The disadvantages of online grocery shopping when it’s all you have
By: Sue Kenworthy
Tags: Grocery Shopping, Discrimination, Online Shopping, Covid 19, Disability

Photo by Juliana Mayo on Unsplash

I hated grocery shopping. That was when I had to wheel a cart slowly around a brightly lit, dysautonomia-inducing supermarket, put my items in the cart, turf them out onto the conveyor belt, pack them into bags back into the trolley and load the bags into my car. Then I would drive home, unload the bags (traipsing with my leaden legs several times up and down the drive to avoid too heavy bags that would make my elbows scream and could dislocate my shoulders and pop my ribs out of my sternum) and put everything away into my fridge and cupboards. Exhausted and trembling, I’d finally collapse on the sofa. That’s how Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome combined with sarcoidosis, a hyper-immune condition, affected me, but I was still independent.

Until my back broke and I couldn’t even do that.

I began shopping online. Despite the time-saving element, it’s not as wonderful and convenient as it seems if you have to do it week in, week out. The disadvantages made themselves glaringly clear within the first few weeks:

Unless I pick a very late delivery slot, when the exhausted van driver is desperate to finish, there is usually a delivery charge. Late delivery slots often don’t work because if they’re under booked, the driver phones to ask if they can deliver earlier, just when we’re having dinner. Late delivery slots make my husband very grumpy because he goes to bed at 9pm. I have no independent choice over when a weekly delivery arrives because I rely on my husband being at home to bring it in and help put it away. I have no choice in the selection of fruit and vegetables I order. If I need an avocado to use on a specific day, I can’t test for ripeness. If I need six green bananas because they have to last all week, there’s no way of requesting that. Pickers don’t have time to choose size matched sweet potatoes and certainly won’t look for packed perishables with the latest best-by date. I have relinquished the sweet satisfaction of searching for yellow labels and finding reduced, short-dated items I can store in the freezer, make soup with or batch process. I’m no longer inspired to make impulse buys from visual stimuli that tickle my taste buds. There’s no relief of a cool store on a sweltering day. That was always a huge bonus for me, as I really don’t do heat well and thrive better when not feeling as if I’m about to internally combust. Air conditioning is rarely encountered in British homes.

And then Covid-19 happened.

Selfish able-bodied people started block-booking home delivery slots for weeks in advance. I was left without any. It felt as if a rug had been pulled from under me; my one semblance of controlling normality, in still being able to provide sustenance and proving I was still a valuable contributor to the household, was threatened. As a clinically extremely vulnerable person, my husband had decided to shield with me, so shopping trips were off limits. I am not ashamed to say I dissolved into tears.

I was one of the “lucky” ones though. Big Brother had been watching and somehow, before my clinicians and the UK Government had even delivered their shielding letters, their machinations had already begun to work with the supermarkets, and the store’s “cookies” and background information had already identified me as a disabled online customer. Delivery slots became available to me that were invisible to people who were not considered vulnerable. It was still extremely stressful accessing a slot, as they appeared at random times and when they were gone, they were gone. My regular delivery had always been on a Monday but swiftly became Tuesday and then Wednesday as the list of identified shielding and elderly people grew. Earlier slot uptake by others pushed me further and further into midweek. Attempting to revert back to a Monday, I was blocked from doing so, as deliveries had been limited to once every seven days. The feeling of not being in control and losing my right to shop when I wanted just because I was disabled and vulnerable seemed so much like discrimination.

I had foregone the Government’s food parcels that were being allocated to shielding people. I could have requested one, but I don’t take what I don’t need and felt they should go to elderly people who were unable to shop online. As a result, I was forgotten by the local Council, who according to their public emails and newsletters, would be phoning everyone on the shielding list.

The ridiculous public stockpiling that emptied supermarket shelves played havoc with gaps and substitutions in my orders. I took to calling them “pick list fails”, not only because of items being unavailable or damaged, but because the substitutions often made no sense, for example substituting vegetarian meals with meat varieties. I realise this is such a privileged, first world complaint, but when you don’t eat meat, it means going without. On one occasion, after receiving an early morning pick list fail email, after another crying session, I discovered I was able to order my missing non-dairy milk through a premium service with another online retailer and have it delivered within two hours, for a price.

Pick list fails were occasionally counterbalanced by generous substitutions. On one occasion, I was sent a one litre bottle of gin instead of an unavailable 70cl bottle, and received the £4.50 difference in price back as an online voucher. That’s what I call a “gin-win” situation; being compensated to drink free gin.

It’s strange though, how once lockdown ended, the concept of being disabled, clinically extremely vulnerable and shielding has seemed to disappear, as far as the supermarket company I use is concerned. They no longer reserve delivery slots or restrict deliveries to once a week. They have even reinstated their paid delivery pass so customers can now order as often as they like. Additionally their best offers are “in store only”, meaning people who rely on deliveries cannot, for example, double up their loyalty points to use for half-price goods. And a major kick in the teeth was no reserved slots for Christmas week for those unable to shop in store or collect. They did what the Government asked them to do and no more.

What they don’t seem to realise is that online shopping is not a convenience for disabled people like me; it’s a lifeline. It’s one of the many things that supports our independence and ability to cope with modern life. I know I spend more online because of the delivery charge and by not buying reduced items, plus I help to keep at least two more people in a job: a picker and a driver.

It has been two years since my back broke. If I could have my previous mobility back and not have to rely on deliveries, I would go back to physical grocery shopping, Coronavirus or not, in an instant. I miss it.