Back to Basics

My life is filled with dilemmas, many of which manifest themselves at the grocery store. Should I take action that puts my own interests first or those of my community and environment?

You see, I don't always accept the notion that only the best will do. Of course I never want to spend my money on junk, nor do I want to be ripped off, but I also challenge today's unreasonably high consumer standards.

American consumers have been buying the only-the-best myth for so long, we've become unwilling to accept anything else, even when less-than-perfect is a more logical or sustainable choice.

Out of nothing more than habit, our buying decisions favor protection of individual wealth over protection of that of our community and planetary home. Then, in the next isle, we allow our penchant for fancy things to overrun prudence in an instant.

The other day, I was leaning on my grocery shopping cart as I looked over the apple display, inspecting the tidy piles of fruit that had traveled many miles to be there. I read the signs to choose a variety that would taste good when baked. Then, acting as was expected of me, I began to snub my nose at any one with a blemish. Even though I was planning to peal and cook my purchase until it turned to mush, to chose the ugly apple was a bad consumer choice ... unless maybe the store would discount it. Only a fool would buy the bruised apple when a spotless one was available for same price, right?

Before I rejected a firm but injured apple, I wondered what would happen if everybody did what I was doing. What would happen when the grocer was unable to sell it? He would undoubtedly lose some money.

I thought about what could happen after repeated scenarios like this caused the grocer to lose too much money: he would close the store.

I knew what would happen if this anchor store would close in this rural shopping center: the neighborhood's standard of living would decline.

Then I thought about a six-year old kid, biting into his otherwise delicious lunchtime snack, finding that little yucky part missed by his busy mom.

I thought about the farmer being forced to focus on the product's cosmetic appearance instead of its nutritional quality.

I thought about my fellow middle-class mates, struggling to find a job and buy any apples at all.

Is a responsible consumer's primary goal to get the prettiest apple? Should my intention always be to grab up the best and leave the rest for someone else?

I slipped the apple into my cart, hoping no one would spy me intentionally buying a bruise and reminded myself to cook the meal before my husband saw what I had bought.

I continued shopping. I passed fish fillets symmetrically laid over an excessive pile of ice, bottles and cans coated in brightly colored labels, cookies standing tall in their individual compartments, surrounded by more plastic than snack. I navigated safely around the five-foot cardboard display that held just two inches of product.

Finally, I reached the dairy section. There I pulled a carton of organic milk off the shelf, only to notice that the one behind it was marked with a sell-by date that was later than the one in my hand. Mine was entirely fresh; there was no question I would consume it long before its due date. But the second one was fresher -- its date was nearly two weeks later! The trained consumer in me screamed, "grab the fresher one you dummy."

Myself or my community? Could the two be separated?

Which milk carton would you chose?