What buying bulk taught me about life (sort of)

The Wall of Greatness: The bulk section at the Co-op.

There are many things to love about the town where I live. One of them is the Oneota Food Co-op. For those of you in bigger places, it’s kind of like Trader Joe’s, but so much better. Locally grown and prepared foods, a spectacular wine selection, an amazing cheese case, a fabulous deli, and all of it served up with super nice and helpful staff.

The Co-op has been around for a long time, and I wasn’t always as enthusiastic about it. For a time, I was worried that I didn’t fit into the Co-op culture – until my friend Britt told me to get over myself.

“Let’s eat lunch at the Co-op,” she chirped.

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “I ate a Twinkie yesterday – I’m pretty sure the people who work there will be able to still smell it on my breath. I don’t want to throw off the balance of the universe – that’s a lot to put on my shoulders.

“Plus, I don’t know how to order a sandwich there. It makes me feel weird.”

She rolled her eyes. “KT, you give unsolicited advice to people in the Macy’s dressing room all the time – are you really going to choose ordering a sandwich as the time you’re not going to be comfortable opening your mouth?”

She had a point. We went for lunch and I’ve been there at least a couple times a week ever since.

The scene of the crime.

The only thing that remains a source of trepidation is the bulk section. In theory, it’s fabulous. Buying in bulk saves money and packaging. The selection there is nothing short of impressive, sporting something like 600 items from pasta to beans and nuts to honey.

My issue is gauging what I’m buying and how much. Not long ago, I went in to buy Arborio rice (yep, you can get it in a town of 8,000 people – awesome) and came out with a bag that would feed my neighborhood risotto for the next 10 years. My issue is the lever – I don’t know how long to hold it down to get a few cups, so I end up with 10 pounds.

The other day, I went in to buy coffee. I put the bag under the spout and held the lever down. The lever went back up, but the coffee kept coming out. Beans started splattering on the floor. In a maneuver I can only attribute to yoga, I balanced the bag filling with coffee with one hand and grabbed another bag to switch it with.

It was early in the morning, so no one really witnessed this (thank God). I managed to clean everything up and scuttle out of there without a ton of embarrassment, but I think I paid $50 for the amount of coffee I bought.

Yesterday, I was in the Co-op for lunch and was hanging around so I could take pictures of the bulk section to put with this post without freaking people out. My friend Betsy, who is the produce manager at the Co-op, greeted me and I admitted what I was doing. (It was hard not to – I was kind of skulking around the self care section.)

She laughed and quickly offered a bulk tutorial, telling me that if I use the Co-op’s bags, I can actually put stuff back into the bulk bin that I don’t want to buy. Good tip. She also showed me how to pull the bins off the shelf, but I think I may leave that to the experts when and if the time comes.

Betsy then introduced me to Carl, the bulk manager – probably one of the friendliest people I have met in a long time.

The moral of the story? It’s good to have friends who tell you to get over yourself. It’s good to try new things. It’s good to open your mouth and ask for help. It’s good to go back for one more try.

Beautiful things happen when you stay open to what the world has to offer – especially in a small town.

Co-ops: They're a beautiful thing.