Lori Hunt is a Democrat from Polk County, a member of the Planned Parenthood Speakers Bureau, professional cat wrangler, writer, breadwinner, and bread baker. -promoted by Laura Belin

One of the first questions people ask when you meet someone is what do you do for a living? Where do you work?

If you are in between jobs or not quite at your desired one, you sigh, explain your circumstances, and give an elevator pitch as to how it happened and what you’re looking for. Our job is so tied into our identity and self worth. 

I was furloughed from my retail job at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. I was scheduled to start another job with the U.S. Census Bureau, but that got put on hold as well. In March, the warehouse called my manager at home and told her of the plans to temporarily shut down the store. She came over, locked up, and sent us home. 

In the rush to get out, I didn’t even grab my empty Tupperware and cheese in the fridge. We all figured we’d be back in a month. Not so likely.

So I was sent home through no fault of my own from job #1. Job #2 was on hold. What is a girl to do? Answer: File for unemployment.

Luckily I was able to file and get enrolled right away. I just missed the overwhelming crush of new filers by about a week. I spent hours on the phone asking for a delay in payments for all of my bills and loans. After seeing my paperwork when it arrived, I just wanted to give up. My weekly benefit would be a whopping $254, before taxes. 

One week of unemployment is my car payment.

Two weeks is about half the mortgage.

Mom’s basement was looking like a better option.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that, because of the extra federal unemployment benefits in the CARES act ($600 per week initially). The extra money was needed and truly appreciated. I was able to stay above water and weather it out until we re-opened the store. My bills were paid, I was able to buy groceries, pay my health insurance, and feed my cats. 

I was lucky through this whole experience. I have a roommate to help with the bills. I don’t have kids. No health issues at the time. I have a roof over my head and a well-stocked pantry. And I know what I need to do to keep things stable. I can navigate the system. I made a plan to get through that time and be in a better position than when I started. 

You don’t get unemployment just by quitting your job. You don’t get it just because you are sitting around. This extra money has put front and center the ugly truth: we don’t value people or the essential work they do to make our society thrive and grow. We certainly don’t pay people enough. We don’t invest in child care. We dismiss the importance of caregiving on all levels. We don’t invest in internet access to expand education and employment opportunities. 

People who get knocked down are easy targets. We should be giving a hand up and helping them get back up and stay up instead of kicking them when they’re down. Those on unemployment don’t have a lobbyist with an Italian suit and $600 shoes to fight on their behalf. Unemployment benefits can be a lifeline. Being unemployed is hard enough, mentally, emotionally, and physically. 

Meanwhile, Governor Kim Reynolds has passed out five-figure bonuses to some top agency officials. One of those bonuses is way more than I make in a year. And we forget that state legislators get a slick per diem expense when they’re in session: $169 a day on top of their salary ($129 for Polk County legislators). 

Reynolds’ move to end pandemic unemployment assistance is cruel and heartless. That money has been keeping Iowans afloat and is being spent right here at home. I am heartbroken at the callousness of this decision. Iowans deserve leadership that cares about people. All of the people. Not just the big donors, well-connected, or ass-kissers. All of the people.

I know my pandemic story isn’t very dramatic. But I hope that by stepping forward to talk about it, I can nudge to others to share their stories. It’s easy to demonize those you don’t know and brush people off as lazy or incompetent. A story can change someone’s mind. We can hope that will be the case.