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One of my earliest memories as a child on the move is of helping my father shop for groceries. Something I did from the time when I had become old enough to carry things in the store, and from our car into the household. My mother did not drive, and I was the oldest of our brood, so from an early age, it became my responsibility to provide assistance. Soon, this activity seemed quite natural, as part of our family adventures. Particularly because I had stories of my maternal grandparents, who owned and operated a general store in the rural south, for validation.
These trips to get consumables educated me about the industry. They also helped me learn how to socialize with adults, and organize tasks. Years later, when our station wagon was out of commission, I actually walked to a nearby food-depot, bought what we needed, and carried the bags home, on foot. It was a familiar chore by then, something that I did not try to shirk. I earned the trust of my parents, and supported our needs. Having that duty gave me a lasting sense of importance.
When I ended up in the retail industry, this tilt toward shopkeeping as a profession appeared to be sensible. I had already engaged in years of study and acclamation. So, making an adjustment to that discipline wasn’t really necessary. I already had it ingrained into my own psychology. For 33 years, I worked as a clerk and manager with five different chains. Fisher’s Big Wheel, Bi-Rite Supermarkets, Rini-Rego Stop ‘n’ Shop, Giant Eagle, and CVS Drugstores.
Disability sidelined this career earlier than I had expected, however. That brought my employment odyssey to an abrupt end during the latter part of 2016. Yet I still felt connected with the industry in a variety of ways. Most directly, as a customer and patron, still making regular visits to fill my cart. At emporiums located in Ashtabula, Geneva, Madison, Painesville, Chardon, and Rock Creek, in addition to Hambden and Trumbull Townships. I continued to submit ideas for consideration, with companies where I had labored in the past. And, wrote about my shopping habits in a variety of creative projects.
While maintaining an active link with these far-flung outposts, I noted that some neighbors in my isolated community were availing themselves of delivery services being offered. An option with which I was barely familiar. It felt undeniably odd to think of someone who was able-bodied getting food items sent to their home address, simply for the convenience aspect. But over a course of months and years, I realized that more and more people on my street were participating in such programs. I would sit and watch from the vantage point of my front porch, with a cold beverage, and marvel at this lazy habit.
It was something that I never wanted to embrace, willingly.
Still, the intensity of recent winter weather urged me to reassess my bias against purveying goods through a phone app, and a remote driver. I had already set up an online account with a major chain, to make purchases that would otherwise be impossible in my area. Therefore, when the need to order certain, staple items posed a problem, I was able to have them shipped. By the US Postal Service, or other companies such as FedEx or UPS. A no-cost tier, for quantities that amounted to $35.00 or more, made it an attractive alternative. Without thinking specifically about this paradigm shift, I had begun to slide down a slippery slope. One that would deposit me at the foothills of modernity. With an easier journey as my benefit.
My niece, who is a wife, mother, insurance counselor, and caretaker for her son, father, and my brother, suggested that at the very least, I should have large items brought to my home. Because those big and heavy goods were most challenging to get up my access ramp, and into the kitchen. That simple logic hit the target, as I had been struggling to shop anywhere. In particular, when snow and ice made my driveway difficult to navigate. On one blustery day in December, I slipped and ended up hanging over the railing, next to my small SUV. Only a miracle kept me off the ground. I was out of breath, and trembling in the cold. And, determined to make a change.
That incident evoked memories of other close brushes with personal injury. Risky incidents that I did not want to revisit, for any reason.
My first attempt to create a virtual order, through the magic of a cellular portal, ended badly. I impulsively picked a Sunday before forecasters had warned of a looming storm, ahead. My total was $162.00. I reckoned on it filling the cupboards and fridge, at least for a few days. But apparently, at the store, they were short on employees for all three shifts. In addition to the general boss being sidelined by a dreadful family crisis. With the crew at a minimum, and in-person customers frantic to get stocked-up, the process I needed to use had been shut down, temporarily. This meant I got text messages about a delay for several hours. With a final excuse delivered at 8:30 that night. The sender suggested that I come for the groceries on my own. Which of course, was what I had intended to avoid by paying for their service.
I canceled the entire order in disgust. Fortunately, bad weather abated for long enough that I was able to get what I needed to survive the frosty episode we expected.
Yet after several more deliveries of dry goods, through regular shipping providers, I decided to try again. This time, I picked a mid-week day when the flow of floor traffic, I thought, would be less intense. That calculation somehow worked in my favor. I received up-to-the-minute texts about what was coming, and when it would be delivered. This real-time communication let me guide the aide to my yard, and the inset porch where I was waiting. I had bundled up to be comfortable outside, in the cold. My view of the rustic boulevard was perfect.
The driver exuded gratitude for my help, and was very courteous. He even sat large items inside the front door, in my living room. A level of assistance that I truly appreciated, as someone who normally gets around with the use of two canes. I had bought enough snacks, drinks, and meals to fortify myself for a week or more. And done so without the usual aches and pains associated with getting in and out of my AWD vehicle, repeatedly.
Admittedly, this satisfying accomplishment filled me with a sense of confusion, in the aftermath. I now had everything needed to sustain myself, but hadn’t gone anywhere. Hadn’t engaged in any polite conversation, or chattered about the wellness of friends and foes. I hadn’t gotten any news reports about the business. Or even seen the sights of a community outside of my own. My cupboards were full, but I remained emotionally empty. Still, it was trade-off I was inclined to make again, in the near future.
I did not want to disappear from the market continuum, completely. Because, for such a long time, it had been a focal point of my life.
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