As I was returning home to Leland after a morning in the big city of Traverse, I found myself reflecting on the encounters I had during my errands. There was nothing particularly interesting about the errands, but what I noticed was that when given the choice between interacting with an automated machine and a human being, I chose the human being in every instance.
Big deal, you think. Well, apparently, it is a big deal to me. I had to pick up a few things at Oleson’s, and every single self-checkout machine was open. I breezed by them and went directly to the only cashier in the place. She efficiently scanned everything, asked for payment, and all the while had a pleasant conversation about the sunshine that morning. The bagger efficiently sorted my things and packed them with precision in the paper bag.
I wasn’t able to pick up everything I needed there (they didn’t have organic berries), so I marched over to Oryana and gathered the last few items. I recognized the same cashier who had served me for over 20 years and lined up in her lane. She mentioned she hadn’t seen me as much and guessed I might be going to the other store. I told her it was nice to see her again, which it was; she always is quick to share a smile. I mentioned that I do go to the other store too, but since I am retired, I try not to come into town as often. Actually, I think I phrased it thusly, “Now that I am retired, I don’t get out much.”
The last stop I had to make was to deposit a check at the bank. I have been banking at the same branch for over 30 years. In fact, I used to work at the branch in a previous life. The sign out front has changed, some of the people have changed, but I still feel cared for every time I visit. I was in a bit of a hurry since I had a meeting coming up and toyed with the idea of using the drive-thru. It is very convenient, but in the same way that I didn’t choose the automated self-checkout machine, I decided to park the car and go inside.
There was a line, and the gentleman ahead of me welcomed me to the line with a nod and a smile. I was happy to see familiar faces behind the counter and was looking forward to my turn. I overheard someone at the drive-thru asking about ordering Euros for an upcoming trip, and that reminded me I should probably order some for my trip. When it was my turn, I did ask about the procedure even though I wasn’t ready to do it that day.
After my transaction was complete, I planned to walk around the corner to see one of my favorite bankers. The same gentleman who was in front of me in line introduced himself and asked if I was planning a trip. I told him I was, and he mentioned that he had just gotten back from Croatia. I shared that Croatia was on my list of places to visit, and we talked about his experience and what he recommended. It was very interesting, and I found the insight he shared to be valuable.
As we said our goodbyes, I pressed on to see my friend, who jumped out of her chair to give me a hug. We chatted for a while, catching up, and she asked about when I was leaving for the Camino and shared her excitement for me. Her phone rang, I excused myself and headed out to my car. Glancing at my watch, I was relieved that I still had plenty of time for my next appointment.
I pulled out of the parking lot and caught myself smiling at the encounters I just had. I got great information about ordering a foreign currency, chatted with the teller who has helped me for years, gained travel insight from a kind stranger, and, best of all, got a hug from my banker. The drive-thru is convenient, but when did every decision we make get boiled down to what is most convenient?
Furthermore, what are we exchanging for every convenience that we select? Are all of these conveniences good for us?
As I reflected on this day, I found myself very happy for every exchange that I had and decided that every single one of them could have easily been avoided. I know people who consider it a good day when they don’t have to interact with any other human person. But for me, it was all of those tiny little exchanges with other people that made my morning, full of mindless errands, much more enjoyable. It was the color that was added to the black and white chores on my to-do list.
We used to have home-cooked meals around a table as a family, and the rise of fast food changed us forever. Relationships suffered as family time was cut short, and our health suffered from eating food that is not even food. My former old school doctor was appalled to learn that I enjoyed fast food several times per week. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Brian, there is zero nutritional value in the food that you get there.” I countered with the lettuce, tomatoes, and other vegetables adorning my burger and he repeated the phrase more emphatically.
That was twenty-five years ago, and I haven’t gone back since. I trusted and respected him as a doctor, and when he gave me health advice, I followed it. He was old school, and I suppose I still am.
I am not suggesting that we should not use services that make things more convenient; that would be ridiculous. I mean, I don’t take my dirty clothes down to the river and beat them on the rocks; I use a modern washer and dryer. What I am saying is, the next time you are presented with a decision to make for convenience’s sake, ask yourself what you will be missing as a result of that decision.
There are plenty of days when I simply don’t have the time for all of these interactions, and I definitely do use the automated checkout. Or there are other times when I am just not agreeable enough to trust myself with human interactions, but for whatever reason, this day made me reflect on a lot of things and made me more intentional about how I choose to get things done.