Gratitude & Dented Cans
Why I’m excited about three mushy cucumbers, a runty sweet potato, and a dented can of pineapple
My best friend and I talk on the phone every couple of days. On my end, there isn’t a lot of news to share. I’m quarantined alone, I’m unemployed, and each day looks, on the surface, basically the same as the one before: work out, read, eat, write, walk.
A little over two weeks ago, my big news was that I got groceries. “Big news” is relative, right?
So that was my big, exciting, different thing that day—the day I got groceries for the first time in eight weeks. Not because I’m destitute (I’m fortunate) and not because I lacked access (I’m grateful). I just made it work without for awhile.
And I’d been looking forward to new groceries, mostly fresh produce and a couple of treats (pretzels, canned pineapple, and bananas — for better or worse, I nixed the M&Ms and ice cream that were originally on my list).
I had placed my order a few days earlier, and at the time I knew there would likely be some substitutions made, and some items they simply couldn’t fill. That’s simply the state of things.
I was eager to see what I would get.
So when I talked with my friend on the day of the delivery, I updated her on my grocery status: what I received, what was out of stock, what the “pickers” were able to substitute, and what they weren’t.
“It seems like a lot of things are wrong with your order,” she said after a while, “And you’re not that bothered.”
And I guess I’m not.
Part of it is maybe that I set my expectations low — with all the news of empty grocery store shelves, who knew what I would receive when my order arrived?
And part of it, I know, is that I’m just happy to have food. I grew up food insecure, and I always delight in fresh groceries, cooking meals, and having a well-stocked refrigerator.
But beyond that, I’m just feeling a lot of gratitude around the experience.
I’m grateful for affordable delivery services. Before the pandemic, I had never bought my groceries through a service. I like to pick out my own produce, avoid extra plastic, and pack my reusable tote bags.
I carefully shop the sales on the shelf, ones I might have missed in the weekly flyer. I enjoy the meandering walk from my apartment to the grocery store. And the walk back, weighed down by a week or two’s worth of groceries, reminds me that I’m strong and capable.
But right now, I’m glad to stay home. I’m glad to be safe.
I’m grateful for the picker who filled my order. Yes, my cucumbers were a little soft. I’ll have to eat them more quickly than I usually would. And the pretzels they subbed in aren’t going to work for the snack mix I was planning to make.
But the person who filled my order was trying not to touch a dozen cucumbers just to get the three freshest ones for me. And they made an effort to sub my pretzels with the closest kind available. And they were working fast and overlooked the dent in my pineapples. (Besides, small dents are usually still safe.) I’m grateful for them.
I’m grateful to the people who are stocking the shelves, the people in the manufacturing and processing plants, and the logistics workers that are making food happen.
Grocery store employees are overworked and exposed right now. Assembly line workers are showing up every day and putting themselves at risk. Truck drivers are still moving our food from one place to another. I’m grateful to all of them for working to produce and restock our food supply.
The store was out of greens. They were out of plain old russet potatoes. They were even out of bananas. The fact that there were staples I didn’t receive just reminds me how overwhelming a responsibility it must be to keep food on the shelves right now.
And I’m grateful to the delivery driver. It’s amazing that we have this service at all — the fact that I could buzz him through the front door of our building and he left my food right where I requested . . . the fact that I didn’t even have to open my door, let alone leave my apartment . . . I’m grateful for all of that. From my living room window, I watched him walk back to his truck and I sent him a repeated message from my heart: “May you be well. May you be well. May you be well.”
I’m reminded every day that my struggle is comparatively small (although — unpopular opinion — that doesn’t make it insignificant). I’m safe. I’m healthy. I have a roof over my head.
And I have fresh groceries—and news to share—too.
