On Thursday, March 12, I dropped by the FreshCo at Bathurst and Nassau for eggs. Anyone familiar with that FreshCo branch knows that there’s rarely a line, especially for the self-checkout. That day, the line stretched 40 people long. I’d been seeing headlines about supplies selling out for weeks, but this was the first time the shortages began to feel real. I made my way around the store, taking note of all the empty shelves. It was surreal. All the packs of garlic were gone. There wasn’t a single carrot to be found. The canned food aisle had been raided. Pasta was running out and a few days later it would fully be gone. The next afternoon, there was a line to get in the front door and it stretched all the way to the exit by the cash registers.
The Ontario government has since assured buyers that the supply chain is “robust,” and panic buying is far from necessary. Indeed, when I stopped by FreshCo again later that weekend, the store was once again well-stocked, save for items like toilet paper. To be clear, the whole store hadn’t been cleaned out in the first place, but the items that did run out reveal something about the nature of COVID-19 panic in this particular neighbourhood.
Liquid soap disappeared off the shelves in the first few days of the panic as shoppers scrambled to protect themselves from the virus. This was before community transmission was confirmed in Canada: the best recommendation was still that everyone wash their hands, thoroughly and frequently, to protect themselves.
The day after this photograph was taken, this shelf of canned tomatoes in the pasta sauce section sat empty.
Facial tissues like Kleenex were in short supply on Thursday; by Friday, the last few had been snapped up.
Panic-buyers tore through the stock of bagged milk, leaving empty crates stacked haphazardly outside the refrigerator. A few days later, eggs were gone.
As shoppers tore through the grocery store, they added to the chaos: unwanted items were strewn here and there, in places far from where they belonged.
FreshCo employees, scrambling to keep the shelves stocked and the checkout lines moving, were understandably unable to return discarded items to their rightful place. These items piled up, and were shoved aside: a cart near the pharmacy was filled to the brim with Tide laundry detergent, dried spaghetti, pears, Ritz crackers, and more.
Piles of discarded food —saltine crackers, salsa, puff pastry, nutella — were also left by the check-out counters after shoppers changed their minds while in line.
On the other side of the self-checkout were more carts and baskets filled with discards, including this basket full of different wines.
On a regular day, there’s rarely a line for the self-checkout.
Multiple lineups on Thursday night were dozens of people long, leaving areas of the grocery store fairly crowded. At this point in the outbreak, physical distancing measures in establishments like grocery stores had yet to become commonplace.
Panic buying leaves the most vulnerable residents of our city disadvantaged: the people most in need of essential supplies, like the elderly and immunocompromised, are put at risk when unnecessary shortages occur. Plus, not everyone can afford to stockpile, and many downtown residents without cars can only buy as much as they can carry home.
On Saturday, FreshCo closed its front doors to control crowds, leaving a line of around 50 people waiting for their turn to enter. Physical distancing measures were not enacted.
Misinformation about the coronavirus has stoked fears as well as minimized the pandemic; contrary to this tabloid’s claims, there is no coronavirus vaccine available. Fortunately, people in the checkout lines seemed too focused on their groceries to even skim the tabloid headlines.
