Happy About the Pickles

            On Saturday morning I was re-reading Augustine’s dialogue, “On Free Choice of Will” and looking for a famous quote, “Unless you believe you shall not understand” for my Early Medieval Philosophy course. We would be having our first tutorial on the next Tuesday and our weekly assignment is to answer in a paragraph one of the prescribed questions on the reading material or else come up with our own. I planned to make a question and response to the above quote but I needed to find where it was in the text. Professor Deborah Black had quoted it during her lecture on the subject and I knew the phrase came from Augustine but didn’t recall seeing it in this particular dialogue. I didn’t have time to finish looking for it before going to the food bank, so I printed the last ten pages and took them with me.

            As I was locking my bike I saw the prematurely grey guy that used to volunteer at the food bank crossing the street. For no particularly logical reason I hurried up so I could get in line ahead of him. What difference would it have made if I’d been behind him? Probably none, but I’m mildly competitive from time to time.

            I think that I might have heard someone call the prematurely grey haired guy Brock. I might have been mistaken but until I hear otherwise I’m going to refer to him as Brock because he really does look like a Brock.

            Brock commented on how disorganized the line always is and related that it had been suggested when they were at the previous location that they set up a rope to create a corridor that would keep people in line. The board of directors though decided that such a set-up might make food bank clients feel too much like cattle.

            Brock also wondered why at the new location they haven’t let clients wait inside like they said they were going to do before they moved. I told him that the explanation they gave me was they weren’t allowed to let everyone in because of fire regulations. He pointed out that when the food bank was on Sorauren everyone waited inside. I think that’s true for all of the other food banks in Toronto. I suspect that at the new location they could utilize their space more efficiently and actually make room for at least a small waiting area for ten people at a time. The outside line-up was more sheltered at the King Street space, so I suspect it’s going to be colder standing on Queen Street in the middle of winter.

            Betina, my former yoga student who volunteers at the food bank, came out with a box of food and said hi. I guessed she’d put in her time downstairs and was leaving with some groceries. She commented that there didn’t seem to be as much pressure and so there was less air pollution that day. I looked up and around, shrugged and said, “I guess so”, though I really didn’t notice any difference one way or the other.

            The Ethiopian guy with the tattoos was there with his pom-chi mutt. He said, “Hi brother!” then noticing me reading my stapled sheets of text, smiled approvingly and commented, “You’re always studying!”

            A woman walking west had an un-leashed dog (I think it was a miniature pinscher) trailing her. It stopped to present its behind to the pom-chi, who used his nose to study it with interest. The dog’s caregiver kept on walking and finally called, “Leslie, let’s go!” Leslie, now with a happy erection, followed after her.

            Wayne was there with his big cigar but wearing a bucket hat this time. He was somehow just behind me in line but I hadn’t seen him when I’d arrived. As Wayne danced, Brock declared to no one in particular that he was having a much better time than he was.

            Wayne’s friend came up from further back in line to give him a fancy, short-sleeved white short. He tried it on and approved.

            I’ve never seen Wayne smoke his cigar all the way. He holds it in his mouth for a while until it goes out and then he switches to a cigarette, which he actually finishes. The guy behind Brock wanted to bum a cigarette but Wayne was listening to his music and had his eyes closed, so he reached for the left headphone to get his attention. Wayne opened his eyes and exclaimed, “Don’t touch!”

            Wayne, while watching the pom-chi, commented that his dog was a cat. He said, “I’ve had my cat for eleven years and it’s 133 years old. It’s afraid of women. Whenever a woman comes over it hides under the bed.

The food bank van pulled up with several boxes of bread and Brock helped the driver carry them downstairs. Lana, who was watching the door, asked Brock why he was in line. He reminded her that he hasn’t volunteered there since before April and he was trying to avoid doing it again. She laughed. He explained further that he’d just blown all of his money on his 44^th birthday and now he needed food.

            By some miracle the food bank opened on time for a change. For the first time in a long time, our line up was going in while the people outside of PARC were still waiting for the doors to open to let them in for the free breakfast. Someone over by the PARC entrance called out my name. It was a guy that has always called my name and waved to me with extreme enthusiasm ever since I first started teaching yoga at PARC. Every Friday on my way upstairs to the Healing Centre I would pause in the drop-in centre to shout an announcement about my yoga class. He would always call my name and wave, but, but like most everyone there, never came to my class.

A woman in a wheelchair, whom I think is Wayne’s neighbour on the third floor of 1499 Queen, asked him for two quarters. He told her that his quarters were in his other pants, but he started asking other people for two quarters for her, while at the same time asking her what she needed two quarters for. “I wanna buy a coffee!” What’d you do with your money?” “I spent it!” “What’d you spend your money on? You don’t drink or smoke!” I think he must have been joking there, since she’s always smoking.

When I got downstairs I didn’t even check to see what number I’d gotten before I dropped it in the coffee can. I assume though from the size of the line-up this time that it was something like 33.

Angie didn’t seem to be there this time. Minding the dairy and meat section instead of her was the young woman that was behind the computer last time. There was no dairy at all on this occasion but rather several dairy substitutes, such as soy and almond. It all tastes like chalk, but I took the one-litre carton of almond-coconut. Of all the nut and bean milks, coconut is the only one that actually produces something like milk naturally rather than having to be blended with water first and then strained. There was no yogourt on offer either but rather a choice of plain and vanilla flavoured cultured coconut. I took the vanilla. The meat choice was between the usual boring frozen ground chicken and a slightly smaller package of frozen ground Ontario pork. There were eggs as usual but this time rather than the four pee-wee sized white ones they were large and brown. She offered me a container to put them in, which was just plastic tub like those that hold sour cream. It would have taken up three times as much room as the eggs, so I just put mine in a pocket of my backpack. Most people still believe that brown eggs are more nutritious than white, and I guess that’s the reason why they are more expensive. The only proven difference is that brown eggs have slightly more omega 3.

From Sylvia’s vegetable section I received two leeks, a head of leaf lettuce, four plumb tomatoes that were mostly in good shape, a small narrow eggplant, six carrots, seven potatoes, two lemons marbled between green and yellow and a bag of salad greens that I assume came from the garden lady.

My helper at the shelves was a young, full figured Black woman with a pretty face.

In the cereal section there were mostly sugared kids cereals but I selected a package of “Indigo Morning”, made with whole grain corn, organic cane syrup, freeze dried blackberries and freeze dried blueberries. I assume it was donated by whoever brought the nut milks and the cultured coconut. I’ll bet it’s just as sweet though as the sugared kid’s cereals.

I skipped the pasta and there was no pasta sauce again this time.

The soup section had a choice between a can of Chunky soup and a carton of chicken broth. I find the broth much more useful.

There was no tuna this time and the only canned beans were red kidney.

I took a bag of buffalo wing flavoured popcorn, a handful of chewy granola bars, another jar of pickles and eight restaurant portions of “honey spread”.

I eschewed the bread because I had enough at home.

The dairy was the biggest disappointment this week. Unless someone can’t tolerate lactose, nut milks are no substitute for dairy. With the lettuce, the leeks and the other greens, the vegetables were the biggest prize this time around. I would have to go out and buy some salad dressing to go with them though.

I was on my way out when I heard Wayne turn down some item with the colourful but unnecessary explanation that, “It gives me the shits!” I turned and saw him at the last shelf and when he looked at the top and reached for the jar of pickles his face lit up, he smiled and almost started dancing again. “Oh yay!” he exclaimed, “I got the pickles!”