Hash Brownies at the Food Bank in 2017?

           

            On Wednesday I went to the food bank at around 10:00. There were people scattered all over the driveway, but only three people standing in something like a row. I asked the guy in the baseball cap at the back if this was a line-up and he answered, “It’s tryin ta be!”

            Further ahead there was a very animated young woman with a cigarette telling another smoker the story of a drive by shooting and that there was a young guy that told the television media, on camera that he’d seen the whole thing, including the shooter. She said that she told the guy, “You know what? You’re stupid! The killer is still at large, and you put your face on the news saying you can identify him!”

            The young big woman, who is friendly and talkative with everyone, arrived with a new hair colour. She said, “they paid for us to go to a fancy salon”. She said that she thought she’d try something new and since she’d never been a redhead, she decided to go with that. She received a lot of compliments and someone told her that she looked ten years younger.

            Joe made the announcement that we come back to get our food at 12:30. Someone in the back was surprised and the new redhead told him that it was just for today. I said that I thought it was from now on that we come at 12:30. Joe, overhearing the conversation confirmed that from now on every Wednesday, for the rest of the summer, we get our numbers at 10:00, ahead of the delivery truck and then come back at 12:30.

            A woman stepped in line between me and the guy with the baseball cap. I was concerned that she might be butting in, but I didn’t know for sure because of how the line tends to be more of an attempt at a joint memory than a fact. People just remember that they were, for instance, number six, and then they wander off to chat with someone, only returning to their places once the line starts to move. I asked the guy in the baseball cap if she’d been behind him and he said that she had. I felt a little embarrassed about doubting her, but one wants to be sure.

            There were a lot of smokers, and so I stood slightly outside of the line-up, reading a French language “tween” book called “Klonk”, about an eleven-year-old boy who thinks his five older siblings have been driven insane by adolescence. Since the language is fairly simple, I only had to look up a word or two every sentence in my French-English dictionary.

            As I got close to the door I heard Joe say that maybe he should go to Syria, get on a boat and come back here so he can get $5,000 and an apartment. He added that ten families just moved into his building.

            I was willing to believe this number because it actually really doesn’t seem like a lot. If most Canadians, even those of us that are poor, suddenly had nothing, it would cost more than $5,000 to replace all of our stuff. These people need to pay for housing, food, clothing, furniture, transportation, telephones and a telephone service right from scratch. These are things that most of us have gradually acquired.

I looked up this $5,000 figure and found that it’s actually an urban myth. What refugees get is a resettlement allowance that differs depending on which province the refugees settle and is comparable in amount to social assistance benefits provided by that given province. A lot of refugees arrive here automatically $10,000 in debt to the Canadian government if Canada paid for their transportation to get here. Refugees don’t get anything special from the Canadian government and certainly they don’t get a free ride. It is possible though that Joe may be referring to private sponsorships of refugees, which is an entirely different thing and probably cancels out any grants from the federal government. But if I had $5,000 to give to a refugee, that would be nobody’s business but mine, and certainly nothing for someone else to be angry about. Here’s a link to a website that clears up some of the myths about what refugees get from the Canadian government: http://ccrweb.ca/en/pensioners-myth.

The man behind me carefully sat himself down on the chair beside the door, then he looked up at me and explained in his limited English, “Back sick!”

When I was at the front of the line, the St Francis Table van pulled up with a bread delivery. The vegetable lady, who’s been away for about three weeks, was outside having a cigarette as it pulled up. Suddenly she called out to the sixty-something man who drives it, “Ow, you’re on my foot!” then she laughed and said, “Gotcha!” Shortly, she came up behind me carrying two large bags of bread and said, “Excuse me dear! Quick! Quick!” so I stepped aside to clear her way in.

When I got inside, there was a new person in reception, and for the first time since I first registered with the food bank, my name didn’t show up on the computer. I suggested to him that he must have made a mistake, since everyone else has been able to find me. Finally he found me, but said that the problem was that one of my names hadn’t been capitalized at the beginning. I got number 13 and went home.

When I came back two hours later and once I’d been called inside, I was sitting with several others in the waiting chairs against the wall, when in response to a conversation she was having, the new redhead asked when they were legalizing marijuana. I said 2017, but the new receptionist with whom she was chatting said that it won’t be legalized but only decriminalized. I argued that I didn’t think that was the case. He countered that the trade deal that Canada has with the United States and Mexico prevents Canada from legalizing marijuana. Again, I didn’t think so, and told him that trade deals can’t determine the internal laws of any country. He suggested that I remember what he said when 2017 comes around. I don’t know where he got his information, but everywhere I’ve searched since that conversation gives evidence to prove that I was right and there is only the odd article claiming that it won’t work. The Liberal government has clearly stated that they will legalize marijuana as opposed to decriminalizing it. I wonder if they’ll give out hash brownies at the food bank in 2017. Probably not though, since it will be a controlled substance. That’s why they don’t give out beer at the food bank, unfortunately.

The woman who called my name was new to the food bank. She was strikingly short, older than me but full of energy. She seemed to take total command of the shelves she could reach and put handfuls of things for which I didn’t even ask into my bag, such as little packages of jam, marmalade and pancake syrup; and a couple of juice boxes. On the top shelf there was still more of the pressurized olive oil spray, but I took a box of Chock Full o’ Nuts coffee, though the box had packets that were designed for a coffee maker. I assume if they contain real coffee I can open them and use them with my French press. There was a small jar of sweet corn salsa; a box of Triscuits; a 275 gram bag of maple flavoured, roasted soybeans from The Bean Ladies; three squeezable containers of Love Child organic apple sauce, which is really delicious. I took a can of lima beans, which are my favourite beans and one of Campbell’s Chunky Alehouse Shepard’s Pie, which I’m sure will be a disappointment. As usual there was lots of pasta and rice, though I didn’t take any.

Across the aisle, Bruce was taking Sue’s place this time. There was more stuff than usual. I got a litre of milk; two packages of spreadable frozen yogourt, and it’s kind of suspicious what must go into it to make it spreadable (there’s a list of chemical ingredients so long that to include it would qualify this paragraph for special seating in a reader’s brain); a bag of frozen egg patties; two tubs of chocolate cream cheese; and a bag of homemade granola.

I skipped the bread section because I still have some. Though I like bread, I find that I just don’t eat as much as I used to. If my daughter were still living with me I’d probably be bringing home armfuls of loaves every week.

            As I was approaching the vegetable lady, she was having a conversation with a woman who was holding a tapping cane about the fact that she also has a prosthetic eye. Then she got up from her seat among the vegetables and declared, “So we both have something in common!” and then she gave the woman a big hug before she left with her food. The vegetable lady asked me what I would like, but after looking over the potatoes, cabbage and chopped onions she had, I told her I’d pass. She asked if I wanted some fruit. “You have fruit?” She got up and walked over to the fridge, saying, “Not much, but there’s some for those who don’t want any vegetables.” I took a couple of apples and she gave me a tangerine. I thanked her and she said, “Okay, my darling!”