DEREK RUTTAN The London Free Press
Tracy Marion and her partner, Don Devine, both in their 20s, have trouble
visualizing a future beyond paying back their accumulated debts of nearly $29,000.
But when it comes to buying her own food, a sweet treat requires a small miracle.
Marion, 28, makes $7 an hour and takes home $220 weekly from her job at Sebastian's catering office. Most of her pay -- too much for what she earns -- goes to rent, so her grocery budget is lean.
A few weeks ago, she went to withdraw $20 from a bank machine on her way to get groceries at Price Chopper, a discount grocer three kilometres from her apartment. The bank machine already had $20 sitting there.
"I thought, 'Wow,' but then I thought, 'What if I had left $20 behind? I couldn't afford that.' " So she turned in the money and left her name with bank staff.
A couple of weeks later, Marion walked again to Price Chopper and thought she'd check -- just to see -- if anyone had picked up that $20. No one had, so the bank gave it to her. She spent it on extra groceries -- including a treat.
Poverty isn't measured in ice cream scoops, but in Marion's life, being poor also means no dental or vision care, no medicine -- and hoping you never get sick, because you can't afford drugs and you have no sick-day provisions at work.
Poor means few of the toiletries, such as shaving foam or perfume, many of us take for granted. No car. No eating out. No jeans to replace the ones that wore out. It means debating if you can afford the $2 admission for Famous Players' Reel Deal on Dundas Street.
It's a far cry from the glam world of a TV series like Friends, where twenty-something women who work in a coffee shop nevertheless manage designer clothes, takeout food and nights out.
Marion's story is one many of the so-called Gen-Xers have experienced: In their first decade of entering the workforce, a combination of demographics and economic and personal circumstances have tossed them toward poverty.
One of two daughters of a franco-Ontarian electrician and a homemaker, Marion remembers a stable home life. After high school, she moved to Ottawa to work for Bell Canada as a bilingual assigner.
"I was 17 years old and I was bringing home $1,600 a month, with benefits." But two years later, Bell laid her off. "My whole department is now a computer," she says.
By that time, she was dating a 25-year-old Bell linesman. When he and Marion decided to marry, the couple bought a home in Cornwall, where it was cheaper than Ottawa. He commuted to work.
Shortly after the wedding, they had a son, Kale, and Marion stayed home to care for him.
In the early '90s, the couple was doing well. He had a $40,000-a-year job. But car repairs and renovation costs, along with other expenses, led to her husband wracking up $17,000 in credit-card debt. He took out a homeowner's loan from the Bank of Montreal to pay it off. Marion co-signed that loan.
She's still living with the consequences.
By late 1994, the marriage was falling apart. Early in 1995, she decided to leave and "took nothing with me but my son." She received social assistance. Under an informal arrangement, her husband paid child support, but the amount and its timing were erratic and it was always deducted from social assistance.
She calls 1995 "my bad year." She became depressed, lost weight, had medical problems. She also became pregnant from a brief encounter. Marion, raised as a Catholic, remains a religious woman and decided to give the baby up for adoption. "He has a good home," she says, quietly. "That's one good decision I've made."
At the end of 1995, her monthly family benefits were cut by $200, as lower provincial welfare rates kicked in. In December, she ran out of money -- keep in mind she never uses credit -- and went to a food bank for groceries. As she tells this story almost three years later, she covers her face and weeps.
The next year was a roller-coaster.
- She got a job waiting tables and quit social assistance.
- In June, the couple went to court to work out interim custody and support payments. The judge ordered $495 monthly for Kale and a temporary $400 monthly allowance for Marion until she was re-established in the job market.
- Marion found another job, on the line at a sock factory with daytime hours better suited to caring for Kale. She started paying $200 monthly toward her legal bills.
- Marion's ex-husband ran into financial difficulties of his own and declared bankruptcy, leaving her liable for the bank loan.
- Because of the bankruptcy, their house was sold, but they cleared no money on the deal. Her ex-husband moved to a rental home in Long Sault, where he still lives.
Treats are seldom on Tracy Marion's shopping list. The 28-year-old Londoner budgets only about $65 a month for groceries and transportation for herself and her partner.
While Marion still had her factory job, she couldn't see a future for her and Kale in Cornwall, which she nicknames "the welfare capital of the world."
Perhaps not of the world, but it's one of Ontario's worst-off cities. In 1996, Cornwall had 13.7 per cent unemployment and an average income of $21,662.
Marion moved to London, where Devine had been accepted into a computer animation program at Sterling Business Academy. At that time, London's unemployment rate was 9.6 per cent and its average income $26,685.
Marion made the agonizing decision to leave Kale with his father, who had been sharing custody of the boy. Despite the father's bankruptcy, he was able to maintain a car and a more well-appointed household than Marion.
Marion applied for dozens of jobs here. She came close to getting one with a $24,000 salary at a financial institution, being one of six people interviewed, but lost the competition.
