On Location: Abnerson’s
It’s 6:30 am on a cool Tuesday morning. The day promises to bring sunshine and warmer temperatures. I am camped out in the Dairy Section of the Abnerson’s in Laguna Niguel, California on the North American continent. This area used to be all dense chaparral and cattle. Now, urban development has turned it into a well-off suburb. This is one of the happier endings in the land of hills, valleys and ocean beaches.
A native Californian walks up to me, near the nonfat Lucerne. He is looking at prices. I strike up a conversation in the local dialect. “Hey.” I say. He replies, “Hey.” I have been researching the tribes of the Southern Orange County foothills for almost 8 years. These are some of the friendliest people in all of the area known as “California”, a vast stretch of land that covers the west coast of the continent from the Mexican border to the lateral midpoint of the west coast line, to a place known as “Oregon”. Much of the state is nationally protected parkland, part of an effort to preserve it’s natural beauty: beaches on the coast, trees and mountains inland, and deserts in the eastern portion, where sand drifts across the boarder to Arizona and Nevada. But here in the area known as South Coast, my research has shown me how such a diverse state can take it’s differences and make them it’s biggest strength.
In the dairy department, the Californian I have been speaking to chooses a half-gallon plastic jug of 1% milk fat low fat milk made by “Alta Dena”. He moves off in the direction of the meat section, eyeing my equipment warily. These Orange County Californians are friendly, but still suspicious of technology when it invades the sanctity of their “grocery stores”, large depositories of foodstuffs and notions. This is where the local people gather nearly 85% of the food they consume. A woman is pushing a cart with a fussy child in it. The child is yammering about Mickey Mouse candy. The woman coos softly at the child, “Please be quiet, honey. Mommy has a migraine.” Migraines are common in this area of North America.
I ask the woman about her condition. “So, you get migraines a lot?” “Yes. Usually when I am with one of my children.” Children are an important part of the Orange County life. They are everywhere, and some of them can be quite loud and contrary. “I used to get migraines when I was younger. But I found that if I quit smoking, drinking, or eating, my natural endorphins would kick in and eliminate the pain. Also, if I would lock myself in a closet, it would help. Have you tried locking yourself in a closet?” The woman moves away quickly. Again, I sense that my camera equipment has interfered with my interactions with these friendly yet reserved people.
I have made my base camp at the Holiday Inn at the El Toro exit on I-5. I return there to construct what is known as a “Blind”. This will allow me to observe the locals without startling them. My blind is designed to look like a large frozen skinless chicken. Chickens are common in Orange County, especially in the Abnerson’s stores.
It is 8:00 am on Wednesday. My blind, an 8 foot high, 6 foot wide papier mache replica of a skinned frozen chicken is in place in the produce section. The locals appear curious, but no longer frightened. I wait inside with my equipment. I have found that the Californians enjoy speaking to each other in the produce section. The taboos of what is known as “talking to strangers” is lifted in the presence of fruits and veggies. This is part of the intrigue of a Grocery Store, and why I have been conducting research in them for nearly 15 years.
A young man squeezes organic tomatoes conscientiously. As I watch him, a woman in her 30’s moves past on her way to the lettuce. This is the excitement I live for. My adrenaline is pumping. An attendant of the food and notions approaches my blind. “What the )(&@#$ is this?” I sense he is becoming agitated, but I remain calm inside, and skillfully conceive of a plan to ease his concern and let him believe that my presence is entirely normal. “Buckaaaaaaaak!” I shout. He stares a bit longer and moves off to the back of the store, convinced I am a natural part of the scenery. I continue my observations until, about 15 minutes later, I am confronted by 7 armed police officers, who forcibly eject me from the market.
Life is unpredictable here in Orange County. One must always be on guard to fit the mold, because while the people are non-violent and civil, they do not like large papier mache skinless frozen chickens in their Abnerson’s stores without a permit and a good reason for being there.
That night, I pack up my base camp and move on. My gear goes into my vintage 1984 Ford Tempo and I travel inland to Mission Viejo, where I have been looking forward to researching the Ralph’s on Rancho Santa Margarita Parkway. This is the life I love. I couldn’t ask for anything more.