Today I visited my local Tesco Café in Pontypool, as I have done for the past twenty-odd years. Over that time, it became far more than just a place to grab a Coffee. It was somewhere familiar, comforting, and human. A place where staff members often became friends, people who went above and beyond, lifting spirits during some very low times.
For many in the community, especially the older generation, the café was a bolt hole. Somewhere warm to sit, to talk, to laugh, and to feel part of something. For some, that brief chat with the person behind the counter may well have been their only meaningful human interaction that day. It gave people a reason to get up, get out, and feel connected.
Today, that feeling was gone.
Instead, we are met with touchscreens and notices stating “card only.” No welcome, no smile at the counter.
I walked past the screens and went straight to the one solitary till, asking politely if I could place an order. Sheepishly, the member of staff told me that I couldn’t and that I now had to use the touchscreen.
I was polite. I explained that I don’t do touchscreens. I don’t want to. And with that, for the last time, I left what was once a hive of activity.
Some may think that’s an overreaction. It isn’t. I genuinely don’t use touchscreens at Cafes. I value physical interaction with another human being. I don’t want to prod an unhygienic plastic screen that countless others have touched, especially when it’s well documented how much bacteria they can harbour. But beyond hygiene, there’s a far more important issue here: wellbeing.
What about the older generation? What about those who feel uncomfortable, anxious, or excluded by technology? What about the people for whom that short exchange with a server is the highlight of their day? What are we, as consumers, actually gaining from this shift, apart from isolation?
People of a certain age often don’t understand or accept this cold, profit-driven system, and it’s clear it hasn’t been put in place for their benefit. The café felt cold, sterile, and when I was there, empty. The very thing that made it worth visiting had been stripped away.
For me personally, the selling point has gone. So what reason is there to return? None. Not for me, and not for many others.
Twenty years of loyal custom, rewarded with a touchscreen.
I contacted Customer Services, only to be told that they don’t actually run the café but would pass on my concerns. That felt like another layer of distance, another wall built between people and the decisions that affect them.
Today felt like a goodbye. A sad day for Pontypool, and a sad day for those who valued the social side of the café and the professional, caring staff who are now hidden away behind technology.
Too many organisations claim that technology is introduced to improve customer service. Rarely, in my experience, does it do that. More often, it removes warmth, dignity, and choice.
And once those are gone, so are the customers.
Giles Davies 