Lucky Supermarket
The first item of note is this sign on the side of the building. Now, I want to “flow” through my observations and eventually connect them to sources, ideas, and other research, but...
...I think a textual analysis of this sign is warranted before moving on to other observations.
As FoodShare benefits and every rendition of the USDA food stamp act clearly state, food stamps do not cover the purchase of alcohol (or tobacco, or pet food, or...the list goes on). So, declaring “We accept Quest cards” and advertising for beer on the same sign is contradictory. The juxtaposition of the words to the image is glaring: 'We can process your government assistance and we sell beer.'
Hmm.
Either the people that ordered and printed this sign were oblivious to the fact that alcohol has never been covered by food stamps, or they are sending a purposeful signal. Now, I do not yet know the details of using a Quest card, but like a debit card, I do know it is swiped at point-of-sale, suggesting it could be declined for an unauthorized item.
The shop owner said hello as I entered the shop, and immediately stepped into an enclosure housing the register and cigarette wall.
I made a slow loop around the perimeter lined with beverage coolers: soda, sports drinks, and water sat in dingy racks and the doors on the coolers did not seal. Most were propped open leaking cold, foul-smelling air into the store. I grabbed a bottle of water out of one case and attempted to properly shut the door to no avail.
The coolers lining the entire back wall of the shop fulfilled the promise of the advertising out front: beer. Beer obviously dominated the ratio of all other products combined. Sitting perpendicular to the beer wall was a deli-style cooler case. Through the dingy glass, I spotted the only semblance of fresh food in the store:
Two thickly molded tomatoes sitting on a plate,
Two heads of iceberg lettuce,
Three bags of Sargento shredded cheddar cheese,
Several packages of bologna and hot dogs.
The case was empty except for these items.
The shop owner was staring at me from the counter.
The three aisles in the middle of the store had short shelves, only about neck high, and offered a few stray canned products, boxes of off-brand cereal, and a lone tube of Quaker Oats; no price tag was in sight for the oats.
Cans of nacho cheese dip, bags of potato chips, Cheetos, and a large assortment of candy bars blurred past my vision as I scanned the aisles, still feeling the shop owners gaze. I kept a ratio running in my head: Quaker oats on the health side of the ratio, a package of fried pork rinds on the other. Moldy tomatoes? I'm not sure where to put that.
At the register, I smiled and handed the shop owner my bottle of water. He punched in a number and muttered the amount due; he did not scan the water bottle’s bar code. As I made my way to the door, heavily armored with black bars, three people were funneling into the store. I side-stepped to let them pass. They gave me a first glance, then a second, making eye contact that has the makings of a question: what are you doing here?
I want to return to the picture for a moment, and thoughts about the Quest card being denied for unauthorized purchases. If the point-of-sale system does not include a bar code scanner and the shop owner is manually entering the purchased product, what would prevent someone from calling a six-pack of Budweiser a few cans of Dr. Pepper? The shop owner still makes money—maybe even charges a premium for the misrepresentation—makes a happy customer and covers his tracks with the false identification of the sale.
Next, driving down unfamiliar streets, I took in the National Avenue neighborhood. The houses and buildings seem to be in decent shape, and every other business was a Mexican restaurant, suggesting a higher Spanish-speaking population in the area.
Pick 'n Save
The Pick ‘n Save at 1818 W. National Avenue is huge and straight out of the 1980s. From the tile pattern on the floor to the style of the aisle markers, I traveled back in time to my childhood trips to Pick ‘n Save with my mother; our local branch has since been totally remodeled, and I had forgotten what it had looked like. This Pick ‘n Save was its exact replica.
Even though it was a little after 5pm on a Thursday evening when people might be stopping on their way home from work, the store was nearly empty of customers. I perused the bakery which offered several sampling stations, and entered the produce department. It was every bit as large and stocked as I’ve seen at other Pick ‘n Saves: the lettuce was piled high, freshly hydrated, and crisp. The fruit selection included ten varieties of apples, a wide assortment of berries, and the more exotic starfruit, mangoes, and coconuts. One long shelf in the center of the department hosted a Spanish brand of bulk spices and dried food products I have never seen before.
The meat, fish, and dairy departments told the same story. The store was clean, orderly, and appeared highly standardized. If anything was missing that most Pick ‘n Saves have today, it was a bulk and organic food aisle.
National Ave. convenience store
One mile from the National Avenue Pick ‘n Save, I spotted another sign that simply read “Food stamps” on the front of a small convenience store. When I pushed on the front door, I found it was locked, even though the lights were on and the store owner was standing at the register. He motioned that he was coming, and had to unlock the deadbolt before I could enter the store.
This store, much smaller than Lucky, contained coolers with an assortment of sodas, juices, and sports drinks. I would estimate over 85% of the store was candy: two for $1 packages of flavored gummi rings, Snickers, Doritios...I did not even spot a bag of simple pretzel twists.
I bought another bottle of water. It was not scanned.
Up at the register, the shop owner was featuring 7Up-brand pound cake. Not something I had ever seen before.
The shop owner re-locked the door behind me. I passed an empty wrapper of the 7Up pound cake on the way back to my car.
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