you up.

3. Making a mess and then laughing about it. Just because you don't have to clean that shit doesn't mean you're entitled to act like a dick

4. Getting everyone in your family junk food and frozen drinks and beer, cluttering up my counter and after I get your 60.00$ purchase rang up you ask if we accept EBT. Then get mad at me when I say no. WE DONT HAVE A SIGN THAT SAYS WE DO. BUGGER OFF.

5. The lotto machine is not a register.

6. Don't form a line out of my sight at the lotto machine and expect to get waited on. I'm at my register. My back is to you. Don't get a fucking attitude when I'm ringing up the line in front of me and you say you were next. I ain't got eyes in the back of my head.

7. Kick the dirt off your shoes before you walk on my freshly mopped floor.

8. We don't carry every brand of cigarettes, it isn't my fault if I don't have your misty 460 light super dumbs. K?

9. You cannot pump your gas if you don't pay for it.

10. No I can't just turn the pump on. Take your card back.

11. Only way I'm pumping your gas for you is if you're disabled or elderly.

12. Acting like my pump is broken when you be sticking your card in backwards. Operator error is not reason to bitch at the red shirt, k?

13. No I will not refund you the coffee that you left on the hood of your car like an idiot and I certainly am not going to give you a free carwash.

14. Adults acting like children to get free shit.

15. If your purchase is below 10.00 I'm not even going to check and see if I can break the 100.00 idc if thats all you have. You can get that 0.85cent gum when you have smaller bills. 16. I am literally paid to be nice to you. I’m not flirting with your boyfriend honey, you can quit glaring at me... he ugly anyway

17. I AM PAID TO BE NICE TO YOU. I’m not flirting with you. You’re old enough to be my grandfather. Kindly fuck off!

18. “Welcome, how are you today!” “Good you?” “Can’t complain” “Not like anyone will listen, right?” HA. HA. HA.

19. You’re on the phone while you’re at my register and disregarding everything I say. So why is it you give the attitude to me when you forget your smokes.. or your beer. Or your brownie. Honey put down the phone and pay attention how about that.

20. When you pay for gas and your bank holds double that for insurance that it’ll get paid I can’t do anything about it. Read my lips. I. CANT. DO. A. THING. No I didn’t steal from you, no i’m not going to open my register and refund you the $180.00 you just spent putting gas in your boat and I really don’t give a fuck who you are. I can’t do anything, call corporate or your bank. I’m not paid enough to deal with you.

#gas station things #job ranting

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fuck-customers · 7 years ago

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This Lady is Classic Narcissism and Is Vulgar to my Supervisor

LET ME TELL YOU A THING BECAUSE I'VE BEEN HOLDING THIS IN FOR WEEKS

Let me start off by explaining that I was diagnosed with juvenile arthritis when I was fourteen. It started at the knees and progressively got worse every few years. This cashier job I got made it spread to my shoulders in the last eight months. Because of that, I'm finding it difficult, and even painful, to lift anything that's heavy, such as a gallon of milk or a jug of juice, or what have you. I just physically cannot do it.

I had this lady come through my line, first week of November, and she's buying a lot of stuff. It's an hour before we close, my shoulders are killing me, my back is killing me, my feet are killing me, but I manage to give her a smile and I started ringing up her stuff and bagging them, because at Darc's General Store, we don't have baggers.

First thing this lady tells me is that this Dairyman's chip dip is supposed to be on sale but it's not. I ask her if she meant another, smaller size, because I think those ones were on sale.

"No!" she snaps, already giving me an attitude. "I know it's supposed to be on sale."

I offer to get someone to do a price check and I turn my light so that it'll flash. (Remember this. I have a light flashing, it means I need help.)

So while we're waiting for anyone to come help me -- unlikely in the first thirty seconds because we're stretched thin on employees, corporate sucks, that's a complaint for another day -- I keep scanning her stuff, and I come across two 1 gallon milk jugs. As I don't really bag those unless the customer is elderly or disabled -- which this woman is obviously neither -- I don't bag these ones, I just put a sticker on them that says they're paid for and I slide them across the belt.

"Oh I want those bagged," Lady says, her voice a bit snappish.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I won't be able to lift them," I explain. "But I can hold a bag open for you and you can put them in :)."

"Excuse me?"

"They're very heavy ma'am, and my shoulders are sore, I'm worried if I try to bag them, I might drop them."

She huffs and puffs but eventually she puts the gallon milk jugs in bags at the end of my belt by herself.

At first I think that's the end of it, but then she starts a stream of questions -- "Where's your bagger? Are those ringing up [This Price]? Why don't you have more registers open? Can't you hurry it up, I have somewhere to be soon" -- and with every answer I give her, she responds with an annoyed, "This is ridiculous."

