For the last two weeks I didn’t go to the food
bank because I had work on Saturday morning, but this Saturday I went. It was a
relatively warm day; much warmer than the last few times I’d been there. After
locking my bike to the tree I walked to the back of the diffuse line and looked
at the man in the red coat and red cap that was the furthest one furthest back.
I was about to ask him whom the last person was when he anticipated my question
and pointed to himself. I inquired as to which people were directly ahead of
him so I could have a sense of how the line looked one he indicated one guy and
then another. We chatted a bit about what is available at the food bank. He
told me he likes to get some tuna and some salami. He said he really likes it
when they have French bread. I said that I think all or a lot of the bread
comes from the St Francis Table on Queen Street. I didn’t ask but he looked
like he was from Ethiopia and he was talking amicably with two other guys who
looked like they were from the same general area but they were talking in
English so I assumed they were all from different countries like maybe Somalia
and Eritrea. He pointed his umbrella at one of the men’s running shoes and was
amused because one could see behind the Velcro strap that he wasn’t wearing
socks. The guy explained that he just likes to put them on and run.
There
were not any smokers nearby when I arrived. That and the fact that it was warm
enough to eschew my winter gloves allowed me to comfortably read the book I’d
brought with me. It was one of the required reading books for my Canadian
Poetry class, Jeff Dirksen’s “Vestiges”. It is for the most part a tedious
collection of poeticized Marxist criticisms of the deterioration of worker’s
rights and of urban areas as living spaces for workers. A lot of the verses are
made up of various quotes from Socialist philosophers combined with what looks
like excerpts from news reports and lines jump back and forth over several
centuries. I find it very annoying because I really don’t think it works as
poetry because I don’t find that the poet is engaged with what he is writing.
He should put himself inside of the poem and make it his experience instead of
keeping the work so coldly intellectual. There was one piece of information
serving as a line in a verse that got my attention though: “At two dollars a
day, a European cow earns more than a billion people.”
Someone
not too far behind me lit up a cigarette, so I moved closer to the door for a
while where a young man was having a conversation about cats with an older
woman. He was bragging that he keeps his cat so well brushed and his litter box
so clean that some friends of his with cat allergies can visit him without even
noticing that he has a cat. He explained that the reason that some fixed male
cats still spray is because they undergo the procedure at a point when their
hormone levels are high which causes them to maintain the instinct. He repeated
a story he’d hear his father tell of a woman he had dated before he’d met his
mother. She had invited him over for dinner at her place where she had two
large dogs. When she served him a helping of mashed potatoes with dog hair in
it he knew she wasn’t the one for him.
It
was almost 10:30 and Desmond came out to have a smoke near the door. Because it
was close to number time, the line started forming, so I went back to my place.
Some Gypsies already in line that knew their place was behind me politely but
in a strangely formal manner invited me in ahead of them. One of the men swept
his hand in welcome like a maître d’hôtel and said, “Please sir!” Maybe it was
because he’d noticed me reading a book.
A
tall young man a few places ahead of me was telling someone that during a storm
that happened a week or so ago he had walked in the wrong direction in his
effort to make it home to Parkdale and had ended up in Yorkdale. He said that
he’d taken shelter in a hospital but his clothing had gotten so torn and wet
that he went into the washroom and threw most of them in the garbage. He
related that he also throws his clothes away after he comes in contact with
someone that has bedbugs.
I
got number 24 and went home for a while. I did a French grammar exercise, drank
some cold coffee and headed back to the food bank.
I
heard the tall guy who always throws his clothes away tell someone that women
cause more diseases than men. As I suddenly tuned in I realized that he was
explaining to someone what he believed was the reason why Trump had beaten
Clinton in the recent election in the United States.
Numbers
21 to 25 were called, so I went inside. There was some confusion because the
number 17 was being called by a volunteer as it had not been checked off the
list on the clipboard but the lowest number in the room was then 21. She called
for 18 and we tried to explain to her that we were past those numbers. Suddenly
I called out “15” as a joke but that just added confusion. For some reason she
called out 28 and skipped all the numbers in between. I protested that my
number hadn’t been called and so she served me.
