Considering that roughly 216 million people shop at Walmart, one might ponder the sheer number of stores. The number hovers near 4,500.I don’t need to tell you that Walmart is responsible for the death of many mom-and-pop shops in small-town America. Now Amazon is killing what is left.

Do you remember the friendly face behind the counter, the one that might ask you about your family or even know your name?

Not that long ago, I’d pull up to the filling station and, before I could even step out of my car, an attendant would be at my window with a friendly smile. They’d fill my tank for me, and if I asked, they’d wash my windows until they sparkled, check the air in my tires, and even pop the hood to make sure my oil was topped off. It felt like a small ritual of care, a moment when someone else looked after both me and my car.

These days, I do it all at the gas station. I’m pumping my own gas, washing my own windows, and if I decide to step into the store, there’s a good chance I might not even understand the person behind the counter.

After finishing my transaction, I think what irritates me the most is that cold, robotic “THANK YOU” that comes from some computer chip with absolutely zero agency.

It’s not a person expressing gratitude; it’s just a programmed response, a hollow echo of politeness designed to mimic human interaction. I know it’s just a chip running instructions, processing inputs, and spitting out outputs, but it feels so empty.

It’s as though the machine is trying to replace the human touch, and instead it just reminds me how far we’ve drifted from real, meaningful interactions.

I can still remember a time when going to the grocery store felt like a completely unique experience.

Back then, I’d push my cart through the aisles, and when I was done, someone would take it from me and handle everything.

They’d ring up my order, carefully bag or sack the groceries, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, someone would carry them out to my car. They’d even ask where I wanted them placed (trunk, backseat, wherever) and do it with a smile.

It wasn’t just about the service; it was the warmth of the interactions.

There were genuine pleases and thank-yous, and as I drove away, I felt appreciated, as though my business actually mattered.

It wasn’t just a transaction; it was a moment of connection, a small but meaningful exchange that made the whole experience feel human.

Now I can’t help but miss those days, when customer service wasn’t just a buzzword but something you could feel in every interaction.

Now they want $25 an hour to let you take your groceries and put them in the cart, or, like at Aldi, you get to box them or bag them after the sale.

Sorry, but where is the service in that?

Today, things couldn’t be more different. Now there’s an app for everything, even grocery shopping.

I’m expected to pull out my phone, open the app, and start scanning my groceries as I pick them out. I place them in my cart myself, and when I’m ready to leave, I just show the machine a barcode on my phone. And voilà, transaction complete.

It feels a lot like shopping at Aldi or one of those other stores where you’re left to bag, box, or otherwise pack your own groceries for the ride home.

As I glance around, I see several employees standing, not ringing people up or bagging groceries but instead directing traffic or helping someone with an item that refuses to scan properly.

Is it quicker? Sure, sometimes it is. But can it be slower? Oh, absolutely.

The entire process feels so detached. What used to be a personal, interactive experience now feels as though I’m just another cog in a self-service system, one in which the human touch has been replaced by machines and apps.

IKEA and many other stores are doing away with people to check you out altogether.

They just stand there chatting with one another, waiting for some beep from a machine so they can swoop in and push the correct button.

Are prices lower now that you are working for them?

Can we get on their company benefit plan, since we are essentially performing job functions that their employees should be doing?

Here’s the bottom line: H-E-B and Tom Thumb are the only places around here that still have full-service stores. So I’ve decided to run a brief experiment. I’m going to visit each one and rate them on three things: price, availability of products, and the overall customer experience. Because let’s face it, prices are already way too high, and shrinkflation is everywhere.

If I’m going to get screwed over, I’d at least like a little courtesy to go along with it.

Give me a kiss afterward, you know?

IKEA was the first one I checked on after this post, hence the rewrite.

Here’s the truth of it: I’m tired.

Tired of walking out of stores feeling frazzled, angry, and worn down by machines that don’t care and workers who were never given the chance to.

I don’t want a barcode.

I don’t want a beep.

I don’t want a chip chirping “THANK YOU” at me like I’m a vending machine that just dispensed a candy bar.

I want a person. A real, breathing human being who looks me in the eye, cracks a small smile, and says,

“Thank you, have a great day,” and actually means it.

Is that too much to ask?

Somewhere along the way, we traded connection for convenience, and I’m not convinced we got the better end of the deal.

So here’s my challenge to you.

The next time you shop, pay attention. Notice who greets you, who thanks you, who treats you like a customer instead of a task to be processed. Then vote with your wallet, because that’s the only language these companies still understand.

Take your business to the places that still remember your name, still bag your groceries, still bother to care.

And do me one favor: drop a comment below and tell me where the good ones are, the last full-service stores in your town that haven’t forgotten what service actually means. Let’s find them together, before they disappear for good.