Lori Falce: The politics of ordering groceries

On Wednesday, my groceries were delivered.

I had tried to get an Instacart window for more than a week. We didn’t have ham at my house for Easter because the earliest time I could get was Monday.

So there I was, Monday morning, trying to focus on reading and research but really finding it hard to think about anything other than Neapolitan ice cream and ground beef and bananas that didn’t look like a science project.

By 9 a.m., I was disappointed. My window moved to Wednesday.

On Wednesday, it moved again. And again. By the time a nice man named Tasso started to shop for my broccoli and hamburger buns, I was thinking about churning my own butter — except I didn’t have any cream.

I was pathetically grateful when he pulled into my driveway that afternoon, unloading bags and leaving them discreetly by my door.

And I felt bad about it.

While I worried about what I should touch and what I shouldn’t and how long it would be before it was safe, he was touching everything and walking around in a store where other people were touching everything, too. While I was staying in and ordering out to minimize my exposure while the world was shut down for the coronavirus pandemic, he was maximizing his exposure to make that possible.

I am lucky that I could do this. I live in an area where delivery services will bring me groceries or support my Target habit or let me give in when my kid wants pizza instead of pot roast. I can eat takeout or bake cookies or do my laundry without doing more than opening my door.

And what makes that possible are people who are putting themselves at risk, generally for a couple dollars plus tip.

It makes me feel a little bit like a draft dodger — someone shirking duty and danger out of self-preservation. Do I have the right to place my safety above someone else’s?

I do. And while I feel a twinge of conscience, I’ll do it again.

I’ll do it because there are 22 million people out of work right now and I can’t stop layoffs many places, but I can keep a paycheck in this delivery man’s wallet. I can’t stop other people from going out, potentially exposing themselves and others, but I can minimize my exposure and my son’s.

Dangerous situations are about managing risk — for yourself and for others. I’m one single mom and don’t have much risk to manage, but in this one small way, I can take a stand for my family’s and my community’s health and the financial health of a store and a man.

That might seem like a lot of pressure to put on a few bags of groceries. But when so much is taken away by a contagious disease, some bread and milk and mozzarella cheese can mean a lot more than just lunch.