NEW YORK, NY - DECEMBER 11: Harlem residents choose free groceries at the Food Bank For New York City on December 11, 2013 in New York City. The food bank distributes dry, canned and fresh food to needy residents and works with community based member programs to provide some 400,000 free meals per day throughout the city. Need increased in November when 47 million low-income people nationwide saw their food stamps cut as the federal SNAP program expired. (Photo by John Moore/Getty Images)

I have previously written how three days before my 60th birthday I came to a

decision that I once considered unthinkable. On that day, I gathered up my

financial information, took my book, entered the Social Services

office in Waterbury, Connecticut, and asked if there was someone I could see

to obtain some assistance. I pretty much already knew for what I was

eligible, and had known for the past year, but since I was self employed I

needed help to complete the forms that are designed for those on an hourly

pay. I needed to talk to someone.

The receptionist behind the glass partition took my name and social

security number and directed me to the waiting room informing me someone would

call me. I had gotten there at around 11:30 a.m. and took the last of the

available seats, opened my book and steeled myself for a long wait.

There were over 50 people in the waiting room. Mothers with children some

with infants, middle age couples, young men and woman by themselves, some in

work clothing -- guard uniforms, medical scrubs, fast food outfits, business

suit or tie. This was not what I had expected.

The Social Services department is directly on a bus route and not located in

the best part of town. I am ashamed to say that I expected to find the

unemployable or the lazy or the addicted or handicapped. I expected

something different, something else. I expected to be surrounded by... by

"them."

I pride myself on not succumbing to prejudice so it was with a wash of

embarrassment and shame that I realized that "them" were in fact me. The

people in that waiting room could have been my neighbors or co-workers.

They were people I interact with every day. One of them I recognized as an

ex-employee of one of my clients who is now out of business. These were not

the dregs of society looking for a handout. These were working people, just

like me, who just needed some help. This was a shocking reminder of what

has become of the middle class.

I was the last person to sign in so as names were called, I did a mental

calculation and knew I would be there for several hours. Three hours later

a lightly graying woman, still younger than I, with a light but

professional demeanor, showed me to a clean, well organized cubical and asked

how she could help. She made conversation easy as I reluctantly explained

my situation, answered her questions and presented my documentation. The

forms were completed, printed and signed and the lengthiest part of the

process was making copies of my documents. Because as anyone who has worked

in an office knows, there is never enough paper in the copy machine and the

refills are always kept on the other side of the building. An observation

we both joked about.

She explained what I qualified for. That I was eligible for $178 a month

in SNAP benefits, the maximum for a single household, and that once I

supplied a bank statement of my monthly mortgage amount she could process

the paperwork. It was the one document I neglected to bring. She then told

me that if there were funds still available I would most likely qualify for

the state energy assistance program but would need to apply at a different

state office. (The funds had already been used.) She also offered me a

flyer, appropriately titled "Help for People in Need," that listed contact

information about 17 other programs and organizations from the United Way to

school breakfasts to food banks.

The following day I dropped off the mortgage information and she informed me

that I would receive an EBT card in the mail within 10 working days. I

thanked her for her help. She smiled almost sadly and told me that she was now

seeing a lot of people like me. That it was tough out

there since the crash.

Even with two holidays in between, by the end of the first week in January

I received the card with instructions on how to activate it online or at a

bank location -- a simple matter of entering a code and selecting a PIN.

I sat there staring at this gray plastic card with mixed emotions. On the

one hand it was a constant reminder of my situation and on the other a

relief that I would no longer need to decide whether to purchase food or

medicine.

It has been nearly four months now that I have been using my EBT card to

purchase food. Because regardless of what you may hear you can ONLY

purchase food with it. No toilet paper, no toothpaste, no cleaning or paper

supplies or laundry detergent: Just food. And while I could purchase filet

mignon or Alaskan crab legs or truffles I would have to do without something

else to make the money last for the month.

What it has let me do is purchase better quality foods. Low sodium canned

products, more fruit and fresh vegetables and slightly better cuts of meat

instead of just the cheapest. I still need to be frugal but I no longer

need to defer a food purchase in order to fill my gas tank, pay my phone

bill or buy medication.

There is still a lot of stress from my financial situation but I never

realized how much of it or how insidious it was to maintain the balancing

act of paying bills or buying food. I have always been good at budgeting,

which is why I knew I was in trouble a year before I sought help, but there

is no robbing Peter to pay Paul with this. My food budget is $178 a

month and while my pantry is not fully stocked I have enough to eat. And

that's big; both physically and mentally.

They say you can't make good decisions if you're hungry. While I never got

to that, making decisions when you are worried about going hungry is just as

bad. Knowing that an essential need has been met by having the SNAP

benefits has allowed me to better concentrate on re-building my business, to

make better decisions and not constantly worry. The relief from that alone

cannot be overstated.

This is a different country from the time of my parents. There were no

safety nets for them. I remember the look on my mother's face when the

cupboards were bare and there were seven of us to feed. I saw it in the

mirror the day before I signed up for assistance. Back then, 60-year-old

men devastated by the economy had no chance of starting over. While I may

or may not succeed I at least have a fighting chance thanks to this benefit.

This is what it looks like to be the working poor.

Dennis' story is part of a Huffington Post series profiling Americans who work hard and yet still struggle to make ends meet. Learn more about other individuals' experiences here.

Have a similar story you'd like to share? Email us at workingpoor@huffingtonpost.com