The Best $10 I’ve Spent

A cold late night turned magical

The other day, I stood in line at Walgreens with ginger ale for nausea and a few things I didn’t need. Just ahead of me, a man fumbled with his wallet. Hunched over, he asked the clerk in a desperate whisper, “Do you accept EBT for cat food?” (EBT, in the United States, stands for Electronic Benefits Transfer, essentially “food stamps.”)

The checkout guy, whose slicked-back hair and thin frame made him look barely twenty, paused as if contemplating. But I read from the eyes above his mask that he had no idea, and no intention of finding out.

“I forgot my card, and…” the man mumbled, his head still down.

Even though I couldn’t make out the words (and what business was it of mine anyway?), I knew the tone of flustered apology. I’d used it myself at a pet store not long before, when I left my credit card at home. (But all my cat had to sacrifice was yet another scratching board— since purchased and enjoyed.)

“You’d have to call the office,” the clerk said, louder than necessary. “I doubt they do — I mean, isn’t it for people food? But you could check.”

It was a Sunday, a Sunday evening, I realized. Not likely any government office would be open, much less answer this man’s question — especially within the next few minutes. Outdoors bristled with cold wind, and who knew if he had a walk ahead of him. My heart balled up with world-shrinking hopelessness.

Quiet, I asked, “Do you need help?” Does my voice sound condescending, that of a rich, impatient woman wanting him gone at any cost? “I’ll cover it for you,” I added. “It’s no problem.” Natural, the way skirt-suited shoppers might offer for a peer who had an understandable lapse at a bustling Whole Foods.

The man

He turned to look at me. I’ll never forget his face. His eyes, reddened, wet, beneath a forehead deeply wrinkled from long stretches of worry and stress. His dark hair, balding in places, with a thin swoop that clung to his skin.

The corners of his lips turned down, his eyes lost in impossibility. He held up a bag of Meow Mix — the brand my old vet called “kitty crack,” the height of unhealthiness, when I told him it was all my first cat ate before I took her in.

But it was cheap. Maybe the cheapest most cats would tolerate, and one of the few obligatory pet food offerings at a drugstore open late. Still, the man told me, his soul almost visibly drooping, “It’s $8.99. I can’t…”

With only a momentary marvel at the coincidence, I whipped out a fresh paper bill folded in the front of my wallet. I said, like a satisfied magician, “And I just happen to have a $10 bill I didn’t know what to do with.”

It was true — though I’m on disability, it’s relatively generous, and my laundry that week cost less than I’d anticipated. I paid by card for nearly everything else. (Okay, I could have found a use for the cash myself, but at the moment, my mind blanked on anything I needed.)

His face twisted with a mix of gratitude and suspicion. “Are you sure? It’s pretty expensive. You really don’t have to.”

A hero complex soared in my chest. Oh, don’t be stupid. People have done far more for me when I had no right to expect it. “I can’t let a cat go hungry,” I answered. Much less a person, but the line of customers was building and grumbling behind me.

I passed the bill to the cashier, who opened the register, then counted out and handed back my change. “Oh, I don’t need…” I started, but stuffed the coins into my pockets to avoid drawing more attention. The man, near the exit, already held the bag to his chest with both hands.

The cat

“His name is Roger,” the man called out, abrupt but intense. As if it was vital I knew this. As if to prove the cat’s existence.

“Oh,” I said, with a startled pause. “For Roger…”

“Rabbit,” we said simultaneously. He nodded. A new smile lit his face.

He continued, in a rush. “He’s huge, and fluffy, and all white. And he eats a lot.” He hefted the bag as if for emphasis.

People started to weave between us, leaving with their purchases. But our conversation, however brief, felt necessary — and, within seconds, as easy as if between old friends.

“I have a cat too,” I said as he took a step out of the crowd. “She’s a girl. But she eats a lot too.”

He nodded again, another smile like a revelation. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” I said. “Just give Roger a pat from me.”

He stepped through the sliding glass door. “I will.”

The karma

As I gathered my sodas to pass to the cashier, guilt weighed heavy on my shoulders. I’m wasting money on this? But it was too late to step away — too conspicuous when I already sensed boiling tension from customers waiting.

I inserted my credit card, but paused at the charge I saw. That can’t be right.

In a low voice, the cashier said, “I gave you half off everything. For what you did.”

I looked at the screen that listed item prices and their total. How much had I saved? Almost exactly $10.

The best $10 I spent — the best $10 I didn’t spend, in the end — was to help someone who truly needed it more than I did.

No, that wasn’t exactly it

Later I replayed my conversation with the man. Heat rose, prickly, within me. “She’s a girl”? Can sentences get any more awkward? Then, “But she eats a lot too,” as if girls aren’t expected to eat much — not even female cats?

It doesn’t matter. I abandoned my social anxiety’s absurd overanalysis. For once, words hardly counted. Something magical had happened.

With the help of a $10 bill, a man and I saw each other for who we were: equals, doing our best to provide for the furry ones we loved. I “spent” $10 and received a near-instant connection — and the relief that, at least for a night, neither Roger nor this man would go hungry.

Change the system

Later I looked up the question the man asked the cashier. According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, food stamps (SNAP, or EBT) may not be used to purchase pet food.

In my city, a few resources provide free cat and dog food. They aren’t well-advertised, though, and not within walking distance for most people. The availability of public transportation is far from ideal. Readers, is it different where you live?

An online petition here to “Include Pet Food in SNAP Benefits” has been signed by nearly half a million people. If you agree, please add your signature. In the meantime, look for Rogers in your city and other ways to help out locally.