Reflections on Hoarding

My friends who visited the Commissary (military base grocery store) in the days immediately following March 11 told me there was a shocking amount of hoarding in progress. I had to rely on their accounts because, as a general rule, I don't shop for groceries more than once a month. These are trustworthy ladies who aren't prone to spreading idle gossip and rumors. (Which makes one sort of wonder what we have in common...).

How can a family of four possibly consume 18 gallons of milk and 23 loaves of bread before their expiration dates? (Note to Ishii-san: the previous sentence is called hyperbole, ie, extravagant exaggeration.)

Figuring you might want some more information on this topic, but not wanting to incite mass panic among the Commissary cashiers by showing up twice in one month, I opted to duck into the Autoport mini-mart the day I investigated gas rationing. This was after the earthquake and tsunami but before the mass exodus.

Emma was behind the till. I haven't seen Emma in ages, since she switched from the night shift to the day shift. We are a mutual admiration society. She rushed around the counter to give me a big hug. (All those non-military middle-aged men standing in line to pay for their five gallons of gasoline appreciated that I'm sure.)

Emma's presence gave me license to whip out my camera and snap a few pictures for you. Had she not been there, I would still have taken pictures, just a bit more furtively.

The smokers don't seem to be guilty of hoarding. That's a little surprising. I guess they're not all the scum of the earth after all.  Maybe I should nominate them for Department of Defense Good Citizen awards.

Certain brands of crackers and cookies are noticeably absent.  Not to worry.  I can survive on pressured faux cheese for months. There's an ample supply of low-cal Triscuits left to sustain the Ancient Mariner upon his return, reinforcing my belief that he's the only person on earth who actually finds them edible.

Looks like the marathon crowd has decimated the power bar shelves. Perhaps they're planning to outrun radiation.

What have we here? Not any canned tuna, that's for sure. How am I supposed to make tuna-noodle casserole on Friday nights in Lent without the main ingredient?

Suddenly this exercise is not quite so amusing. I approach the freezer section with trepidation.

Hallelujah! Apparently the gluttons have not yet discovered the pleasure to be found in a pint of Hagen Daz Dulce de Leche ice cream. The reflection off the glass door makes the first picture I snap less than satisfactory. I open the freezer door to get a clearer picture for you. In light of current energy concerns, I feel guilty about opening that freezer door just to take a picture so I grab a couple of pints.

But just two. Because I would never, ever stoop to hoarding. I simply do not understand that mentality. And I can't help but wonder how much milk was left to sour in refrigerators around the base when the first wave of volunteers departed for the U.S.

P.S. Yesterday I stopped by the Commissary and found the shelves overflowing with all of life's necessities except bottled water. I nabbed the last case of one brand but left three cases of another brand for the next customers.