I guess the fact that there were fewer smokers
the first few times that I went to the food bank on Saturdays was a fluke. On
my last three visits I’ve encountered as many fumes as on any other day the
food bank is open. My Saturday November 19th visit to the food bank
was as choke worthy as any other day when the place is open.
I
found out whom I was behind and then just after me the big Jamaican woman
arrived. She found out she was behind me and then went to sit with the other
Caribbean ladies over by the door. After that the woman with the cane and her
partner or friend came, and I told them they were behind the lady by the door.
After that I started to lose track because people were getting there at the
same time. Clients that bring carts or boxes mark their places in line and then
go elsewhere because there’s no place to sit in line and because it’s boring to
be stuck in one place. The problem is that some of us do not bring carts or
boxes and so we have nothing with which to mark our places. That’s why I just
keep in mind the person ahead of me. But it creates confusion because one may
find one’s place in line based on standing behind a certain cart, even though
several people without carts may be in front of you and then there are
inevitably disputes.
I
think they should have a clipboard hooked to the door that holds sheets of
paper with numbered lines. The first person in line would put their name beside
number one and so on. Then there wouldn’t need to be a line-up and so there
would be no way for someone to butt in. When they are calling people in to get
an actual food bank number they can just call the numbers or the names beside
them.
The
tree at the northwest corner of the driveway was almost totally bare except for
a tiny cluster of dead leaves being held out like an offered bouquet at the end
of one branch. The leaves in the driveway that were bright and yellow the week
before were now brown and dirty.
At
about 10:20 the line started forming but there were still people directly
behind my position in line that were smoking, so I stayed away. After the
cigarettes had been crushed I took my place. There was a tall guy with a cane
and a black beard standing almost right beside me to my right. I asked him if
he knew who was in front of him and he told me he was behind the guy in front
of me. I said, “No you’re not.” and then I explained to him the positioning of
four people behind that guy. He said, “I’m fuckin tired of this!” and though he
fell behind me he told me he wasn’t going to budge from where he was. As we got
closer to the door, I reminded the big woman that she was behind me. The guy
with the cane insisted that she was behind him. I’m pretty sure I recall when
he arrived and it was much further back in line. He had positioned himself in
relation to someone’s cart but hadn’t taken into account that there were people
in line without carts. I also think that he’d gotten the big woman mixed up
with another Black woman who came later, even though they looked nothing alike.
Desmond
was watching the door. I told him that they should put up a number dispensing
machine, because I hadn’t yet thought of the clipboard and sign in list idea.
He told me that people would fight over the numbers. I told him that in the two
years I’d been coming to the food bank, I’d yet to see a fight. He said there
have been fights. Someone else agreed that they’d seen a fight in the driveway
between two old men. Desmond said that he’d seen a fight over a loaf at the
bread station inside the food bank.
There
was only one receptionist giving out numbers this time, so it took twice as
long to get one as usual. I got number 26 and went home for a few minutes.
When
I came back I overheard a guy talking to the guy with the cane and saying that
he makes $1100 a week (I think he mentioned being a machinist), so he has no
problem blowing $300 a week at the casino. I don’t know if he meant “when” he’s
making that much money, that he used to or that he really does.
At
the inside far end of the driveway, where guys sometimes go to urinate, I heard
the sound of wood being broken. After I’d heard it a few more times I got
curious, so I went back to see what was going on. A couple of guys were
drinking beer they’d also ripped enough of the boards down from a fence at the
back of the building next to the food bank. I don’t know if they were trying to
break into the building or not.
Once
I was inside, Joe the manager came up to one of the volunteers and told him to
scratch number 45 off the list and to make sure he didn’t call it. He did so
and then he called my number.
I
took a small bottle of Frank’s Red Hot General Tso’s style sauce; a 71 gram bag
of Van Houtte coffee; a bag of salt and vinegar Crispers; and several little
bags of Air Canada pretzels (I assume it’s something they hand out in flight on
planes). I skipped the pasta, rice and sauce. I almost turned down the little
bag of flour they offer but then I decided to take it. He only think I use
flour for lately is to make gravy but I remembered that I was almost out. I skipped
the canned beans, though they seemed to have lots. I think I’m all stocked up
on beans till the next low-work period when I’ll start opening cans again. I
would have taken some tuna but I didn’t see any. I did notice a jar of
applesauce that hadn’t been offered to me way up on the top of the shelf. I
asked for it and got it. All that was left for me in that section were a few
individual servings of Fibre-1 cereal that I took. I find two of them equal one
serving though.
In
the cold section, Angie had a half-liter of milk and a choice between cream
cheese and sour cream. I said I’d take the cream cheese, but she gave me the
sour cream too, though it was 14% when I would tend to pick 0% at the
supermarket. The cream cheese turned out to be “cream cheese style” fruit dip.
It was very sweet. Angie passed me on to a guy I’d never seen before named
Hayden, who was there with a little boy of about nine. The boy gave me two
Minute Maid juice bars and (I assume) his father gave me a one-kilogram tube of
ground chicken. Hayden had kind of a churchy look about him.
There
was a lot more bread available than usual. I took a bag of sliced multi-grain
artisan bread with apples. I saw the end of another non-sliced dark loaf on the
next shelf down and asked for that, but I was surprised when she pulled it out
to put it in my bag that it was double the length of a normal loaf of bread.
The
vegetable lady didn’t have much this time around. She gave me a few potatoes, a
couple of carrots and a choice between half a red cabbage or a bunch kale. I
didn’t fancy eating any kale, so I took the cabbage.
No comments:
Post a Comment