The View From Scranton

Food of the Gods, the State, and the Army

I may not be the first person to eat Zabar's out of a dumpster, but I bet a bundle I'm the first person to do so in Scranton. Yep, G-Girl sent through the Big Bad Apple care package yesterday, and stupid me threw away the best part. See the box comes with a trayful of bagels and mustard, and at first glance it would appear that that's all there is. That first glance would be wrong, way wrong. After I trashed the box in the dumpster, I returned to eat and noticed something seemed to be missing. So I flew back outta the house and did a little shallow diving. Unlike George's famous eclair -- thankfully -- my food didn't have a bite out of it. Like his, though, it was sitting on top of the other garbage. And inside the trash-straddling box was a bulky white envelope that bigly boldly said: Open Immediately. Do Not Discard. Perishables.

And here I thought it was only dry ice.

Like I said: Stupid. But none the loss for stupidity. Even after pulling, packing, shipping, delivering, receiving and trashing, all was superswell and good. I gnoshed and I gnoshed like a gourmand, on smoked salmon, hot pastrami, kosher salami, bagels and rye. I did have to give up the poppy seed bagels, as well as the amoretti cookies; seems either could leave me testing positive for drugs or alcohol. But I dug the rest. And hen some.

In fact, yesterday was a feast all around, which was a welcome relief after such a long hard famine. Earlier in the morning I made the trek 'cross the tracks to the local food warehouse and stocked up on the state's dime. See they've got this emergency food program for ex-cons (and the otherwise bankrupt), and though I'd swore throughout my whole life that I'd never welfare (it wasn't till the third trip that I actually applied), this felt different. I mean, I gave the state nearly four years of my life, the least they could do is buy me a couple steaks.

Sure beats borrowing more money.

As if that humbling experience wasn't quite enough, I was sent over to the local Salvation Army for clothes and food. Now I've always dug the Army's gear and over the years I've spent loads and loads on diggables, so I had little problem selecting a few comp garments. A food handout was another thing. Take this backpack, said one of my more conniving colleagues, and they'll fill it up. So I took the it, and they filled it, and I stumbled back up a one of Scranton's longest hills with a a backbreaking load of food I'd never in a million years eat. Spam anyone? No wonder a poor felon can't think straight, he's been poisoned with sixteen tons of nitrate-laced canned goods.

So, I gave it all away. Better them than me.

posted by John Hood. @ 10:15 AM