It's Just Apples

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Working in produce at a grocery store in Boulder, I facilitated a modern system whose destructive mechanisms are invisible to the public eye.  From trucks that arrived at 3:30 AM from Arizona, I unloaded hundreds of wax boxes wrapped in plastic wrap and then stacked the fruits and vegetables from these boxes on shelves on the supermarket floor. In this way, I engaged in the final step that takes place before the mindless consumption of synthetically produced “fruits” and “vegetables” that wear those stickers that read PRODUCT of Mexico or of Chile or of USA.  I did this for $8.50 an hour under neon lights while getting either scolded by the produce manager for moving too slowly or proposed to by one of my Mexican co-workers. 

The only reason I noticed the cute little stickers on the produce is because I’d be stacking hundreds of, say, mangos and making a conscious effort to get annoyed over something other than the soft rock music reserved only for department and grocery stores. You know the music I’m talking about.  It’s the “I love you, you left me, and now I can’t go on . . . but now you say you want me back (because this is a co-dependent relationship)” music. Anyways, whenever I noticed the branding on the produce, I’d sigh and think, “Thanks for letting us know.” If the average consumer isn’t so mindless that he eats the sticker, the many layers of disconnect the sticker implies still isn’t going to stop him from having his cheap, convenient, and gratifying experience with his mango.  He has no relationship with the people who grew the mango. He doesn’t even have a relationship with the people who have a relationship with the people who have a relationship with the people who grew the mango. It’s just a mango. Wait, I’m noticing a trend. This type of engagement with food isn’t much different from casual sex, is it? It’s just sex, right?  And, despite it all, the sticky sweet zombie love music plays on.

There is increasing awareness surrounding both the destructive forces of our modern food system and the wonders of new methods of sustainability. More and more organic farms, CSAs, local foods movements, and farmer’s markets are speckling the country.  But agribusiness as a whole isn’t changing, and it isn’t becoming any easier for the average American to choose foods that are healthiest from a holistic perspective. To begin, there is no readily available information about the methods and implications of the production, processing, packaging, shipping, and consumption of the foods we purchase in supermarkets.  These steps are invisible to shoppers, and the operation in its entirety is invisible even to the middlemen who do the work along the way.  Even the organic produce, which is mostly from Mexico, gives consumers blank stares.  I have watched as dazed shoppers look back and forth between the organic and non-organic produce. They’ve heard organic is better and have a vague idea why.  Still, almost all of them end up gravitating towards the non-organic; it’s cheaper. Despite having dabbled in organic farming (even in permaculture) and knowing some of the facts, I sometimes choose the cheaper option too.  I trust the integrity of the “organic” products from Mexico only slightly more than I trust the conventional ones anyway. But that’s another story. I am not, by the way, trying to stigmatize Mexico.

The lack of education surrounding what we say “yes” to when we buy certain foods and put them in our bodies contributes to what is making us dumb on a fundamental level. We can send a man to the moon and read all about it, but we’re totally in outer space when it comes to relating to the most basic thing we need to survive: food.  Estranged from reality, we’ve become oblivious even to how our produce gets stocked on the shelves as neatly and aesthetically pleasing as it does.  Notice my use of the passive voice here: “gets stocked.” One day, while I stocked limes, a man came up to me and said, “I thought limes stacked themselves. I guess what you’re doing reflects job security.” I had been working since 5AM. I had splinters in my hands. I had already caused my “apple-anche” of the day while trying to build a sturdy fortress of Fuji apples.

So I turned to the man and said,  “Actually, your limes arrive in great big boxes that weigh around seventy pounds. When it’s time, I wheel those boxes onto the supermarket floor and set aside the limes already sitting out.  I then carefully make rows one on top of the other of the new limes–– topping off the fortress with the older ones. I do it so artfully, and with such mindfulness, that when you pluck one from the middle of the stack, the whole fortress remains intact. That way, no limes come cascading down on you, and you don’t have to be embarrassed when really I’m the one who’d secretly be embarrassed.” He walked away.  Equally frustrating was when, while I tensed every muscle in my body in an effort to stack navel oranges in the very particular way that keeps them from tumbling, a man commented on how easy and meditative my job seemed. I wanted to say, “Just move along. Find the pickles or whatever’s on your list. Call your wife and ask if you need milk. Hum to the music. It’s easy.”

Way too easy.  And, yet, the conventional food system is so unnecessarily complex!

We are living in such a fantasyland that we believe what we see on the shelves in the supermarket is real. Working in produce, I struggled to make perfect presentations of “perfect” fruits and vegetables (compliments to biotechnology and synthetic chemicals). In addition to building fortresses, I did what’s called “culling,” which is discarding produce with bruises, scars, blemishes, or a little too much softness. Glamorous “fruits” and “vegetables” have become mainstream, so some of us will get fussy over an apple with a dent. Wait, another trend. Our culture pushes us to be overly critical even of the appearance of our fruit! Yes, we are now objectifying our food. And, in the process of aiming for “perfection” –– a construct that we validate daily –– what are we ingesting mentally, emotionally, and physically?

On a final note: one of the several “apple-anches” I caused while working inspired the title of this blog. When my display of Gala apples came tumbling down, and I got flustered, a shopper nearby said, “Hey, it’s ok. It’s just apples.” Finally! A shopper who knows what’s up. Notice how he did not say “they’re just apples;” they’re not. While the non–organic Gala apples are “conventional,” they’re not so simple. The lot of them has a story to tell –– one about homogenization and an unnecessarily complicated journey. What I think the shopper meant was that, as with many things, apple–stacking isn’t something to take so seriously. And in case this article has gotten too serious, just picture shoppers dodging hundred of apples sprawling across a supermarket floor. Funny, right?