I Was A Supermarket Dropout
Writer Louise Rafkin chronicles her first attempt at doing the grocery shopping online
Worse even than going to the dentist, I hate to grocery shop. I
can be found dining on onion and ketchup sandwiches (or, more
likely, ordering in) before I'll drag myself into one of those
super-sized supermarkets guaranteed to send me into a narcoleptic
stupor halfway down the frozen foods aisle.
Clearly, a more eager online grocery shopper could not be found.
I signed onto the site for Webvan -- the only grocer then delivering
in my area -- and quickly set about pointing and clicking my way
into my dream of full larders.
My first click? A sushi lunch. What better test of freshness, I
told myself, noting that impulse shopping -- at least for me -- was
possible even via modem.
From there, I started clicking on the basics: eggs, cheese, tuna,
dog food. Although Webvan didn't always stock my preferred brand of
certain items, I usually found something that I thought would do
though I could only hope that my dog would agree, as she'd be the
one testing the new brand of dog food.
I used restraint clicking among the bakery offerings -- no online
donuts for me! But I did fancy a few bagels and was disappointed to
find the only ones stocked were of the frozen or packaged variety.
Prices seemed close to normal and the running list that tallied
my purchases helped me decide when to stop. I figured I'd aim for
the $50 minimum required for free delivery; a banner proclaimed that
because this was my first order, I'd be credited $15 as a bonus.
As for ease of ordering: Hard to say whether the glitch was with
my computer, my internet provider (AOL), or in Webvan's system but
when I tried to click on an expensive piece of organic beef, my
screen froze. (Or was that my computer's internal cholesterol
counter forbidding access?!) I tried getting back online through a
different provider and was thankful to find my order still standing
-- phew, I didn't have to start over!
I clicked on organic skinless chicken instead of the steak and
was granted my choice. Who knows who or what lurks behind our
operating systems?
At check-out, I provided my credit card information and picked a
delivery time, of which there were many available in my
neighborhood. I signed off -- only to discover I'd forgotten to
order much-needed sponges (there are very few things as frightening
to me as an overused sponge). Even though I received an email saying
that the order I placed at 3:00 pm could be changed up until 9:30
pm, getting access to my account to make the changes was difficult.
It took several attempts before I was able to sign on and add a
package of pink sponges to my order.
Time to Deliver
A delivery man named Peter came right on time the next morning,
toting several colored bins. Pleasant and full of Webvan enthusiasm,
he unloaded the goods on my kitchen counter, printed a receipt,
credited me for the missing head of garlic, and refused my tip
(company policy).
The quality of the produce was mixed -- a high-priced,
sub-standard papaya, a skinny heart of romaine. But mostly I was
pleased with my purchases, especially with the first-time-user
discount.
Would I click and shop again? I'm of two minds on that. I spent a
little too much time ordering (which, I am told, lessens with time
and as you build on the shopping lists from previous orders). And I
do prefer viewing vegetables and fruit in the flesh, and choosing
among in-store specials. Still, I relish the thought of putting
together a last-minute dinner party and having everything on the
menu delivered.
The sushi was fresh and cheap. Lucy the lab heartily approved of
the new brand of dog food. And the eggs? Not a one cracked. Better
than I could do.
While writer Louise Rafkin dislikes shopping to fill the fridge, she doesn't mind cleaning it: A one-time professional
housecleaner, Rafkin is author of Other People's Dirt: A Housecleaner's Curious Adventures (Plume, May 1999, $11.95). | 