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April / May 2006 Contest Results |
Confessions Of
A Bulk-Buyer
By Carol MacAllister, New Jersey
I swear never to
purchase another gargantuan shopping club package of paper towels,
toilet tissue, disposal cups, behemoth cellophane packs of cooking
spray, unliftable containers of cat litter and laundry detergent, cases
of soft drinks, banquet-sized entrees and mounds of ground chuck.
I've used up the
last of my bulk purchases from closets, spaces under sinks and garage
cabinets. I am rid of choking overflow.
Purchasing bulk
items had transformed our family van into a mini delivery truck. At
first, my purchases rolled around freely. My shopping club didn’t supply
bags -- only bizarrely shaped cardboard cartons.
I stocked my van
with used plastic bags. When I'd run out, I’d set small loose items on
seats. The variety of unrelated purchases confused my mental inventory
list as I unloaded. A package of swim goggles or a bundle of socks
distracted me. I’d forget about the maverick pieces of produce that had
rolled under the seats until telltale fruit flies swarmed.
Unloading
presented a challenge. Aching upper arms, palpitations and a perspiring
forehead made me wish for a loading dock off the kitchen with a
testosterone-raging teenager. Soon, my arms firmed and weight-bearing
trips up the steps strengthened my joints. I saved time and money
otherwise spent at the gym.
I plopped
off-loaded packages in the middle of the kitchen, unwrapped and
distributed them to various rooms. When I finished warehousing new
inventory and rotating older items forward, I'd predictably run out of
space and needed to find storage for the odd assortment of surplus.
Left brain
activities of warehousing management shifted to creative right brain
inspirations of “stuffing the stuff.” I jammed rolls of paper towels
onto top shelves of coat closets, toilet tissue in the oven, cans of
cleanser in clothing trunks and bags of pasta in the refrigerator
crisper. Bottles of drinks lined my closet behind my shoes. I even
stored things in the trunk of my husband’s car.
The guestroom
offered lots of extra storage, however, when my sister planned to visit,
I de-stuffed the guestroom and shoved articles under the queen-size bed.
Her foot slipped through the bed skirt ruffle. The plastic wrap boxes’
serrated edges almost required two toes to be stitched. But, I had a
nice emergency-room-sized box of Band-Aids and six tubes of antiseptic
ointment.
I turned
paranoiac. I’d planned to sustain the household for weeks in case of a
terrorist attack. I’d have plenty of paper products, bottled water and
canned goods to open a soup kitchen.
Bulk-item
shopping did present positive aspects. It promoted neighborliness. I
couldn’t pass up 36 eggs for $2.15. I can't eat 36 eggs before their
expiration date. I tried. Ask my arteries. So, I shared.
One and a half
dozen eggs went to my neighbor, Julie, who returned a thank you of four
packs of light bulbs from her bulk-shopping spree. Eight boxes of
strawberries in a tray will gag one person within two days with four
boxes left over. Pat returned a strawberry thank you by passing along
three boxes of pasta from her bulk inventory. A party tray of baklava
dries out one’s mouth with oozing nutty syrup in about three servings
leaving about eighteen leftovers. Gert thanked me for the pastry with
two pairs of gardening gloves from her last run to the club.
Bulk buying
shined during parties and holidays. Cold cuts, blocks of cheese and
frozen banquet-sized entrees proved easy and cost effective, but
huge-sized condiments like honey mustard or mayonnaise out-lived their
usefulness.
It's taken many months, to kick the habit, but now, cabinets and closets
are emptied of overflowing bulk. Clutter and piles in the house are
clearing.
I plan to
control future bulk-shopping temptations with a move to an area without
shopping clubs. Eating out, supplemented by take-outs, pizza and Chinese
food deliveries will decrease the frequency of my need to replace items.
I will reaffirm
not to be obsessed with economics. Self-control will be necessary the
first few times I shell out ten bucks for a modest layer cake as versus
a restaurant service size cake for the same price. I will be strong and
re-establish the old supermarket mindset of weekly sales and coupon
clipping.
Slipping back to
basic foods might be hard to swallow at first, but I'll make more use of
those specialty cookbooks I purchased at the club, "100 Ways to Serve
Chicken" or "The Secrets of Ground Beef."
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