I knew the supply chain disruption had reached a crisis point when I called to order takeout fish and chips and was told there was no fish.
I was speechless for a second, then regained my composure and said I’d have to figure out what I wanted to do.
Months of dealing with unexpectedly empty shelves at the supermarket and long delays in shipments have convinced me that the dictionary people have got to choose “pivot” as the word of the year.
The introduction to a New York Times podcast on the subject sums up the issue succinctly: “Consumers have been confronted with an experience rare in modern times: no stock available, and no idea when it will come in.”
In the early days of the pandemic, toilet paper, antiseptic cleaners and hand sanitizer were hard to find. That was distressing, but at least it was related to a specific event. People were clearly hoarding, which created an unexpected demand-and-supply problem.
Now the shortages seem random, because, I guess, they are. One day there were no organic blueberries. I would have bought organic strawberries, but there weren’t any of those either. Were they stuck on a container ship off San Francisco?
Since I can’t find at least one item on my list each time I shop, I’ve discovered that there are several ways to react to the problem.
The first is to remind myself that on my own, personal level, this is a first-world problem. (It’s a worldwide debacle in the wider sense.) I am not going to starve if I can’t get organic blueberries. I am only going to pout. I may want to make a tuna casserole with cream of mushroom soup, but if the shelf is bare (which it was last week), I do know how to make a white sauce from scratch. Or maybe I’ll make something completely different, like tacos.
Yes, I can react by pivoting, that hateful pandemic-era word. I am frankly tired of pivoting. I do it under duress, and because I have no alternative.
That said, the supermarket is no place to pivot. If I have to rethink my dinner plans in the middle of the store, say, due to a lack of chicken wings, I may have to go back to the produce section. Since my goal is to complete my shopping as quickly as I can, the thought of going all the way back to the front of the store involves significant pouting.
Once when this happened, I was able to think quickly enough to realize I could get frozen roasted potatoes without having to retrace my steps. It was a grand pivot.
I try not to react to the sight of empty shelves by hoarding. However, the canned dog food area has been pretty bare lately. Dogs’ digestive systems don’t pivot well; or perhaps I should say they pivot catastrophically if consistency is not maintained. So I have bought two cans at a time instead of my usual one — just in case.
Shortages give me a chance to reflect on my purchases. There was about a month-long period when I couldn’t buy my greatest indulgence: Kettle brand salt and vinegar potato chips. It’s cheaper to buy the “sharing” size, which is 13 ounces. (Only in America do manufacturers feel the need to suggest that customers not down a huge bag of chips at one sitting.)
Anyway, first there was only the smaller bag available. Then no salt and vinegar. I was stuck with plain. But there were big bags. The next week, only small bags of plain. Finally, the sharing size of salt and vinegar was back. It kind of made my day.
My angst in the snack foods aisle hits all the buttons. It is a first-world problem; I can pivot easily when my choice is limited to the other varieties of chips; and I can say, “Do I really need chips?”
The last question is easily answered. We are all going through an extremely stressful time. I do need my chips.
I also try to enter the supermarket with a sense of adventure and humor. What won’t I find today? Last week, I couldn’t find a bag of frozen mixed vegetables. This was for that tuna casserole and I had, happily, secured a can of cream of mushroom soup. I was ready to buy organic, store-brand or Birds Eye. Nothing. I ended up with individual bags of peas, corn and green beans.
The mixed vegetables had returned on my most recent visit, although the rest of the frozen vegetable section had what I would term bald spots. You can bet I scooped up a package to be ready for my next casserole.
Faced with a decision on what to do about the lack of fish for that Friday dinner, I remembered the leftovers that had been destined for Saturday lunch. It was the tuna casserole.
At least, I reflected, as I watched it spin in the microwave, my family won’t be bereft of chips for the foreseeable future. We have a crate of potatoes in the basement.
And that, of course, is the ultimate pivot: Grow your own.
Liz Soares welcomes email at lizzie621@icloud.com.
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