Chairs for Those Who Like to Smoke

            On Saturday morning I started recording my song practice with hopefully a louder mic and a better-positioned camera. After a couple of songs though I noticed that the camera wasn’t recording. I knew I’d pushed the record button and I had seen the red light on, so I concluded that when I’d repositioned the camera I must have pushed the button again and stopped the recording. When I pushed it again it stayed on, but then after about fifteen minutes my E string broke. I managed to find amongst my extra strings one E string that had somehow gotten twisted but I put it on anyway. The string though was dull and toneless and for some reason laying flat against the neck. I finally figured out though that when I’d tightened the string it hadn’t been sitting in its proper groove in the nut but rather it was caught along the side of the neck. I pried it into place and it sounded fine. There was no trace of the twisted part so it must have gotten wound up on the capstan. Hopefully it would hold. It wasn’t a very successful recording session though in terms of time but I haven’t looked or heard the playback yet so I don’t know if there was anything worth keeping.

            I spent some time trying to memorize Serge Gainsbourg’s “Pourquoi Un Pyjama?” Once I get the rhythm of it it’s not so hard to remember: “Moi je n'en mets jamais non jamais je n'en mets jamais je n'ai mis de ma vie un pyjama”. It’s just hard to sing it fast.

            At about 9:45 o Saturday I went to the food bank. The line-up was longer than last time but about the right length for the middle of the month. Something new though was that a handful of people had brought along camping chairs to make waiting easier. The woman in front of me had brought one in her cart and I overheard her tell someone that they have them for $8.99 at Canadian Tire.

            I guess it was inevitable that food bank clients would start bringing chairs. At the previous location there had been a few chairs put out by the food bank, as well as old furniture and palates lying around to sit on, so those that felt the need to sit didn’t need to bring anything of their own. When I’m there I don’t feel any urge to sit but even if I did, what would be the point? In order to avoid all the second hand smoke I have to stay on my feet and move around.

            The tattooed Ethiopian guy with the golden lab pup was a little further back in line. Someone was walking by with an adult black lab and he stopped to let his dog interact with the pup. Dog people might be just as snooty as everyone else but they tend to momentarily bond with other dog people across the classes. Someone might not stop to talk to someone in the food bank line-up, but if their dog wants to communicate with a poor person’s dog, they are suddenly equals, at least for a minute or two.

            When the line started moving I went to step back into line. I had not stood in my place since I’d arrived because there had been constant smoking from nearby the whole time. During that period a couple of guys had taken position behind the two women just in front of me and a long line had formed behind them. I came forward and told the two guys that I was in front of them. The scowling, prematurely white haired man declared, “Not likely!” I affirmed that I was behind the two ladies but he challenged me by demanding to know why I’d been standing off to the side. I explained that I had been avoiding the smoke and argued that I shouldn’t have to breathe toxins just to keep a place in line. He countered that the city is full of poison. I told him, “The streets are full of piss and shit but that doesn’t mean I can take a dump on your shoes!” “I wouldn’t advise it!” he warned. “Well, there ya go” I responded, “That’s why I don’t want to be around people who are exhaling poison, and you shouldn’t either!” I took my place and he didn’t argue about it anymore.

            Later I heard him grumble about how little one gets from the food bank, but the e-cigarette guy behind him offered, “Every little bit helps is what I say!”

After a while the vaper was commenting that he didn’t see very much goose meat available in Toronto. He said that when he lived in Israel goose meat was offered on pizza as a kosher replacement for pepperoni. I looked this up later and found that there is a breed of goose that Israel imports from Spain, the meat of which tastes like pork.

The food bank opened a few minutes ahead of time. I got number 31.

Angie’s cold foods section had half litre cartons of milk, 1.5 litre cartons of milk and 1.5 litre cartons of cashew milk. She said, “Take your milk!” I inquired as to which milk I should take. She asked, “Which one do you want?” I told her that I’d take the small one, but she gave me two anyway. I slipped the usual bag of five eggs into the small pocket of my backpack. I’m glad to announce that, unlike last time, they all made it to my refrigerator unbroken. I got two small raspberry-chocolate Greek yogourts and a choice between a tube of frozen ground chicken and frozen chicken wieners. Although that particular ground chicken isn’t very good, it’s far better than hot dogs for preparing meals. It can go into a soup with some chicken broth, potatoes and spices, and then it’s not bad at all.

Sylvia’s section had lettuce and I didn’t want to just put something as moist as lettuce into my backpack, so I pulled out the plastic bag that I’d brought for bread and started to open it. Plastic bags are not always easy to open right away. One has to find which end to start and then sometimes to even get the open part open because the sides are stuck together. Sylvia seemed get impatient with me while I was trying and said, “Time is ticking!” or something like that. The lettuce was not in great shape but there were salvageable parts. There were lettuce leaves on the floor. There was also half a small cabbage and a bunch of celery that had gone brown in parts. She gave me the usual potatoes but a few more than usual and a very small onion. I took a bag of pre-chopped peppers but when I got them home and opened them for a salad they smelled like garbage so I threw them away.

My helper at the shelves was the woman I’ve been calling here “the bread lady”. I thought about asking her name this time but it didn’t happen. She kept apologizing that they didn’t have very much of a selection that day and so almost anything I asked for she gave me double.

There were no cereals and no canned beans or tuna. I took a container of tomato-basil bisque and she gave me two cartons of chicken broth. I picked a litre carton of coconut water with pineapple and she gave me another. I asked for some granola bars and she gave me a couple of handfuls of what she thought were granola bars. About five of them were Golden Grahams Smores bars and the others were Kellogg’s Vector berry burst energy bars. I didn’t want any crackers or cookies but that shelf did have a box of five Special K dark chocolate chunks and almonds bars. From a top shelf that had some single items I picked a bottle of balsamic fig dressing.

From the bread I selected a non-sliced loaf of whole wheat.

The food bank offerings were a little lower on protein than usual this time but there were a few more greens, which went well with the balsamic fig dressing.