When Home Depot opened, the parking lot was packed and cars lined Route 23 all the way back to the Main Street viaduct. Now, we’ve got Lowe’s and Taco Bell/Long John Silver’s and Quiznos, but people want more. Have you heard the recurring rumors about Target and Red Lobster? Do you know anyone who longs for a Gap or an Old Navy or a Starbucks?

None of these chains excites me as much as the family-owned Greek restaurant on Main Street or the new deli in the West End. And while it would be nice to have a Target to give Wal-Mart some competition, the thing I’d most like to see is another locally owned children’s clothing store.

I’m probably in the minority. I think most people have grown to expect bargains and enjoy one-stop shopping. So I find myself wondering: When, exactly, did shopping locally become the exception to the rule? Much has been made of suburban sprawl, the rise of the big-box stores and the death of Main Street, USA. Yet, like any cultural change, the shift in people’s expectations has been gradual. You can’t pinpoint quite when it happened. Was it when the Southside Mall opened, when Bresee’s Department Store closed or when Wal-Mart arrived?

Not so many years ago, there was a relationship between a community and its businesses. Who bailed first, the customers or the merchants? Did the stores fail the customers by being too slow to adapt, making it easy for the new global retailers to steal customers with their promises of low prices and one-stop shopping? Or did the customers fail the stores by jumping ship at the first sign of something bigger, and, by extension, better?

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One-stop shopping unnerves me. I have not gotten used to seeing clothes and cold cuts in my cart at the same time. I like to get running shorts at a sporting goods store, books at a book store and produce at a grocery store, or better yet, the farm stand down the road. I like shopping for each thing at a store with greater selection and someone who actually knows something about the item and has time to spend helping me. I would rather pay a little more and have a pleasant shopping experience. The tradeoff is I can’t buy as many things, but I can live with that.

I take perverse pleasure in the fact that Wal-Mart’s profits are down for the first time in 10 years. About a year ago, I vowed to avoid Wal-Mart, and it has not been as hard as I thought it would be. I’ve been there twice so far this year. It’s not so much that I am concerned about the retail giant putting mom-and-pop stores out of business, or hastening global warming with all those jets flying back and forth from China, or luring people who can least afford it to buy a bunch of cheap stuff they don’t need — although Wal-Mart certainly does all of this.

I’ll be honest: The main reason I’m boycotting Wal-Mart is not to uphold some noble principle. It’s because I find it inconvenient, stressful and unpleasant to shop there. If I am lucky enough to find what I’m looking for without walking the whole perimeter, the selection is generally poor and I have to settle for something less than ideal because I’m in a hurry and there’s nowhere else in town to get this item, which is why I’ve resorted to shopping at Wal-Mart in the first place. I begrudgingly put the item into my supersized cart and maneuver it to the shortest line, where I try in vain to tune out the incessant blipping of the checkout scanners. I rarely leave pleased with my purchases, and usually, I’ve picked up at least one thing that wasn’t on my list, because I saw it and realized that, oh yeah, we could use one of those, and it seems like a pretty good deal.

I know Wal-Mart and the other big chains have a loyal customer base. But there must be some people, like me, who long for just a few more locally owned stores.

As for those who are on the fence, I’m hoping that, eventually, the high-pitched beeping will wear them down.

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Lisa Miller is a freelance writer who lives in Oneonta. She can be reached at lisamiller44@hotmail.com.