I am of the age where, when you pulled into a gas station, someone would pump your gas, check your oil, wash your windshield, take your cash, and bring you the change. I remember having the operator place telephone calls, doctors make house calls, and milk delivered to the house. At The Middlesex Fruitery in Middletown, Connecticut, I grew up seeing signs posts that said “No Self Service.” Yep, you were not allowed to pick your own fruit. You told the person working there what you wanted and when you planned to eat it, and the fruit would be selected for you, and carefully bagged. Regulars could even run a tab.

I am freaking sick of everything that is expected of customers now. First it was the self check out at Walmart, which spread to other stores. I still refuse to use them. Last year I walked into a fast food restaurant to find no one behind the counter taking orders. I was expected to place and pay for my own order at one of several kiosks opposite the counter. Other places followed suit. But I resisted. I either stood at the counter or, if that didn’t work, force an employee to come over to the kiosk and step me through the process.

Before that, sit-down restaurants forced me to order and pay for food using a tablet on the table rather than hire enough staff to keep customers happy. The Covid pandemic had eateries replace menus with QR codes to make the dining experience as safe, hygienic, and as contactless as possible. I, however, wanted nothing to do with learning a new trick just so I could squint at the tiny type on my phone. In addition to everyplace wanting you to have their credit card, now you have to have their app to place orders, even at the drive-through.

Yesterday I just about lost my shit when I was forced to check out at a CVS in Vero Beach, Florida. I had a fistful of prescriptions in one hand, and my phone and credit card in another, along with a bag of Peanut M&Ms. All three registers was closed, with two self-check-outs open. Two employees just gave me a blank stare when my eyes pleaded for them to open a register. My intuition was telling me to just put down the bag and walk out, but the emotional carb addict within was threatening a meltdown if she couldn’t have the candy, so I caved and followed the instructions on the touch screen that I don’t know how many others had touched before me. Although I presumable did everything correctly, red lights came on as I was getting my twenty feet of coupons. I wouldn’t doubt it was shouting orders at me, but I just took my receipt and my bag and walked out … without incident.

The same lack of help happens when I had to call Verizon, Hewlett-Packard, MassMutual, and Chase. After being forced to weave my way through several menus, I was forced to listen to nerve-jangling music repeatedly interrupted, urging me to get help by going to their website – something difficult to do when the problem is you can’t get online.

If you have suggestions on how I can protest this ever-increasing DIY trend, please post a comment.