The Shopping Cart

When I found out the strategy, I went from being a bit dismayed to quite impressed.

I was in Coyhaique, Chile, a jumping off point for Patagonia explorations in the magnificent Aysén region. I added a few days after my group left, and on the first day walked into town to get a few groceries at UniMarc, the big supermarket. It’s huge for any size town, but for the 55,000 residents of Coyhaique, it is monstrous. It seems on par with an American Target or Walmart. Bigger than the Best Buy where I live in Santa Fe. It takes up a whole block.

I walked in, looked left to the checkout registers, and stopped in awe. Bad awe. Were there 16 rows, plus the self-checkout area? At least. And they were packed. Every line was full, and the shopping carts were the biggest I have seen. A big caged rectangle on wheels, ready to load up. And loaded they were. From where I stood, I could also see that every aisle was used, but I could not see how long the lines were. I walked forward, curious. I worked my way between carts, looking down each aisle. I was shocked, as there were about 15 carts in each, and the self checkout shot into the deep center of the store. The sign said there was a maximum of 30 items, but many people were pushing it. I looked back at the cashiers. They were efficiently swiping each of easily 50 items in a cart, but they were talking as if they knew everyone. I later understood that they did.

Truth be told, I was only there because I missed peanut butter. As happens when I travel—I am thinking of places like Oaxaca in particular—I feel I might turn into a big piece of cheese. Not eating meat in meat-centric cultures, I look for other possibilities, and today it was the possibility of peanut butter.

I stopped to ponder my commitment, seriously entertaining the thought of turning around. I had just returned from two weeks in wild country, and somehow was fascinated by this scene. I could add a bit more to my cart—fruit, roasted nuts, and a bottle of Carménère—so I decided to stay.

And then the bigger story appeared. Rather, it grew.

I looked down at my tiny pile of provisions, dwarfed within the deep sides of the cart. I walked down a cross aisle in the middle of the store, scoping out which line I should join.They were all the same insane length, but there was one whose last cart was almost empty. A grandpa, it seemed, was only buying a few things, like me, and I figured he would be out and through many minutes earlier than every other very full cart. So I pulled up behind him. He turned and nodded. I nodded back. There we were, two big carts, almost empty.

And then a kid of about eight appeared, dropped a bag of chips into the old man’s cart, and disappeared.

A minute later a woman his age appeared, dropped in two bags of spaghetti, and vanished.

Two teenagers arrived. Cans of Coca-Cola. And left.

His son, or son-in-law, bags of vegetables, weighed and priced, arrived and took off.

In the half hour it took to advance to a cashier, the cart grew from near empty to near full. I counted seven human planes swooping in, dropping supplies like aerial bombers, and flying back out into the nether lands of the food landscape to resupply for another run. As time progressed, I felt like I knew them, and could predict what they would bring. The two teens were clearly not helping the family’s nutritional needs. Their self-focused trips were all about snacks and soft drinks. On the other hand the adults were focused on sustaining the family into the future. By the time the cart arrived at the cashier, all eight members were together, moving as one through the checkout.

It was so well orchestrated. I never saw a list. I imagined Grandma was in charge, issuing short verbal commands as she passed family members in the canned goods section, over in frozen foods, throughout the fruit and vegetable aisles, and admonishing the kids to go help their mom.

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PS - I went on Google Maps later in the day, curious if there were any photographs of this UniMarc, hoping I might count the actual number of aisles, and not just pull from my memory. Instead I found a review from four years earlier, with a one-star review, “Line is so long you would be faster taking the bus to Balmaceda, fly to Santiago, get your groceries there, and return.”

PPS - And how strange that there are over one hundred posted photographs and videos made in the store. Of everything. Sliced meats and beer on sale. Cucumbers and toilet paper. I once texted a photograph from a grocery store, to make sure I was buying the correct item, but I never considered posting one to Google Maps.