And it's taking everything I have to not snap back at her, so eventually I just don't really acknowledge her. And this entire time, my light is still flashing and yet no one has come to my register to help me.

The last things I had to bag for her were a bag of bread, and a carton of eggs. She thrusts them at me and says, condescendingly, "I want these in separate bags, if you can handle it."

Feeling rather impatient myself, I try explaining about my arthritis, even offering an apology, but she replies, with her voice very loud, "I don't care. That's your job!"

Fine, whatever. Everything's rung up by this point, I have all of the bagged groceries sitting on the counter beside me, and I give her the total. She doesn't move to pay, only gives me a dirty look and I ask if there's anything else or if the price sounds wrong.

"Aren't you going to put my groceries in the cart?" she demands, making no move to put the cart within reach to begin with.

"That's usually on the customer to do ma'am," I say, my voice getting a bit tight from frustration. "Unless the customer is very elderly or disabled, I'm not responsible for putting your bags in your cart."

That's when she blows up. "I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO A GROCERY STORE WHERE I WAS EXPECTED TO DO YOUR JOB AND PUT MY GROCERIES IN MY OWN CART, THIS IS RIDICULOUS, TERRIBLE CUSTOMER SERVICE, I WILL NEVER COME AGAIN."

In my head, I was thinking to myself, where the fuck do you shop? But okay, Bitch. Whatever. "Would you like me to void the entire transaction ma'am?"

"NO I WANT MY GROCERIES. PUT THEM IN MY CART."

Because she had the milk in the cart already and I just wanted this lady out of my goddamn face, I put everything in her fucking cart, regave her the total, she uses an EBT card to pay and starts to leave. That's when my supervisor, who had been busy in the back and came out when she heard someone yelling, came to my register and I gave her the chip dip to return, when the Bitch returned with her receipt, demanding that we tell her the remaining balance on her EBT card because she couldn't find it.

My supervisor saw the bloodlust in my eyes and took over, explaining in a calm tone that our receipts do not tell the remaining balance on EBT cards. When the Bitch tried to argue, my supervisor said, firmly, "I'm sorry, it doesn't print on our receipt, and it's more your responsibility to track your money."

Bitch responds with, "Oh shove a potato peeler up your cunt!"

My supervisor said, "Ma'am, that language is not tolerated here. Please leave, and never come back, you are now banned from this store."

A few days later, apparently the lady called to complain, demanding compensation, but my store manager had already heard the story and stopped corporate from doing anything except tell the woman, again, that she was banned from our store for vulgar language and a rude attitude towards their cashier and supervisor. So I guess it wasn't a terrible ending, but honestly, how does that lady even call herself human?

TL:DR; got an extremely rude lady through my line who threw a fit that I wasn't bending over backwards to pretend she was royalty, had her disregard a medical condition that made it almost impossible for me to lift anything heavy and told my supervisor to shove a potato peeler up her private parts when my supervisor told her that keeping track of her money was her own responsibility, tried to call corporate for "compensation" only to be told she was banned from our store.

In conclusion; I hate human beings

#submissions #fuck customers #submission

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feminine-rage · 8 years ago

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January 15, 2017

I’m not paranoid for no reason. I know when something’s wrong. I’m not paranoid for no reason. I know when something’s wrong. I HAVE to remember that. I have to repeat it to myself. I’m being gaslighted like crazy.

He tries to make me feel crazy for being suspicious of him. I could tell him I think his hand is in the cookie jar WHILE his hand is in the cookie jar and he’d outright lie to me saying it’s not in the cookie jar and it’s never been in the cookie jar since I told him not to put it in the cookie jar then yell at me about me accusing him of putting it in the cookie jar. When I try to say anything like explain why I suspect his hand is in the cookie jar, he yells at me to cut me off and gets annoyed that I’m even talking.

I’ve pointed out before that he never keeps his promises and he always lies. That’s my argument and he acts like it’s not true. He doesn’t bother to deny it, but he doesn’t own up to it. He knows every time he’s promised to stop doing something, he breaks his promise. He promised to stop mentioning ex girlfriends in front of his parents but just kept doing it. I don’t think it was unreasonable for me to request he stop when he did it every single time we were with them and his dad even told him he should stop THE FIRST TIME WE ALL SPENT TIME TOGETHER and continued to comment on it the other times it happened. I really don’t know why he’s with me when he strongly implies he prefers them to me. Because of their looks AND their personalities. Like maybe I could comprehend why a man would think his ex girlfriends were better looking than the girl he settled down with but still want to be with that girl for reasons beyond looks, but how could you not even think someone’s personality is better than those of your ex girlfriends? I’m not just insecure about this either. He literally told me multiple times that he had a better time with his ex girlfriends and he doesn’t like going anywhere with me. He said about one of them that even if they ended up getting into an argument, at least it was “worth it” to go out with her. I know that sounds harsh to the point where it’s like why are you still with him? But I just am and I can’t not be with him.

