Scarcity & Abundance: An Equity Lesson at the Grocery Store

I ventured out into civilization last Wednesday. Three trips and three extremely different experiences at various grocery stores in Long Beach, our city. I left each one with a decreasing sense of anxiety until I finally returned to the comfort and safety of our home, our privilege. It started at Vons, a Southern California grocery chain. I went in to get some minimal basics, the stuff I didn’t need in giant-sized quantities. Eggs, coffee creamer, coffee filters, tea bags, sugar, meat, cereal, the basics. What I found were empty shelves and a feeling of dread. I passed aisle after empty aisle in equal parts disappointment and desperation. Really, no tomato sauce? No sugar? Only two boxes of pasta left? Only two bottles of 409 on an otherwise empty aisle that should hold cleaning supplies? Just, wow. We were in Week 2 of our “Safer at Home” measures. I had expected more. At Vons, I reached high and low on the shelves to grab a few of the available items with my gloved hands, whispering positive affirmations under the hospital mask I swiped as I left a doctor's appointment in February. “They’ll have more at Costco. I just need a few items. KIT, KIT, Keep it together.” Then, I muttered other things like, “Let me grab what I can! Quick, off to the next item. I hope they have it! Why aren’t these folks practicing social distancing? Why is that man looking at me funny? I wish I could help all the people I’m overhearing talk to their kids about only being able to buy the basics.” The basics. That’s what we all needed but couldn't find. It was a real life example of scarcity. I felt like this was a competition on “Guy’s Grocery Games.” Find my items, don’t hit anyone with the cart and get out asap. In the hustle and bustle I forgot to even look to see if they had the meat and eggs. I decided Costco was the answer. I scurried to my car where my pregnant wife was waiting for me. Yes, scurried. I wasn’t afraid but I felt a high sense of anxiety which is very unusual for me. I loaded the items into the trunk and got into the car to exhale. I said I needed to check off the items from our list but, really, I needed a minute to collect myself. I centered on my breath, felt the way my stomach rose and contracted. List updated, and we were off Costco. No TP but plenty of order I walked over to get my cart and cue through the line that seemed more like a go-cart race course just to get in. A hand-written sign listed the items they didn’t have: TP, eggs, wipes, paper towels, cleaning supplies. I came for these but I felt confident I could find enough of what we needed. As I walked near the TVs, a Costco employee gave me a wet wipe for the cart. With new gloves, I accepted the wipe and said “thank you” under my mask. I headed for the eggs first just in case they had restocked. Nope. Next, I headed straight for the tequila. If this is how it’s going down, I needed some backup provisions. I actually started window shopping just to see if I needed something I didn’t know I needed, like a whole block of my favorite Dubliner cheese or freeze dried blueberries, which were impulse buys. I told myself they were indulgences that I deserved, kind of like the tequila. It was a bit of panicked pandemic buying, I suppose. I paid at the cashier and headed to load up our car. Gloves off, peppermint hand sanitizer sprayed, and I took a breath. I’m good. Tired, but good. Ready for the next stop. Small but plentiful We pulled into an empty parking lot in front of Mother’s Market, a small organic grocery store. I typically visit this store at least twice a week for fresh squeezed OJ, fresh crushed almond butter or organic milk and eggs. Every aisle was stocked, even if the almond and peanut butter machine was empty. Every organic fruit or veggie I could want was there for the taking. I got eggs, fresh squeezed OJ and some other items. While paying I noticed how different I felt compared to my first stop. There was a sense of abundance. They had what shoppers needed and if not, our online order would be delivered the next day. (We’d ordered items the previous weekend.) Again, privilege at work. I left there with my two plastic bags and less anxiety than I’d experienced all night. The smallest market had the most food with the fewest people competing against each other for basics to put on their kitchen table. Scarcity is inequity by another name That feeling stayed with me all night. I realized the Vons reminded me of the scarcity experienced living in conditions of poverty, in neighborhoods with scant resources and even fewer opportunities for good-paying jobs. You can feel like you’re competing with your neighbor down the street. You take what you can get--for a job, a place to live--because you don’t know if anything better is coming your way. There’s not enough to go around so you do what you can to survive. Thriving is aspirational. People are just trying to buy the basics to live. We’d left the comfort of our home earlier that Wednesday to go to a doctor's appointment for my wife and stock up on food. On our way to and from, we passed through my old