Food Bank Clients Should Not Be Told to "Hurry Up".

            The food bank line-up on Saturday morning was much shorter than usual, even for the end of the month when all the regulars have a much better chance of still having money. I was behind a middle-aged woman of East Asian background with dyed black hair, the grey roots of which were for some reason tinted orange. I guess maybe she tried dyeing only her roots and something went awry.

            Angie and the Bankettes came up for a cigarette at around 10:00, which suggested that they planned on opening the food bank at least on time.

            I went downstairs to use the washroom and who do I find waiting for the Tool Library to open but Dawn Lyons and Den Ciul, the married couple that I know from Bike Pirates, where she volunteers cooking meals and he volunteers teaching people how to fix their bikes. They also have a business called Claviers Baroque in which they build, repair and tune various historical keyboard instruments. I asked if they lived around there and Dawn told me that they’ve lived on Fuller Avenue for 35 years now. That’s just a couple of blocks away and I assume their business and home must be in the same location. I usually impress people when I tell them I’ve had my place for 20 years, but Dawn and Den have got me beat. Dawn said they’ve lived in Parkdale pretty much longer than anybody. She told me that a friend of theirs was moving around the corner and so they were borrowing a handcart so they could help her out. Changes in government assistance have dropped their friend’s income and so she needed a cheaper place. That reminded me of the financial shock that I went through when my daughter became an adult and moved out, which not only cut off the Child Tax Benefit but also reduced the amount that I received from Social Services. At first I had difficulty adjusting and so I went to my social worker to see if I could get some extra funds until I became accustomed to the change. I’d just been assigned a new one as they tend to do every year or so, I assume because they don’t want clients to form relationships with their workers because that would evoke sympathy. Anyway, this worker, new to me but certainly not new to social services, since he looked like he’d been there for decades, was a real asshole. He told me that I should move out of my one bedroom apartment where I paid less than $600 a month and into a room. Dawn informed me that the market rent for a room now with shared facilities is $625.

            The Tool Library opened and they went in, so I continued on my way to the washroom. When I was back upstairs I didn’t see Dawn and Den come out, probably because I was reading Sui Sin Far’s story, “Mrs. Spring Fragrance” for my 20^th Century US Literature course. First published in 1910, it was about Chinese immigrants adjusting to how their next generation’s attitudes towards marriage changed from the old family arranged marriages to those in which attraction was key.

            The wind kept changing directions and so I got a lot of exercise walking either west or east to avoid the second hand smoke.

            The homeless woman had been still slumbering in her sleeping bag when I’d arrived, but now she got up, packed up her things, limped over to line up her three beer bottle empties on the sidewalk beside the city recycling and garbage can, then she left. She had been so careful not to make a mess, while a guy that came a little later opened some batteries while walking past the garbage can and just tossed the package indifferently over his shoulder. Someone else from the line-up put the homeless woman’s beer bottles in his cart to cash in later.

            The food bank opened on time for the second week in a row. It would be nice if that turns into a persistent trend. I’m sure I’m not the only client that has other things to do besides stand around all morning. The line moved quite quickly too.

            The woman that was watching the door seemed to be having a quiet argument with her boyfriend, who was there independent of the food bank. I don’t know what it was about but something he said upset her. He seemed immune though to her emotional state as he came up to say something smug and then swagger down the street.

            The Polish guy that was now at the front of the line kept trying to engage the doorkeeper in conversation but she was wearing earbuds and listening to music, so he had to say, “Excuse me!” a few times before each exchange. She pulled her buds out and then he pointed to the guy with the shaved head that was sitting and smoking in front of PARC and said, “Puff, puff, puff all the time!” She smiled and put her buds back in. Then he said, “Excuse me!” about three more times before she took them out again and he told her, “Twenty-five year now, no smoking! I’m very happy!” She said, “That’s really great! I wish I could do that!”

            Downstairs I got number 13.

            Angie gave me the usual half-litre carton of 2% milk, though it was a different brand this time and from Pembroke. The four eggs she gave me were large again though not brown like the ones from the week before and a lot fresher. Two of the yolks from the last four broke just from the impact of being dropped into the frying pan, which is supposedly a sign that an egg isn’t fresh. She passed me four small stirred yogourt cups. There were three meat choices: frozen ground chicken, frozen hot dogs or frozen breakfast sausages. I took the sausages.

            The only things that I didn’t accept from Sylvia’s vegetable section were beets, large red cabbages and potatoes. I already had plenty of potatoes and I just didn’t want any beets or cabbage this time. I did take three orange peppers, one yellow one, two leeks, six carrots, an onion and two apples.

            My helper at the shelves was the persnickety older Ukrainian lady. She wanted me to hold my bag open like a trick-or-treater while she dropped my selections in. There were a few choices of cereal, including the organic puffed cornflakes with freeze-dried fruit that I’d gotten last week, which wasn’t bad. I chose instead a box of Shreddies because I loved them when I was a kid.

            There was no pasta sauce and there hasn’t been for a long time.

            There was once again no tuna or peanut butter. I eschewed the fairly large variety of crackers that they had on offer.

            There was a considerable selection of beans and I took the one can of beans with pork and molasses.

            I grabbed a box of five Nature Valley peanut bars.

            She handed me two packages of Ranch salad dressing mix but when I read the instructions later I saw that to make it I would need two litres each of buttermilk and mayonnaise. This stuff must be normally sold to restaurants that deal in volume.

            On top of the last shelf there were a few bottles of salad dressing, among other things. I took a few extra seconds to decide between the ranch and the Caesar and she told me to hurry up. I don’t appreciate that. It’s difficult enough for people to come to the food bank, so to be treated rudely by being rushed breaks the pack animal’s back. I probably go through the shelves faster than most clients because of the many items that I turn down and so she particularly has no right to tell me to hurry up. I picked the ranch dressing but I noticed afterwards that there was mayonnaise in the back, which I would have preferred and might have found if I hadn’t been rushed. If I get her as a helper next time I will tell her that I will allow her to serve me if she agrees not to tell me to hurry, otherwise I will recommend that she work in the back where she doesn’t have to deal with human beings.