The neighborhood store and the cold supermaket

In the neighborhood grocery store, everything feels familiar. Standing in front of an elderly man, crouched over a shaky counter, we don’t need to utter a word.
He looks at us, smiles, nods his head in acknowledgment and shuffles his way to the back of the store. He reappears, moments later with some goods in his hand before setting them slowly in front of us.
We smile, realizing that it was exactly what we needed.
We shove our hands in our pockets, and to our dismay, we realize that in our rush, we forgot to bring our wallet.
We start to squirm sheepishly, and before uttering any apology, the old man waves us off, then proceeds to put the bagels, and the cheese inside a worn out paper bag.
"You can pay tomorrow, enjoy the bagels, greeting to your dad," he utters with a hearty laugh
After a short, but immensely enjoyable conversation floating around sports, the weather, and the family, we leave the store.
On our way out, we meet Mrs Smith, the carpenter's wife. She greets us with a wide grin, and wishes us a great day, after asking us whether her husband’s services were still needed to help fix our cracked bathroom door.
We walk away cheerful with a heart filled with genuine human warmth.
The next day, coming back from work, we pass by a supermarket, and remembering that we are in need of a couple of items that were missing from the fridge the day before, we walk inside to buy some milk, butter and eggs.
Inside the Supermarket, we are greeted by a bare, glaring light, and the coldness of a meticulously ordered space with perfectly symmetrical produce, and neatly arranged products.
It feels fabricated, the food looks like the lifeless result of a laboratory experiment.
We grab the products that we need, and make our way to the counter to pay for the goods.
We feel bathed in a feeling of loneliness, and isolation among the multitudes that is aimlessly queueing like a giant ailing worm.
In the queue reigns a dead silence, interspersed with awkward attempts at communication, fleeting eyes, castdown looks, and fidgeting legs.
People are either looking down, or into the distance to avoid eye contact with their neighbors.
We get an impersonal, almost mechanical “bye” from the cashier before leaving this inhumane gathering of humans.
In some supermarkets, the human element has been completely annihilated. We deal and argue with programs inside a machine. We scan our goods, pay, and leave after hearing a robotic voice coming from a hidden speaker thanking us for choosing their supermarket, and wishing us a good day.