Cold weather always reminds me of the lean times. When you’re poor, everything takes longer. In the winter, that means taking transit, not taxis, and sometimes even walking.
It also means hunger, and as you probably know, your body doesn’t warm up as fast on an empty stomach.
Though I was never in the sort of dire straits that George Orwell wrote about in Down and Out in Paris and London and The Road to Wigan Pier, his writing brought back a lot of memories.
In Wigan Pier, he writes about why the poor eat junk food so often, the simple reason being that junk food is cheaper. Bargains at the grocery store become saving graces, even if the menu isn’t the most appetizing. I’ll never forget my discovery of fish cakes-breaded patties of mashed-up random fish, eight for two dollars-and how that and rice held me down for a good week one time.
When I was skint, I could never afford to buy organic fruits or fresh chicken, but I could always afford a 99 cent bag of chips. Milk costs around $2.50 for a litre, but I could always find a two litre bottle of knock-off cola (or even better, knock-off Dr. Pepper) for less than a dollar at the shitty grocery store, so what am I going to do? The fact that so many Americans are both fat and poor is no coincidence.
Orwell also noted that when you’re poor, you become free of worries, for you get to a point where you stop thinking about the future. After all, why worry about what you’re going to eat tomorrow when you don’t even know what today will bring? Your savings start spiralling until you are forced to do fantastic math and bet on cheques in the mail as if they were longshot horses making a stretch run at the race track. Living on $20 a day gets knocked down to $15 or $10 when the $40 you have left has to last three days instead of two.
But of course, you get good luck, and that’s when you pull out ahead. Cheques arrive in the mail, and fate looks upon you with a kind glance. For me, it was basketball. After putting $20 into a college basketball pool, I found myself desperately poor, but also in the lead when the tournament wound down a month later. With a Maryland victory, I would be officially saved for at least a month, and sure enough, they pulled it off.
The windfall was $670, enough to cover my rent and give myself some breathing room. Ironically, I was still poor while I waited for the money to come in, but I had scored free tickets to a Raptors game. Toronto ended up scoring more than a 100 points that night, which, thanks to a local promotion, meant that everyone in attendance got a free slice of pizza. I didn’t think I was going to eat that night, but that pizza held me down until my winnings came through. Of course, it was still junk food, but that’s what I was used to.
