I miss being a person with my own individual characteristics and idiosyncrasies. I know that I’m sounding like the old lady I am, but I reminisce about going into the bank and visiting with the teller when I cashed a check. Now the tellers can’t be bothered with cashing checks. It’s “use the ATM” to get your cash. I liked to go to the gas station and not only have someone pour the gas but, also, wash the windows and check the tires and talk to me about my car. Now I must get out and pour my own gas and wash my own windshield. I used to go to a corner grocery store and visit with the clerk, who was also a friend from school. Now, it’s rare to have the same checkout person twice in a row – and, of course, you’re encouraged to do self-check out if you are only buying a few items. The personal contact is gone. The sense of the individual is no more.

This anonymity has recently manifested in my life in even more ominous ways. When I moved into a large apartment building (200 units) about four years ago, I knew that it was owned by a large corporation and managed by another big business enterprise, but I still felt like the local people listened to me when I had suggestions or complaints. The building was sold on December 1^st of last year and a new management company was hired. Now, everything is decided on the corporate level. The employees at the building level have no authority. The response to every concern is, “It can’t be changed. It is the established policy.”

So preference for parking is given to nonexistent possible patrons of the few businesses occupying the ground floor of the building. Residents are not allowed to park in the rows of spaces near the doors and elevators for easy access to their apartments. Nameless, faceless people inTexaslook at the listed number of spaces and the number of residents and decide that there is no problem. They do not look at the parking area.  Never mind that there are huge cement pillars to hold the building up and that many of the parking spaces are difficult, if not impossible, for me to park in. I am just a nameless, faceless person carrying heavy bags of groceries struggling across all the empty spaces reserved for others to park in. The local manager says “I will pass your concern on to the corporation.” Nothing changes.