By Alex Johnson
The Community Stage
I joined Instacart as a full-service shopper at the perfect time. It was February 2019. I was living in Iowa City and facing a move to another state for grad school. For my somewhat transient situation, it was perfect. I could start in one state and continue on in another without the hassle of changing any accounts or finding another part-time/occasional gig.
I understand that grocery shopping when not absolutely necessary is a nightmare for some. And that’s where I get to step in.
Right up until I hit the “head to checkout” button, I try my hardest to find every little thing on the list, dig through shelves to find the right flavor, and nudge boxes off the highest shelf using a box of spaghetti for leverage. I really do enjoy the hunt and making the extra effort to get everything right. Granted, sometimes that’s impossible given short supply, inadequate replacement options, or any number of factors. Shoppers are not miracle workers.
I have had some interesting experiences in my seven years of Instacarting across three states (yes, I consider it a verb).
When I was living in Tallahassee for grad school, Instacarting gave me a new perspective and a view of the city that my peers never saw. Through Instacart, I delivered groceries to the McMansions and the moss-covered mobile homes, and every tax bracket in between. The disparity was stark and added extra insight to my classes on nonprofit management, service, and arts access.
The experience of being an Instacart shopper also shifted during Covid. Pre-Covid, your personal grocery shopper could be a little more personal, often invited into homes to place groceries on the counter. Now, that is inconceivable. It has become a somewhat less rewarding experience as we drop packages at the door and move on to the next, never seeing our customer.
Some orders stand out among the 1,600 orders I’ve fulfilled.
In Iowa, I picked up a small batch from HyVee that included a few boxes of candy, a small bouquet of flowers, and a cake from the bakery. See how this one is already telling a story? My delivery destination was a basement apartment in one of the many student apartments in the college town. The customer couldn’t help me much with finding the apartment as he lived in California. This order was a birthday gift for his sister. She was so thrilled by the surprise that she gave me a hug.
Sometimes it’s a relief to be identified as an Instacart shopper at checkout, so the cashier knows you’re not the one to make questionable life choices like eight bags of Twizzlers and a box of Imodium. Doesn’t that one paint a picture?
Sometimes I accept orders because I just know there’s going to be a good story at the end. While Instacarting in Wichita, an order for 12 green bell peppers and seven eggplants popped up. It turned out that Olive Garden ran out of some key ingredients.
And of course, I have a few Covid stories. The number of orders optimistically requesting toilet paper during the Great Toilet Paper Shortage was hilarious. Less entertaining were the bare refrigerated shelves in the meat section or the odd and seemingly random shortages throughout the produce section and beyond.
One order I often think about was a Covid-era delivery to a nursing home. It was a standard order for the Covid era: hair products (as hairdressers were no longer entering senior care facilities), snacks including dark chocolate Oreos, and, of course, TP. The nurse who met me at the door intercepted the order. According to the nurse, the customer was trying to sneak in Oreos and other treats that were apparently “off limits.” The customer was allowed to keep the hair products and toilet paper.
I think it is incredibly sad that one can get to the approximate age of 85, able to make their own decisions about when to have an Oreo for decades, and then suddenly be cut off. I hope that customer found joy another way.
My experience as an Instacart shopper has been a lesson in grocery store geography. And knowing my limits, whether that means cart size, drive distance, or how many Twizzlers might be safe before that Imodium needs to kick in. But at its core, it’s a lesson in humanity.
Next time you place an online grocery order and complain to the group chat that they brought you four brown avocados when you clearly asked for green, please take a breath, remember that supply is sometimes limited, and we are all human.
Alex Johnson is the founder of Classical Revolution ICT. She can be reached at alex@classicalrevolutionict.com.