Model Glue At The Corner Mart.

Over the course of my twenty plus years while working within the city of Toronto, I literally have seen it all. My route had me visiting most neighborhoods on a weekly basis. Many of them were in the subsidized low income, crime ridden areas deep within the bowels of the inner city. Surprisingly those neighborhoods were my best accounts for ice cream sales. I was payed commission back then so needless to say all the freezers in my accounts were always chocked full. Most of my accounts were the little Korean owned corner milk stores.

At month's end they would always fully stock their shelves, coolers and freezers with extra overflow stored in the back room. Many welfare recipients would eagerly cash their monthly cheque at these little milk stores on the condition that they spend at least fifty bucks. Spending fifty bucks in a convenience store is not very hard and I saw many $100 plus orders being rung through cash registers at month's end.

Lottery tickets, cigarettes, pop, chips along with all the latest gossip rags were the best sellers. Kraft Dinner, peanut butter, diapers, bread, milk, ice cream and those tiny boxes of laundry detergent not too far behind. It always mystified me as to why people who have so little money would not hesitate to buy groceries at a variety store. I was even more mystified as to why these same people would always take cabs everywhere when hopping on a bus or streetcar would have been so much cheaper. It is no wonder that so many of those families just keep repeating the same mistakes over and over and never escape out from the projects.

The intersection of Dundas and Sherbourne Streets is a notorious area for poverty, drugs, crime, prostitution and murders. In 2009 the Toronto Star called the Dundas Sherbourne area 'the heart of the most violent quarter in the city'. There were too many times when I was forced to take detours around this area while the police had nearby streets blocked off investigating a stabbing or shooting.

The All Saints Anglican Church Community Centre on the southeast corner provided daily refuge for some of Toronto’s most down and out citizens. I can't fathom how for so many people; living in Toronto is a daily struggle. A daily struggle many of them will endure with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. A struggle for life’s necessities that most simply will take for granted. This one intersection more than any other in the whole city always made me feel grateful and fortunate for everything I had in my life.

Seriously, Dundas and Sherbourne was always a good reality check for me.

Opposite the sheer poverty of the All Saints Church would be two of my best accounts. A 24 hour 7-11 on the southwest corner and a Corner Mart diagonally right across the street. My summer ice cream commissions were very lucrative at both of these stores. Although, the money I earned did come with its fair share of hassles. The two biggest hassles were parking and constantly being approached by strangers wanting money for food, cigarettes, booze or drugs. There also would be the occasional hooker offering me a good time, if I could find the time.

And the money.

I learned very early that handing out cash to down and out strangers was a bad idea. I had done it a couple times and like a stray cat once you put out a dish of milk, they will never leave you alone. As callous as this may sound, there was only one way to deal with big city street people. You simply have to ignore them and for the ones who persist in begging from you, you sometimes need to be a bit rude.

I would tell them all to go fuck themselves.

The Corner Mart had a streetcar stop right in front of the store. Back then parking in front of a bus or streetcar stop was a forty dollar ticket. I got dozens of those parking tickets over the years, but I never got one at the Corner Mart. If I was lucky after I parked my truck, I would maybe be a hundred feet or so from the front door. If I was unlucky, I would be many, many more feet away. Street parking was always very scarce in front of the Corner Mart.

I will always remember the Corner Mart for one individual. An individual who I watched over the course of a year sink into such depths of despair, he would eventually drown in his own misery. The first time I saw Buddy he was well dressed. He was wearing dress pants, nice shoes and a white collared shirt. He looked to be around the same age as me; he was clean shaven and had a proper haircut. I would never have noticed this individual had it not been for what he was doing on one summer afternoon outside the Corner Mart.

It seems Buddy needed cash and every three minutes or so the Dundas Street westbound traffic would come to a stop at the red light on Sherbourne. Buddy would approach the driver’s side of as many cars as possible asking for money before the light turned back green. Buddy did not look at all like anyone who had ever approached me before looking for cash. His innovative way of approaching stopped cars was like a squeegee kid, but without the squeegee. Buddy wanted your money, but he wasn’t going to clean your windshield for it.

Almost every week that summer while making my deliveries rain or shine I saw Buddy. He’d be running out onto the street canvassing the stopped traffic for handouts before the light turned back green. Buddy always worked the light in front of the Corner Mart and I never saw him anywhere else. He may have asked me for money a couple times, but he most likely ignored me because I was usually parked too far away from the corner.

Buddy’s corner.

As the weeks passed by, Buddy became more disheveled and unkempt. His white shirt was now dirty and untucked. His messy hair was greasy and dirty looking and he had stopped shaving. As the summer turned into winter I hardly ever saw Buddy as I would not need to visit the Corner Mart as often. Even during the freezing cold winter months, Buddy was still out there. He would be wearing a dirty, ripped winter coat with no hat or gloves while working his corner. Buddy was now beginning to look more and more like the homeless people from across the street at the All Saints drop-in centre.

