To market, to market

The familiar is everything

Nicolas Roeg

It's a funny thing about supermarkets. One doesn't think much of them until they become less than second nature. Let's face it, you probably haven't spent too many sleepless nights wondering if your local grocer has an adequate supply of Chex Mix or if the avocadoes are soft to the touch. You may peruse the Sunday ad, clip a coupon or twelve, choose between organic or processed, create a list (or not) and then make the ultimate choice between paper or plastic, but for the most part, you must admit shopping for food is one of our more ritualistic behaviors.

Until it’s not. I remember when this realization dawned on me. It was many years ago and I had just moved from Rhode Island (where I had always lived until that time) to Vermont. This was a distance of some 250 miles—hardly the equivalent of going from… say New York City to a peasant village in Botswana. Nonetheless, it was adjustment and on one particular day in the first week of our arrival, after dealing with a 5 year old with an ear infection (and not knowing where the local emergency room was located, let alone a pediatrician) a crib that hadn’t been delivered by the movers (they just couldn’t quite locate it) leading to a very over-tired and cranky 17-month old and a assortment of other things gone wrong, I took upon myself the task of stocking my new kitchen pantry. Bad idea. I have a distinct memory of walking down the aisle of the local A&P (fortunately without the children) and just sniffling and then ultimately sobbing because everything was in the wrong place. This was not my Stop and Shop! Nothing was familiar; my usual products weren’t available; they grouped things in odd arrangements (Vermonters had a lot of time on their hands back them—they probably still do!) I suddenly had a new understanding of the words “comfort food”. I had subconsciously undertaken an endeavor that I thought would add a modicum of normalcy to my newly chaotic life and found instead yet another arena in which I was in need of adaptation.

It was a lesson I’ve never forgotten. To an avid cook and a mother who nurtures her family with food (among other things) I have learned that I worship at the altar of King Sooper, Grand Union, Price Chopper etc. and that shopping in an unfamiliar store feels, to me, like the equivalent of participating in an exotic or foreign religious ritual. Sacrilege! Talk about being out of your comfort zone! I’ve been very careful since that time never to underestimate the influence that the local supermarket has over me. With each move--be it to a new state or a new neighborhood-- I cautiously approach the various options….sleuthing them out. Hmmmm... what kind of energy does this one exude? Who will it be? The one closest to home? Who has the best customer service, the best prices? How are things laid out? Who else shops there? What is the ratio of squeeky-wheel shopping carts vis a vis the number of shopping carts overall? Oh yes, a monumental decision to be sure. An aside note here--when I moved to Colorado, I was appalled to learn that the "natives" call shopping carts "buggies". Now I'm all about adapting to the local customs, but I've yet to bring myself to call my shopping cart a "buggy" and I've lived in Colorado since 1995! I just can't do it!

Now that I have learned that I have…well….certain “issues” in the area of "grocery store chi", it has become an amusing pastime of mine to observe the behavior of my fellow shoppers—especially in stores that are new to me. As you can imagine, I approached the task of marketing in Spain with great gusto. Okay….and a little intimidation given my bawling episode in aisle 5 of the A&P, so I took Jeremy with me. The tale of that escapade will need to wait for another day, but believe me, it will be well worth the wait. For now, it is time for siesta. Adios!