Anyway, I’ll explain what brought me to writing today. About three months ago, after I caught my husband looking up girls he used to hook up with on pornhub, he said he’d stop watching porn. Him watching porn was a problem because he refused to have sex with me and couldn’t even get fully hard for me since I gained weight. Porn made it worse because if he already came, he really had no reason to start having sex with me. Also if all he’s seeing in porn is skinny naked girls, it’s like the grass is greener on the other side and he’ll never be attracted to me.

This time he acted like he really meant that he was going to stop watching porn. It was around the fifth time he’d promised to stop then actually didn’t stop. I was naive to give him the benefit of the doubt and “believe” him this time. I thought because I’d caught him doing something so heinous, he’d realize the error of his ways and finally stop. Every once in a while, I’d ask him if he was still watching it. The other times before when I asked, he’d just avoid answering. This time around he actually said he stopped. I never knew him to answer a yes or no question with an outright lie. I trusted him to tell me the truth if I was asking a simple question to his face. Because how could you look at your spouse, the person you love, in the face and completely, unwaveringly, without hesitation, lie. Outright lie to them.

The frequency of our sex didn’t change. It didn’t budge. Once a week would be lucky. I think we went three weeks in between two times in a row. He said he didn’t feel like having sex. I once asked him if he got horny and he said he did but just repressed it. He said it was tiring to have sex and he couldn’t hold himself up like he used to when he was skinner. I should have known. I did know, in a way. If someone is supposedly not masturbating but they’re not having sex for weeks at a time, then what the fuck. It’s not plausible for them to just not have any stimulation at all. I wanted to trust him when he told me he had stopped watching porn.

He made me feel more worthless. If he only had the choice to take care of his needs via my vagina and he chose not to at all, I must really be repulsive. I am young and many, many people think I have a pretty face. But because I have fat on my body like a normal human, it makes me untouchable. It makes his dick soft.

Another thing is it’s more insulting to listen to excuses such as “I’m not interested in having sex�� KNOWING that evidence points to otherwise. You KNOW those are excuses. It’s not the real reason he doesn’t want to have sex with me. If he can watch people have sex in videos and even attempts to watch videos of girls he’s had sex with before, at what point would he decide “nope, I don’t want to do that in real life with my wife.”

Anyway, a few days ago something bad happened between us when we were really drunk. I was blacked out for most of it, but I remember it at the end. Ever since then, he’s wanted to have more sex. At first I thought it was because he felt guilty. But it’s still happening so I’m not sure why he’s getting hard and in the mood for sex. I don’t think his guilt would last that long.

Today he admitted that he’d been watching porn the whole time. He said he stopped three or four weeks ago, but that’s probably a lie because it’s only been a few days since he started having sex with me. I recalled all the times he’d lied to me about it. Several times he brought it up like he expected a pat on the back for it, other times he did it to prove a point when I was upset with him. “Did I stop watching porn? Yes or no?” How could he argue a fucking point and act like it’s true when it’s not even the fucking case????? How could he bring it up once in a while just to keep the lie up????? What is wrong with him?

I KNOW I’m right during arguments and this proves it. I tell him what I think he thinks of me and he denies it. He’s a liar. I can’t trust him. I used to want to trust him. I could point out that I think he’s lying and he’ll yell at me for not trusting him and threaten to break up with me even though I have NO reason to trust him.

I don’t think he’s cheated on me before, but he’s never had the chance. He doesn’t get why I would be insecure about him cheating on me. He’s cheated on every girlfriend he’s ever had and the ones he didn’t technically cheat on were short relationships where he left the girl. He lies about situations just to make me jealous such as the time when he said a girl sent him a picture of herself in her underwear while we were in a relationship or that my roommate was naked in front of him. Even if he would never do it sober, he told me stories of him blacking out and hooking up with girls or beating them. He promised to never do a certain thing to me, but he did it when he was drunk and promised not to do it again. But it happened again the other night in that situation I mentioned before. He also acts like he hates me. My presence, my personality, my body. He denies that if I bring it up, but he definitely acts like he hates me. So what the fuck is up with me not being able to say these things in front of him without being yelled at before I could finish the thought? Why won’t he accept the fact that it’s reasonable for me to be paranoid about him cheating on me? He even seems like he’d cheat on me and make the excuse that he did it because he knew I thought he would do it. Like two Christmases ago when he left me while I was asleep to go to a club and do coke. He said he did it because I expected him to do something bad.