As the winter turned back into spring, ice cream sales began to pick up. Once again I started visiting the Corner Mart weekly. Buddy was still at it, but it was obvious to me Buddy was not doing too well. Buddy was now wearing a ripped tee shirt with ripped jeans. He wore non matching shoes, he was dirty and his hair was now very long. Buddy was not looking anywhere close to the guy I had seen the previous summer. The most noticeable difference in Buddy was his weight, he was now sickly looking. He looked like the skinny crackheads and heroin addicts I would see begging for money around Moss Park a few blocks south.

That spring it wasn't too long before I realized why Buddy was always out front at the Corner Mart. One afternoon I was inside the store merchandising the freezer and out of the corner of my eye I saw Buddy entering the store. Up to that afternoon I had never seen Buddy inside the Corner Mart. I watched Buddy walk over to the cash register; with his hand he loudly slammed coins onto the counter.

Buddy stood there nervously fidgeting as the store owner was dealing with another customer. Once done with the customer the store owner reached under the counter and handed Buddy a small brown paper bag. Without saying a word Buddy grabbed the bag and walked down the aisle right behind me. Buddy had quickness in his step as I watched him walk to the fresh produce area at the back of the store. I knew Buddy was not getting himself an apple or a banana as I kept watching. I watched Buddy peel off one of the clear plastic produce bags from the roll before he exited out the back door.

I was dumbfounded and I had no idea what Buddy was up to.

About fifteen minutes later I was finished merchandising the freezer and I went to the front counter for the owner to pay his invoice. Korean milk store owners could be real shysters when it came to running their businesses and most would have to pay their invoice right away. Very few stores set up accounts with monthly billing and for the most part they were all COD accounts. On most summer days I would have upwards of five thousand bucks cash in my pockets. Having five thousand bucks in your jeans at Dundas and Sherbourne was always a bit scary for me. The Corner Mart had been robbed many times over the years for a lot less.

While I was waiting I could see through the window that Buddy was now back on his corner right outside the front door. I was now very curious about the owner’s transaction with Buddy not even twenty minutes earlier.

“What’s up with that guy always begging for money?” I asked while pointing over in Buddy’s direction.

“Oh, he won my best customers.” The owner said in his broken English while laughing.

The owner pulled out a box from under the counter, there had to be a dozen small brown paper bags inside.

“Once he get won dolla he come here me give him bag.” The owner handed me one of the bags.

I looked inside to find nothing but a small yellow tube of model glue. Buddy was a glue sniffer and judging by how many bags were in the box, a pretty regular one at that. That would explain why he went to the back of the store and tore off a produce bag. I was saddened after what I had just heard, the store owner was happily profiting from another man’s addiction. He was no different than the corner drug dealers who for years had infested the whole area. I remember going back to my truck and watching Buddy for a few minutes and I recalled how this seemingly normal looking person had caught my attention not even a year earlier. Buddy had gone downhill so fast over that time.

A few weeks later I was once again inside the Corner Mart and once again Buddy came in for his little brown bag. Buddy, with his brown bag in hand walked to the back of the store where he once again ripped off another plastic bag from the roll. However, this time I decided to follow Buddy and witness firsthand for myself this glue sniffing addict in action.

Before Buddy even got out the back door he had discarded the brown paper bag and was squeezing the model glue into the plastic bag. Buddy had no idea I was behind him as he went out the back door with the bag already up to his face. He threw the empty tube onto the pavement and quickly disappeared down a back alley. I will never forget how many empty, flattened, crushed tubes of model glue were strewn all over the pavement. There were literally dozens of them and I can only assume they were all from Buddy.

I would be willing to bet that the Corner Mart sold more tubes of model glue than some of the city’s busiest hobby stores. Seeing that many empty yellow tubes of model glue littering the pavement on that afternoon will be something I will always remember. By summer's end I noticed Buddy was no longer working his corner. On one of my visits to the Corner Mart I asked the owner if he was still around and if he was still buying model glue.

“No he disip ear, me tink he die.” The owner told me as he showed me the now empty box under the counter. A box that just a few months earlier was filled with brown paper bags each with a tube of glue inside.

“Me no sell no more goo.” He added.

What drove Buddy into sniffing glue? I wondered.

Who knows whatever really happened to Buddy. My guess is judging by how far Buddy had deteriorated over the last year; he had indeed probably died of some type of overdose. Over the following years I continued earning my big commissions at the Corner Mart. The pavement and the back alley behind the store was all cleaned up and there wasn’t an empty yellow tube of model glue in sight.

I can only hope Buddy got the help he needed. Hopefully he was now just a regular citizen going about his days just like the people he had once been begging money from.

Although, most likely Buddy was just another addict who had met an early demise within the heart of the city’s most violent quarter. Sadly, an early demise would be the reality for many addicts living within the Dundas and Sherbourne area of Toronto.