After Legalization, will Someone Donate Pot Brownies to the Food Bank?

            After locking my bike in front of the food bank on Saturday, I went to the back of the line and asked the East Asian woman that was sitting on the steps of the apartment building at 1501 Queen if they’d handed out the numbers yet. She jumped up and shouted, “Where?” and started running towards the front. I told her, “No, no! I was just asking!” She came back to sit down. I assumed from her reaction that the answer to my question was “no”.

            It was raining lightly, but just enough to keep me from taking my book out of my backpack. It stopped for a while and I started taking it out but then it started again. Later on I was able to read for a page but then my brain got tired because it’s hard work for me to translate French.

            Near the end of the line, a man was sitting on the sidewalk with his hood over his head and a fedora on top of that.

            A nervous older man wearing a McGill University jacket was pacing up and down the street and smoking as he waited for PARC to open. He threw his butt out onto the street and it narrowly missed me on the way. I would have considered it rude if I’d thought he was that conscious of his actions. He bummed another cigarette and kept on walking.

            The elderly man who still comes very early despite the random number system that renders coming early useless, told me that Martina, the door keeper had gone for coffee with Valdene, the manager. He speculated that they’d be opening late.

            The former film technician and the toothpick-skinny chain-smoking lady came to smoke together on the steps. She was smoking with a hash pipe but whatever she was smoking didn’t smell like either pot or hash. I suspect she was smoking cigarette butts. She was wondering what is going to happen to medical marijuana dispensary at King and Dufferin where she gets her weed after the federal government legalizes marijuana. He told her that it would be closed because only special stores run by the Liquor License Board of Ontario will be allowed to sell pot from that point on. She commented that the dispensary she goes to has never been busted. He informed her that the only dispensaries they bust are the ones near schools and young families.

            I guess the dispensary she was referring to would be the Relief Centre. It looks like he’s right that legalization will shut down or cause the Ontario government to try to shut down the dispensaries. The western provinces may have made a much smarter decision to simply legalize and regulate the already existing dispensaries rather than set up their own dealers because the prediction is that the Ontario Cannabis Retail Corporation won’t be able to keep up the supply for the demand that will exist after legalization, nor will they be able to provide the variety of product that the illegal places manage. This will cause a marijuana black market to continue and perhaps even thrive in Ontario because the illegal sources might be able to provide pot cheaper than the government. I would think that in not going into business with dispensaries the government will be missing out on the years of experience and knowledge that the people that run them have to offer. By supporting and protecting the good dispensaries they could also screen out by squeezing out the ones that are run by gangs.

            A guy came and sat on the other end of the steps. He asked them what time the food bank open but it sounded more like a demand and he was swearing a lot, so the other two got up and left. His lack of social grace was clearly the result of mental illness. I told him what he wanted to know, though I don’t think he stuck around to get a number.

            Martina came up the line with the box of numbers and I was pleased to draw number 6, though not as happy as the guy that got number 1. He walked around showing to people and saying, “I’ll leave some food for the rest of you!”

            I was in the first group to be called. Downstairs I might have forgotten to return my number if the receptionist hadn’t asked for it. She said they’ve lost a lot of numbers that way.

            My volunteer was the elderly, extremely short and very pleasant Filipina.

            The top of the first set of shelves tends to hold a lot of odd items that don’t fit the categories that most of the food on the other shelves falls under. I was surprised that the two people ahead of me didn’t take any of the 500 gram squeeze-bottles of Burke’s raw Ontario clover honey that were on that shelf. The Burke family honey business has been around for 109 years and though the bees have to get from blossom to blossom with walkers they must know what they are doing by now.

            My helper said I could take something else from that shelf as well so I grabbed a bag of chilli-cheese popcorn.

            Further down I got three oats and chocolate chewy bars and several packets of turbinado sugar. The sugar in the raw was welcome because the brown sugar I have at home gotten so hard that every time I want some for my cereal I have to scrape granules off the rock with a cheese grater.

            For the last few weeks the only cereal they’ve had were family size boxes of Chex, which I don’ like very much. This time though they had a wide variety. I’d been eyeing the carton of spoonsize shredded wheat but the old guy in front of me snagged it. Fortunately though I was able to reach to the very back and pull out the only other box.

            Moving on I got a bag of tea bags, just when I needed them. There were lots of canned beans and soups and the usual choice of sardines, tuna or peanut butter. I took a can each of refried beans, clam chowder, tuna and tomato sauce, and I also finally took another bag of fusilli pasta after finally finishing off the previous one.

            Angie offered me 2% milk but I turned it down because as long as I can afford it I’ll stick with 1%. I also eschewed a quarter block of margarine, because I have plenty and didn’t want the frozen ground chicken, veggie cheese or chicken hot dogs either. She gave me a litre of peach-passion fruit drink. I took the three eggs; the two single servings of fruit bottom yogourt and a coconut chickpea curry lean cuisine. My last choice was between a toaster strudel and a package of soft papardelle pasta. She seemed pleased with my selection and declared, “This is amazing! It’s the closest thing to real pasta!”

            Sylvia gave me two onions, a red pepper, an apple and a bag of frozen green chickpeas. I turned down a bag of potatoes because I have enough to last me until next time I come. She asked if there was anything else I wanted so I pointed at the big bin of cabbages between her and I and asked if I could have one. As she handed it to me she commented with a shake of her head, “I don’t know how to cook those things!” I was puzzled by what she said because I’m pretty sure people cook cabbage in the Caribbean, where Sylvia is from.

            I forgot to ask Sylvia how the food bank garden is doing this year. I remember that last year it died because of heavy rains in March. I’ll have to inquire, but not next week, because next Saturday is my birthday and I don’t plan to stand around for two hours breathing second hand smoke on that occasion.

            I’d noticed on the way in to the food bank that there were more than just white loaves in the bread section this time. After leaving Sylvia I walked over there and Lana said to me, “We’ve got man’s bread today!” She was referring to the darker, round loaves that I’d been eyeing. I’d always figured that men prefer white bread while women might be more likely to eat whole grain bread because they like healthier choices. I put a dark loaf in my bag.