Lily 9
I'm feeling great as I walk out of the public library discard sale. It goes on for five days. Go in the last two hours of the last day and you can fill one of their shopping bags for three dollars.
And so I have one bag in each hand. Father will be proud of me, some of the neat topics I've found. I think of discussions, debates we've had of late. The deafness does have a silver lining; brought us closer together.
To my utter surprise, a police car comes to a halt; the doors left open as the two cops exit.
The big fat male Donut Eater is pointing his pistol, at me no less. I can lipread enough to understand they want me to put down the bags.
As Donut Eater covers me, the female cop checks the bags. After randomly pulling three books, seeing them stamped "Discard", she blushes, "sor-ry." Hands me back the bags and away they go.
I'm mystified. Did they think I was stealing library books?
Once I get home, examine my catch, I realize something. Lotta fiction paperbacks are as little as two years old, not badly worn. Is that the sign of a prosperous city or what? Wonder how many cities' libraries can afford to discard so soon?
For days the cop mystery dogs me, finally I shrug, one of those random events. No doubt I look similar to someone.
The Sunday local paper clears up the mystery. There is a cheese theft ring operating in town. Victimize restaurants and grocery stores. The police rationale is it's a commodity that keeps well, has a lotta value in relation to size and weight.
Where they get the cheese from is no mystery; where it is resold is.
Police have already checked the books of every pizzeria in town; comparing sales to purchase receipts for cheese bought from the food wholesaler. None of the pizzerias is either a victim of crime; nor a consumer of black market cheese.
Police speculate it is shipped to Toronto, black marketed to pizzerias there.
The contrast hits me. That is simply not a normal Canadian crime; more what you read of happening in the Third World. Selling black market food? Not here, not til now.
So, contrast in our city, signs of poverty, signs of wealth.
As Naomi and I walk to the library Monday, a man accosts her, she declines.
Later, I ask what it was. He was selling coffee packages, obviously stolen from Second Cup.
And so I have one bag in each hand. Father will be proud of me, some of the neat topics I've found. I think of discussions, debates we've had of late. The deafness does have a silver lining; brought us closer together.
To my utter surprise, a police car comes to a halt; the doors left open as the two cops exit.
The big fat male Donut Eater is pointing his pistol, at me no less. I can lipread enough to understand they want me to put down the bags.
As Donut Eater covers me, the female cop checks the bags. After randomly pulling three books, seeing them stamped "Discard", she blushes, "sor-ry." Hands me back the bags and away they go.
I'm mystified. Did they think I was stealing library books?
Once I get home, examine my catch, I realize something. Lotta fiction paperbacks are as little as two years old, not badly worn. Is that the sign of a prosperous city or what? Wonder how many cities' libraries can afford to discard so soon?
For days the cop mystery dogs me, finally I shrug, one of those random events. No doubt I look similar to someone.
The Sunday local paper clears up the mystery. There is a cheese theft ring operating in town. Victimize restaurants and grocery stores. The police rationale is it's a commodity that keeps well, has a lotta value in relation to size and weight.
Where they get the cheese from is no mystery; where it is resold is.
Police have already checked the books of every pizzeria in town; comparing sales to purchase receipts for cheese bought from the food wholesaler. None of the pizzerias is either a victim of crime; nor a consumer of black market cheese.
Police speculate it is shipped to Toronto, black marketed to pizzerias there.
The contrast hits me. That is simply not a normal Canadian crime; more what you read of happening in the Third World. Selling black market food? Not here, not til now.
So, contrast in our city, signs of poverty, signs of wealth.
As Naomi and I walk to the library Monday, a man accosts her, she declines.
Later, I ask what it was. He was selling coffee packages, obviously stolen from Second Cup.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 8:09 AM
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