From
the top of the first set of shelves I took a jar of Old El Paso salsa. Below
that was a lonely bag of walnut halves among bags of cookies, so I grabbed the
nuts. From the bottom she gave mea handful of coconut cream Larabars.
I
skipped the pasta, rice and sauce shelves. Every volunteer seems surprised when
I do that. From the well stocked this time shelf of canned beans I picked some
sweet peas and from the tuna and peanut butter shelf I chose a can of tuna.
From the soup shelf I snagged a box of organic creamy butternut squash soup. I
was a little worried when I got that home because the best before date said
last September, so since it was organic I played it safe and stored it in the
fridge. I assume though that since the food bank hadn’t refrigerated it, if it
was going to go off it would have done so months ago. From the cereal section I
asked for a box of Cheerios but when she handed it to me I saw that it was peanut
butter flavoured, so I put it back and opted for a bag of cinnamon-coconut flax
Cheerios Plus.
Just
before passing me over to the next volunteer, she suddenly remembered that
there was also shampoo and conditioner. Before I could answer she stressed
enthusiastically that it was Aveeno. I’ve heard the name though I wouldn’t have
been able to vouch for its quality, but when a woman shows enthusiasm for a
hair or skin product I usually trust their judgment, even though lots of women
disagree on what is best. I got one container of shampoo and one of
conditioner.
In
the cold section, Angie gave me a half-liter carton of 2% milk and four small
Activia yogourt containers. I didn’t notice until I got home though that the
yogourt contained stevia extract so I wasn’t going to eat it. I got two bags of
frozen egg patties, a package of chicken wieners and a small pepperoni and
olive pizza from Pizza Pizza.
There
wasn’t much besides white bread in the bakery section, so I skipped it.
The
vegetable lady had a much sparser selection than usual. She gave me an unopened
bag of carrots, a bag of green beans, two potatoes and two onions.
I
immediately rode to Freshco to get a few extra things. I noticed they had Old
Dutch chips on display and on sale, and I thought I might get some to go with
the salsa I’d gotten from the food bank. I decided to get it inside though. The
store still had cherries from Chile on sale so I took a bag. I bought some
raisin bread that I stupidly placed on the bottom of everything else and so
some of it got scrunched. They had packages of chicken drumsticks all for $5.00
each but all of different weights. I took the heaviest one I could find. I
bought two liters of milk, three containers of yogourt and two cans of peaches.
On my way out of the store I looked at the display of Old Dutch chips again and
realized that I’d forgotten to buy a bag.
I
had everything I’d bought in an extra large shopping bag from President’s
Choice. The only problem with riding my bike with a full extra large bag on the
right handlebar is that I keep kicking the bag with my right leg as I pedal.
I
noticed a dark grey police car on my way. I haven’t seen very many of those and
I couldn’t tell what division it was from. Apparently the plan had been to
switch from the white ones to the grey but the general reaction was that they
looked too sinister so they’ve changed their minds.
I
bought two cans of Creemore at the liquor store and went home.
I
read the first half of “Types of Canadian Women Volume II” by K. I. Press. Each
poem is accompanied by the image of an antique photograph of a Canadian woman
of the Victorian age, although none of the women are named. The idea that this
is volume II is a bit of a joke. There was a volume I that was published in
1903 and it was kind of an encyclopedia that contained recipes along with
beauty, health and well being tips and articles that was meant to be of
interest to ladies of that era. Press’s post modern “sequel” is satirical and
often quite funny though with an undertone of sadness sometimes. There are
quite a few poems about women drowning and others about women riding horses. In
one poem a woman talks about waking up in bed after a riding accident and
discovering that the mishap somehow turned her into a very impressive man. I’m
finding most of these poems to be quite well written and both entertaining and
disturbing.
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