We Regret to Inform You That Your Cream Cheese Has Expired

Supermarket shopping is a death-defying process. No, I’m not referring to the busloads of codgers cramming the aisles and barring all escape routes from a bakery department blaze. Nor do I consider as any big deal the risks involving the salmonella rinse featured in the processing of those bagged salads. I’ve developed immunity to the army of the living dead and to Mexican-borne diseases, the latter to the point where I could drink Tijuana Springs water, if anybody had the nerve to market it. I’m talking about the dangers lurking in the dairy section.


I’m no biologist. I don’t know what the exact health effects are for consuming milk-based products that are beyond shelf life. It can’t be a good thing. Spoilage is a concern for us, for the very reason that we don’t know what the consequences are. There must be a reason, beyond the risk of fouling the interior of the refrigerator, for putting dates on dairy products. I’ll assume that it’s safety-related, which brings us to our story.


In late April 2010, I was shopping at Waldbaum’s in Centereach. When one is unemployed, going after sale items becomes more important than ever. A particular brand of cream cheese was on special. I grabbed one, turned it over to check the date and saw that only a few days of shelf life remained. There was a store clerk arranging things in an adjacent refrigerator bin and I walked over to him. My intent was strictly informational, just a heads up that Mister Cream Cheese was ready to push up daisies. When I informed him of the situation, he took the container from me and said the following:


“That’s okay, somebody will buy it.” With that, he returned the container to the shelf and I laughed.


I guess I didn’t expect that level of crass honesty. I don’t know why not, since I’m an acknowledged king of the form. In my own defense, I do draw the line at poisoning customers. Amazed, I took my fresher version of the product, went home and reported the incident to corporate headquarters. I received a reply a day or two later, Case Number 540363-A, informing me that they took such reports seriously and would address the issue at the appropriate level. I didn’t expect, nor did I receive, a follow-up report regarding any corrective action taken. I haven’t shopped at the Centereach store since.


Moving ahead to today – another Waldbaum’s, the one in Selden, and yet another cream cheese event. This time, it wasn’t a case of the product nearing its demise. No, this time the date read “May 21, 2010.” In neither case was I looking for expired goods; I just happened to pick the one. Another store clerk loomed and I greeted him with the bad news of a package left to rot, or worse. His reply:


“It was an accident.” It came out so quickly, I’m convinced it was a rehearsed line. I wasn’t having any of it. I told him it doesn’t meet the definition of an accident, especially since it’s happened to me so recently. Neglect isn’t an accident; it’s a failure to apply a level of care equal to the responsibility attached. It was like talking to a stuffed animal.


We have our corrective action, for what little it’s worth. Someone at corporate likely decided that the best course would be to stay the course and have employees plea ignorance and apologize when caught. Otherwise, sell off the existing stock and let dates be damned. I’m challenging anybody in the legal department at A & P Corporate to produce a timely, clearly worded and properly executed procedure to prevent what amounts to a major violation of local and state health codes.


Warning – this is my bailiwick. I may not be working now, but when I was, I inspired fear as a quality assurance auditor. I don’t fall for word tricks or trip over circular flowchart logic. I know when things don’t work and I know why they don’t, and root causes usually lay with executive personnel. Clearly, I’ve just given a good reason to keep me out of the employment stream, boat rocker that I am.


You may ask where the aforementioned governmental bodies charged with enforcing health codes are hiding. I don’t know and I don’t care. This is strictly a “buyers beware” issue. I check the dates. Unfortunately, those fossils shuffling around the produce department and jamming the aisles may assume (wrongly) that someone is protecting their interests. I guess we can ascribe this as a method for thinning the herd, but its coming to light won’t play well for the AARP radical set and could lead to boycotts. This issue demands some sort of address.


There is, of course, a fix for this. Add product lot numbers to the barcode SKU. It probably won’t happen, but think of the possibilities. Supermarkets are tracking shopping habits, offering discounts only when scanning a personalized shopper card during checkout. They know what I’m buying and when I’m buying it. With the added lot information, the opportunities for customer-specific offerings are endless. It’s not limited to dairy and other limited shelf life items, either.


Sure, that can of chili is dated out to the 22nd century (and guaranteed to survive a nuclear blast), but there does come a time when the larder needs to be rotated, just as much in our pantries as in the markets where we shop. An e-mail or postal reminder, with a coupon attached, of the need to replace or restock a food item will generate additional sales for the supermarket. While we’re there, we might pick up some milk and eggs, or even cream cheese. In the meantime, I’ll sit back and wait for the court order to show-cause why this post should remain up. I’ll invite the judge to meet at a local Waldbaum’s and watch me show some cause.





Abstract Invention by Charlie Accetta is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.