He blames me for his actions. Today he blew up at me because he lost his debit card and someone was using it. He claimed it was my fault because we were arguing over the phone when it happened. He lost our ebt card just the other week actually so clearly he’s just an irresponsible prick. He actually blames his ex girlfriend for making him turn to drugs and hooking up with a lot of girls. I pointed out that everyone gets cheated on and broken up with and they don’t do drugs unless they are the kind of person who does drugs, but he won’t own up to the fact that he screwed up his own life.

Anyway, I was just thinking about how angry I was about him blatantly lying to my face. He thinks it’s not a big deal. I wish we were the kind of couple who shared everything, but that’s not the case because he’s a lying sack of shit. I can tell when what he says doesn’t add up. I tell him what I think the truth really is and he denies, denies, denies. He doesn’t even give me credit for seeing through the bullshit. Still just thinks I’m an idiot. I know what I’m talking about. I have intuition. His mission is to make me question my intuition, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from being with him it’s that I should listen to my intuition.

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fuck-customers · 7 years ago

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Fuck Store Managers

Lets just say I fucking hate my Store Manager and wish she would fuck off. She expects way too much of her employees, and gets pissed when we cant be two people at once. Story below.

So basically I came in at 4 and was on a register for about an hour before I had to go to Uscan. Well i hadnt even been there for like 10 minutes when this lady came over there with a huge buggy full of stuff (😩) so im like okay. I notice she has a few things underneath her buggy, a 35(?) pack of water, a bag of charcoal and a 12 pack of glass beer bottles. Well i saw her “scan” the charcoal (i actually thought she had scanned it) and then i heard it say say something along the lines of “please place it aside and continue scanning” and her light is blinking, so i go over there, scan my card and look at her bags. Turns out she had taken one of our individual beers from the deli area and drank it while she was shopping, which is a definite no no. I went on to tell her that we cant sell them individually and that she has the buy the “make your own six pack” deal. She was like “well ive done it before” and i was like well we cant do that (we would loose our alcohol license!!) so let me grab my manager and see what we can do. Then she was like “oh ill just get the six pack” and then changed her mind and told me to get S(GM). So i did (i already planned on getting him) and when he came out i explained the situation and he dealt with it. So i figured she was going to get the six pack deal thingy before she finished scanning but she didnt, she paid for her order and went back towards the bakery, she didnt exit Uscan the way most people do which is past the register. While all of that was going on, this other lady only had a certain amount of money on her EBT card so im helping her at the register while keeping an eye on the other lady because S had left. I notice that she had NOT scanned the beer under her buggy, and as soon as she left the area i grabbed J(bookeeper)over and told her that if that lady goes through any of the lines to check her receipt and just then the lady and S come over to the service desk and he asks J to check her out and then i grab him over there and tell him the situation, and he went over there and literally checked everything on her receipt. She turned out to have two 12 packs of beer in glass bottles under her buggy she hadnt scanned, the charcoal hadnt been scanned, she had a cake with a coupon that she wasnt supposed to have, and she hid 3 candles under her purse. She planned to steal all of it. I know she ended up paying for the cake and two candles, and after she left she tried to come back in and say she had paid for the third candle, which she hadnt so we didnt give it to her. Well while theyre all over there taking care of her, im still trying to help the lady that didnt have enough money on her EBT and i finish with her and i had barely closed the cash drawer, the lady had barely even started to walk away from Uscan when L (SM) came over there and got mad that I wasn’t in the middle of Uscan like we’re apparently supposed to be. I try to explain that i was helping the lady with her EBT and she cuts me off and asks me whats going on over at the service desk, and I can barely even explain it to her before she tells me i need to be in the middle watching people and all that then she walks off. Then she grabs S and pulls him over to floral and they talk for about 5 minutes before S comes over to Uscan and tells me that C(coworker) and I have to switch immediately. I knew deep down inside she had literally no good reason to be pissed other than that we almost lost money. But guess who prevented it? Me. If i had not of known that she hadnt scanned the beer, nobody would have even looked at her receipt. No a single person. And she would have gotten away. I know I did the right thing, and she cant say otherwise because I will point blank explain to anybody who asks that nobody would have checked her receipt, not even L. We are told NOT to approach somebody when they are stealing and let the managers deal with it. Cant get mad at your own words, motherfucker.

TL;DR: Lady doesnt scan items at self checkout, I help prevent her stealing them, SM gets mad that i didnt stop the lady immediately, even though we are told not to approach somebody when they are stealing.

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