She's tried to get a restaurant job, where low pay is supplemented by tips, but failed there, too. "You have to know someone to get into a restaurant in London," she says, adding that she connected originally with the manager at Sebastian's because both grew up in Eastern Ontario.
Her job paid $7 an hour. There were no medical benefits. There was no sick pay. "It would be so hard to have Kale here," she says, tears welling in her eyes. "I mean, what would I do if he got sick?"
She covered expenses -- $490 rent on an apartment on Stanley Street, food and other basics -- while Devine went to school.
Tracy Marion earns $7 an hour selling expensive goodies at Sebastian's. Her monthly wage is about half what she earned 10 years ago when she worked for Bell Canada in Eastern Ontario.
Don Devine and Tracy Marion usually travel on foot, but they carry groceries home on the bus because the discount store is about three kilometres from their apartment.
Tracy Marion's basic budget |
|
| Average monthly income | $880 |
| Monthly expenses | |
| rent | $660 |
| utilities | $60 |
| telephone | $50 |
| life insurance (Marion's son Kale is the beneficiary) | $15 |
| cable | $30 |
| groceries, bus fare and personal items | $65 |
| Expense total | $880 |
She negotiated with a bank representative to pay $100 monthly toward the loan and with Bell to pay $100 monthly toward her accumulated bill. To earn the money, she worked 65 hours a week at Sebastian's, pulling day shifts in the office taking catering orders, then working nights in the retail area. She paid off $1,000 over five months.
In June, Marion and Devine moved closer to Cornwall to be near Kale. While there were no opportunities in computer animation in Cornwall, Devine hoped to find work in Ottawa or Montreal, a closer commute.
She quit her job (after winning "employee of the month") and moved to her parents' place in Cornwall. They agreed to support her for July and August while she reconnected with her son.
Devine already owned the tool of his trade -- a computer -- but his course cost $8,500, covered by a student loan that he has to start paying back in December. So he went job hunting in Ottawa and Montreal, but found his only offer in London.
It was a tough decision to come back, because the job was only a short-term contract. But the couple decided to give optimism a go.
They rented a two-bedroom apartment on a tree-lined street in Woodfield, the neighbourhood east of the core and west of Adelaide, for $660 monthly (heat included, hydro and water extra), with hopes Kale can visit. There is a large living room and kitchen on the main floor, with two bedrooms and a bathroom in the basement.
Marion says it's a better place for her son than her previous neighbourhood. But it's a big gamble. The couple had to put down first and last month's rent, plus pay a $200 deposit each for telephone and hydro. Devine's parents lent him $1,500 to cover the expenses.
That's another loan to be paid back, with interest. The couple's debts, not counting interest, now total around $28,400.
Marion has returned to Sebastian's. She still takes home $220 weekly, or $880 most months.
To stretch their food budget they buy bagels at six for 99 cents; they're a staple for breakfast ("with tea, because it's cheaper") and lunch. Dinners are often rice-based, or a mix of potatoes and onions with chicken. Devine's speciality is bean burritos. One recent dinner was hot cereal.
September was easier because Devine earned $1,000 for his computer work, but most of that went to cover moving and business expenses, such as an Internet service for the computer. October was difficult: He finished his contract for computer research and got a final freelance payment of $265.
November is bleak. Devine has many irons in the fire, but no paid work in sight. Marion has had a horrible cold and had to miss a day of work for which she won't be paid.
The latest blow came last week, when Marion's employer received a court order to garnishee 20 per cent of her wages for loan payments. She owes $17,757.22, the order says.
She has decided to file for bankruptcy, but that, too, costs money: $1,382, in total, with $150 upfront to a bankruptcy trustee. She must pay $137 monthly for nine months, attend financial counselling and wait to see if her debts are discharged after the nine-month period.
The first $150 came out of money set aside for December's rent. They won't be able to cover their basic bills this month.
"We've jumped the gun" moving into the more-expensive apartment, Devine admits. "It was pure optimism. I went through the schooling. If I hold out, I should get a decent job."
The apartment awaits visits from Kale, but the thought of Christmas makes Marion cry again. There's no money for travel, gifts or extra food.
There are still hopes: hopes his retraining will pay off and he'll find work. Hope, eventually, they'll both have steady work and can help raise Kale -- maybe even feel secure enough to marry and have another child.
Meanwhile, Marion spends her days among Londoners who can afford designer coffees, cakes and take-out gourmet. Sometimes, it grinds: "There are some people who look right through you, like you're just a robot there to serve them."
But she doesn't want to complain. "I know there are some places where women can't even put a blanket over their kids to keep them warm."
She, like the other 10.8 per cent of Londoners who make up the working poor, fill the low-wage jobs that keep service and retail industries afloat. She's weighed down by old debts and past decisions.
"When there's financial stress, it makes everything so stressful," she says. "It makes you worry, worry, worry, worry. You're always absorbed by worry."
Even her easygoing partner is feeling the strain.
"It would be nice to do regular things," Devine says, "just like regular people do."
