Eat Like a Pauper, Smoke Like a King at the Food Bank

           

            On my way to the food bank on Wednesday, August 17^th, I was signaling to make a right turn from Queen onto Cowan and a woman thought that I was waving at her, so she waved back.

The line-up at the food bank seemed shorter than usual, but I guess it wasn’t since I ended up with the same number as the week before. As I was locking my bike, the red-faced woman arrived, so I stepped in line behind her.

            She started talking to me right away about all of the medications she has to take for schizophrenia, for diabetes, for hypoglycemia and for anemia. Watching her over the last two years, and seeing how red her face always is, I’d always assumed that the redness came from drinking. But hearing that she’s diabetic and that she faithfully takes medication for that ailment, I was starting to think that she probably is not a drinker. When I asked her, she confirmed that she doesn’t drink at all. She told me that she lives in a boarding house where she gets her meals with consideration of her prescribed diet. I had also assumed that she was quite a bit older than me, but she’s in fact five years younger.

            The Latin American woman ahead of us, who was there with her toy poodle, Chilo, said to the red-faced woman that she could tell by her face that she was very beautiful once. She took it as a compliment.

            Desmond came out, displaying his very shiny, freshly shaved head.

            I had managed to step out of line to avoid the smoke until I was first in line in front of the door. Desmond was in charge of letting people in, but he was engaged in a conversation with Julie and the middle-aged woman with the obese pug nosed dog she calls Jo Jo. Desmond lit up a cigarette and was standing right next to me, and since I was first in line I couldn’t escape. Finally I pointed to the top of the door and asked him why they haven’t put up a sign yet that says “No Smoking within Nine Meters of the Doorway”. The woman with the dog, who is also a smoker, answered for him, “Probably because people like smoking within nine meters of the door.” I argued, “But there is a city by-law in place!” Suddenly Desmond said, as he walked backwards away from me, “Oh that’s right! We had a complaint!” He added, “But everybody does it!” I agreed that they are not working very hard to enforce the bylaw, and that there are only signs up at places like the Dufferin Mall.

            I got number 14.

            When I came back a couple of hours later, there was a young mother with a little girl of about five and a boy in a stroller of about three. The red-faced woman told her that her and her kids looked Italian and the young woman said, “Thank you! But we’re not Italian. We’re Portuguese, Serbian and Gypsy.” Joe came out and gave the kids some chocolate pastries.

            When I was inside and shopping, Bruce was my helper.

            On the top of the first set of shelves were more of those olive oil sprays. I still have several at home and they’re actually pretty good and convenient, though I probably wouldn’t choose them over a bottle of olive oil if I had money to burn. I picked instead a box of butterscotch pudding mix

            From the next shelf down I selected a bag of prawn crackers over the Triscuits. I know the Triscuits are healthier, but I had so many of those in July that I got tired of them.

            From the bottom Bruce gave me a handful of lemon flavoured breakfast bars.

            From the top of the next set of shelves, Bruce handed me a roll of paper towels. That was good, because I was totally out.

            I got three packages of biscotti, the usual can of chickpeas and a can of tuna.

            In the soup section, there were only boxes of roasted onion and garlic beef flavoured broth. I told Bruce that the stuff tastes like gasoline. He said, “That’s not good!” I noticed the two containers that I had said, “Store in a cool, dry place”, yet it didn’t specifically say to refrigerate the product. I don’t know how cool the non-refrigerated storage facilities at the food bank are.

            For cereal I took some Shreddies, and then Bruce directed me across the aisle to Sue.

            I had a choice between a two-liter container of iced coffee or a big can of apple juice. Since I was about to run out of coffee, I took that.

            She gave me two small fruit bottom yogourt containers, two frozen beef patties, a single serve container of hummus with flatbread crackers.

            The final item from the cold section was a bag of what Sue said were frozen donuts that I would have to bake in the oven. I found out that night that it was actually frozen bagel dough. They do look exactly like donuts though before one puts them in the oven.

            In the bread section I found a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread and a loaf of whole wheat.

            The vegetable lady had quite a lot of stuff this time around.

            She gave me a head of leaf lettuce, a bunch of kale, a few potatoes, some carrots, and three cobs of corn. I saw some of what looked like non-gassed bananas and asked for those as well. She told me to leave them in my window for a couple of days to ripen.

            I actually had a bigger load than usual, so it was fortunate that I’d accidentally brought an extra kitchen garbage bag in addition to the one I always bring along with my two PC cloth bags. The vegetable lady didn’t think the handleless bags would be very good for carrying, so she found one with handles and helped me shove the other bag inside.

            While I was just outside the front of the food bank and unlocking my bike, Betina, one of my former yoga students, came out. She used to work at the food bank and I guess she had just dropped by to say hello. She asked me if I was still teaching my classes at the Parkdale Activity and Recreation Centre, but I told her that, after three years, I’d recently called it quits because of low attendance. She said she’d been thinking of starting to come again. There had been a period of several months when she was my only regular student. I explained that I would have been satisfied with teaching there even if only one student had come, but just before I stopped, no one had shown up for two months. It was a waste of my time. I told Betina she was looking good, then she went home to sleep and I went home to put my groceries away.

            That evening I took a bike ride to Cosburn and Roosevelt. On the way back across the Bloor Viaduct, a young guy passed me and I passed him back and forth a few times. At one point when I was ahead of him, I veered out to pass another guy when the young guy whipped past me again, dangerously close. He stopped at Parliament to head south. I shouted to him as I passed, “You’ve gotta give some warning if you’re gonna pass that close!” He shouted back, “Sorry about that, man!”