Those People Eat Quinoa Too

Hey there! So, there’s a food drive going on at the school where I work. They’ve set up a bunch of bins in the hallways, all decorated by kids with cheerful signs urging everyone to SCARE HUNGER and donate non-perishable items for the local food shelf.

As usual, I can’t help but peek into those bins while passing by. Why? Because, let’s be real, I just love food. It’s like eye candy for me. So, I stroll by several times a day, checking out the donations.

Wow, we have some fancy shoppers at our school! The bins are overflowing with “gourmet” items—lots of organic stuff and some unique alternatives to the classic mac and cheese or pasta boxes. There’s rice pasta, seasoned artichoke hearts in oil, gluten-free crackers, olive tapenade… and yes, quinoa. I eye those bins like a cat watching a bird.

Earlier this week, I was doing just that when one of the women who organized the drive was in the hallway. I called out, “Wow! Check out all this amazing food!” She grinned and said, “I know! The parents here are incredible.”

Then another woman walked by, smiled at us, and chimed in, “Too bad they won’t know what to do with most of it.”

My brain paused. Did I really just hear that? I had to clarify. “What do you mean?” I probed, wanting to confirm my suspicion.

She turned to me, folders in one hand and the other on her hip, still smiling. “Those people won’t know what most of that is. I mean, really, quinoa?”

Yep, I heard her right. Those people.

The last time I visited the food shelf was back in February. After some long-overdue child support from my ex, I was finally able to buy groceries instead of relying on the shelf. I’m grateful, but it always sticks with me—those people.

I remember my first time at the food shelf. I drove by multiple times, building the courage to pull in. I’d whisper to myself, “I can’t,” then keep going home to my empty fridge. But eventually, desperation won over pride.

Walking in for the first time was tough, but honestly, it wasn’t as bad as I imagined. Sure, I felt heat in my cheeks when filling out paperwork, sharing my life story with strangers. But you get used to it. You learn to avoid eye contact and, weirdly enough, you start to feel comfortable there.

Food shelves are like a treasure hunt. One day, you might find Annie’s Mac and Cheese, organic marinara sauce, fresh veggies, or even brie from Trader Joe’s that’s just past its expiration date. Other times, it’s a struggle to fill your cart with dented cans or stale crackers. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

In about 11 months, I visited the food shelf five times. I only told one friend. I expected my kids to react negatively when I shared, but they didn’t. They helped me unpack quietly, occasionally exclaiming “Yum!” or “Gross!” I can still recall some of the meals I made with those donations—oven roasted chicken, turkey chili, and, yes, more mac and cheese than I’d like to admit. One of my favorites was the organic risotto with mushrooms and olive oil.

I wanted to confront that woman in the hallway, to shake her and shout, “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE ONE OF ‘THOSE’ PEOPLE! YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE AND ADMIT YOU NEED HELP! YOU DON’T KNOW HOW THANKFUL THEY’LL BE FOR THIS FOOD!”

But all I managed to say was, “I like quinoa.”

And she replied, “Well yes, of course. You’re not one of those people.” If only she knew.

Summary

This article shares a personal perspective on the misconceptions surrounding food shelf donations and the individuals who rely on them. It highlights the importance of understanding and compassion, especially when it comes to those in need. The author reflects on their experiences with food insecurity, the stigma attached to it, and the surprising items that can be found at food shelves.

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