working-class neighborhood where cars packed the streets. “Where are all these people going?” I then remembered people may be heading to work so they can survive. Working remotely isn’t their privilege. Amidst this crisis we are privileged and beyond grateful to continue our work. I already operate remotely as an executive coach and communications consultant and my wife now works remotely in her communications job. Costco provided more opportunities even though it didn’t have everything. It had more than enough as long as you had bulk money to pay for bulk sizes. First of all, it is an exclusive members-only club. The folks who pay a little extra get access to discounted, high-quality items. Maybe you don’t need that triple pack of giant-sized mayonnaise but if you did, it’s cheaper at Costco. You have more choices because you paid to get in the door. Mother’s Market didn’t have an entry fee but its prices are just as much a barrier. As long as you could pay $7 for OJ and $12 for honey, which I did, there was an abundance of products for your kitchen table. No one rushed even when they also announced their impending closure. I knew they’d wait for me. I get weekly text messages from Mother’s Market offering me discounts to make me feel valued. Privilege breeds the expectation of abundance. My dad used to say that rich people stay rich because so much is free for them. We’re middle class, far from rich, but I was acutely aware of our privilege all night long. And, that’s the thing with equity. Had I only gone to Mother’s Market and Costco, I wouldn’t have felt the desperation I felt at Vons. It would have been invisible to me. When we live in our privilege, we are often shielded from the reality others are experiencing. It’s all so unfair and so real. For too long there have been food deserts around this rich nation. Now, everyone is feeling what it’s like to be in search of healthy offerings for our families. For too long those who have access to the most exclusive, and historically exclusionary, circles have the most choices. Those outside the circle are left to hustle more now than ever. Maybe they’re underpaid teachers doing God’s work or folks standing for 10 hours straight packing food into overpriced boxes sold on flights they can’t afford to take themselves. Maybe they’re scraping together multiple underpaying jobs in this gig economy to combine into one decent paycheck. Those on the front lines of disparity often see and feel what inequity looks like. They know their students often choose work over community college to support their immediate needs. Even now, they know some of their students can only go online when their parents return home from work because that phone is the only internet in the house. They see uncles and cousins arrive to collect food at centers meant to feed students. If you don’t see it, you might miss it. I had the privilege to navigate between all three of these stores with ease. I was born into poverty but my family worked our way to the middle class. I recognize inequity because I’ve lived it. Now I use my privilege to not only name it but address it. For nearly the last 20 years I’ve been working to disrupt inequitable practices in education. Our schools and communities are like the supermarkets I visited this week. Trust me, inequity exists even if you’ve never experienced it. When this is all over, I hope more people understand how it feels to not have the basics. It’s not due to lack of interest or skills or talent but access to choices. Redlining. Unequal funding for schools. Environmental pollution in your backyard. Banking barriers. All of those practices and policies limited choices to communities of color and rural areas. In an environment of scarcity, you operate in survival mode. You might become more creative and resilient but you can also grow weary from the struggle with dim prospects for the future. We know one day there will be more toilet paper. But, how will this change the way America works for its residents? Our nation of abundance feels like an episode of a post-Apocalyptic Netflix series. How can we right the wrongs of public policy and private practice? How will we reorganize systems designed to be inequitable the way we are reorganizing every other aspect of society right about now? Everyone is being creative, resourceful and collaborative as we watch out for the collective whole. We can continue these new practices moving forward. Equity needs to be the new American way. The old broken systems that disserve and marginalize entire communities need to be disbanded. I got my basics and went home to store them for the long haul. That experience pierced me. I am even more committed to championing equity in schools and communities. This window of time can allow us to remember what is really important, be it family, our health, the basics. Add equity to that list. I hope more people see it, get it and do something about it.

#scarcityandabundance #equitymatters

By: Lydia Ramos-Mendoza

Lydia Ramos-Mendoza is managing partner of LLRM Creativa, LLC, a communications consulting and executive coaching firm, and a champion for equity.