(Lisa Smith Molinari photo, illustration by Stripes Okinawa)
“That’s your prerogative,” the commissary bagger grumbled resentfully. I’d unknowingly stiffed him out of his rightfully earned tip. It was 1993, I was a newly married military spouse, it was my first commissary experience, and I was clueless.
I’ll never forget that bagger’s grumble. It has become a much-used phrase in our military household, every time someone makes a stupid mistake.
Thirty-two years of marriage later, I’m now a seasoned veteran military spouse that knows the drill. I shop almost exclusively at my local base commissary, because it’s an essential part of the military lifestyle (and, most importantly, price point) to which I’ve become accustomed.
However, commissaries as we know them may soon become a comfort of the past. DeCA, the Defense Commissary Agency, has set an October 21 deadline for input from the grocery industry on the idea of privatizing 178 military commissaries in the U.S and Puerto Rico.
The question DeCA and the Pentagon want potential private investors to answer is, “If you took over our military commissaries ‘as is’ with little to no funding from the federal government, how would you meet the Defense Department policy that commissary shoppers save 23.7% as a benefit to military service and still turn a profit?”
But this question begs another question — Why isn’t DeCA asking for input from its patrons ?
Currently, of the 8.35 million households with DeCA shopping privileges at 235 commissaries located at home and abroad, approximately 1.8 million people shop monthly. This includes the vast majority of military spouses like me who shop at commissaries.
Since my first commissary experience in 1993 when I ticked off the bagger, I’ve become a regular customer at approximately 11 commissaries both overseas and in the U.S. I’ve come to appreciate commissaries. My shopping trips are quick, efficient, affordable and surprisingly entertaining.
I know where items are located. I know where the bathroom is, and that it will be clean. I know the meat department guy is always helpful. I know which brands are stocked. I know if I’m at the deli, and realize I forgot walnuts, I won’t die of exhaustion on the way back to Aisle #2. I know if I’m particularly hormonal and have filled my cart with embarrassing items and binge-worthy snacks, I will run into my husband’s boss. I know the check out line won’t be long. I know to have my military ID ready to scan. I know the cashier that calls me “Dear,” and the one that catches me up on the latest antics of her bulldog.
And I know very, very well — that I must always tip the baggers.
When I must go to a regular grocery store, I spend a lot of time grimacing at prices, overwhelmed by choices and wondering where items are located. Everything seems so darned far away. God forbid I should need a half-gallon of milk after picking up lettuce, because I swear, the dairy section is a half-mile hike from produce. The public restrooms are to be avoided. I wait in long lines. Checkout chit-chat is a rarity.
And, while lugging my groceries into my trunk after trudging through acres of grocery store aisles, I most definitely miss my commissary baggers.
If DeCA and the Pentagon cared to ask me, a military spouse who has been a commissary shopper for more than 30 years, I’d offer the following list of milspouse non-negotiables for any privatization deal:
Don’t increase the prices. (If you do, we’ll eventually stop coming.)
Don’t add more choices to make up for higher prices. (We’re used to sacrificing choice for price, so that won’t work on us.)
Don’t even think of eliminating our favorite overseas tour foods. (I can no longer live without spaetzle and McVitie’s Digestives.)
Don’t expand the store size. (If you do, we’ll need golf carts.)
Check out lines must be short, and uniformed personnel go first. (Don’t mess with our hierarchies. It’s a cultural thing.)
Cashiers, butchers, and deli counter folks must be willing to build relationships with us. (It’s called camaraderie, and it’s what we do.)
We love baggers, so keep them forever. (I promise, I’ll always tip.)
Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com
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