Why Do Food Pantries Suck? They Get The Basics Wrong

 

...Now, this would have worked a treat, 

if only we'd had some soup to go with it...

Here's why food pantries suck, in a nutshell, why I dread going to them, and will move Heaven and Earth to avoid them. It's not that they don't mean well, or that the operators plan on doing the worst possible job. Most of the ones I've met are service-oriented, and conscientious, since these aren't paid positions. Nobody has to spend their Tuesday afternoons or Saturdays morning passing out food boxes or bags to those who need them. 

So that's not the problem. No, lately, I'm finding that food pantries suck for a simpler reason: they get the basics wrong. That observation hit me as Squawker and I were settling in for a lunch of soup and sandwiches, and I asked for the cracker box, on top of the fridge. As it happens, it's a box of Nabisco Premium Mini Crackers, which sell for anywhere for $3-5, or so my online research suggests.

Here's how amazon.com sums this particular offering: "These mini saltines delight with a crispy texture and light, versatile flavor. Snack on these soda crackers straight from the box. The bite-sized pieces also make these mini crackers the perfect addition to your soups and chowders. Sealed packaging keeps these sea salt crackers fresh."

"Come to think of it," I tell Squawker, "when was the last time we even saw a box of regular crackers? Usually, it's a strip of them, if you're lucky. And even then, not so much."

I'm assuming that the budget has some bearing on the choice, because lately, the returns have gotten thinner and thinner, the boxes just a little bit emptier. Still, if I recall correctly, the Premium Mini box came without any cans of soup, defeating the whole point of the exercise, anyhow. As I've noted before, the whole effect is that of a blindfolded person throwing darts at a map. What else explains this random assortment of ingredients, if you're actually counting on them to make a meal?

The flipside of the coin are the items that you do see, with monotonous ticktock regularity, in no particular order: bags of apples, or bags of potatoes. Jars of peanut butter. Massive containers of apple or grape juice, brimming with sugar and flavoring, and little else of nutritional value. Off-brand cans of carrots, corn, or green beans (never the store brand ones, of course). Pancake syrup containers, with no pancake mixes in sight. Watermelon halves, in summertime, nearing the death spiral of their expiration date. (We stopped accepting them, after one literally imploded on our kitchen counter, spraying the surface with a rancid, pink mush that turned my nostrils inside out, as I cleaned up the mess.)

Do you see a theme here, by any chance? I could almost knock out a suitable chorus, in fact, if I wanted: "Sugar and carbs, sugar and carbs, so help me God, it's all sugar and carbs..." It's enough to make you wonder. Do the suppliers really think that's all people without money like to eat? Sugar and carbs? I think not. 

Certainly not so for Squawker, who's allergic to fish and potatoes, and lately, has gone on a gluten free diet. What does someone in that situation do? I'm wondering how food pantry operators will react, especially as the face of America gets increasingly diabetic, and obese, or racked with food allergies. I strongly suspect they won't welcome this endless hit parade of sugar and carbs.

You also see your fair share of weird one-offs, like the 12-pack of cinnamon-flavored Coca-Cola. I promptly handed it back to the volunteer, saying, "There are lots of things that the world is waiting for, but I'm sorry, this isn't among them." Again, it's the detail that's off here. How many people have you seen snapping open cans of cinnamon-flavored Coke at weddings, or family reunions?

I also suspect a fair bit of confirmation bias going on here. I remember when Squawker and I were planning to go some art-related activity or other, and feeling fairly enthusiastic, only to have that enthusiasm evaporate when we discovered that it was happening in somebody's basement. Trouble is, Squawker can't do stairs, which elicited an angst-filled query: "Why do people schedule activities that way? Don't they ever think about accessibility, as something that's needed?"

"But here's the thing," I responded. "If you can get up and down the stairs, you're not bothered about those who can't get up and down the stairs."

This mentality spills over into other aspects, as well. About seven years ago, I remember going out of town to see the reunion of some veteran '60s band, which turned out to be a fantastic experience, musically speaking; the logistics, less so, as I discovered when I had to hit the bathroom of this particular corporate shoebox.

Guess what? It was on the second floor! You could either take the stairs, or this elevator that wheezed and whined up to the relevant spot. I was absolutely dead on my feet, having to stand the entire two hours, with nowhere to sit. 

On the way out, my mates pointed to some wooden folding chairs, discreetly tucked away to the side, presumably so that the punters would never, ever think to ask for them. I struggled not to explode, especially as the house lights came up, and staff started shooing us out. Thank you very much, all you walking pound notes and dollar bills; now that we're finished, f#ck off, and get out. Needless to say, I haven't been back since.

But whether it's a corporate venue, or a food pantry, the bottom line is the same. If everybody runs their operations in the predictable manner, with no allowances made for the unusual, or the unexpected, everybody suffers for it, and the public gets poorly served. The whole madness has often prompted me to fantasize aloud, as Squawker and I have done:

"If we ever, ever win a multi-million-dollar lottery payout, we'd invest some of the proceeds to set up the ultimate food pantry. One that will offer a nutritionally sound lineup of offerings, not just sugar and carbs. One that will make allowances for diabetes, gluten free needs, and food allergies. One that prompt everybody else to raise their game, or get out."

Just then, the enormous pink pig flying past my window bumps against the glass, rudely breaking our shared reveries, and sending us back to earth. Still, we can dream, right? And the point still stands, whether you're running a food pantry, or trying to become a crackerjack writer: if you don't get the basics right, there's not much hope for the rest. --The Reckoner