Just who do you think you're talkin' to?

My family and I stayed close to home over the weekend. On both Saturday and Sunday we did, in fact, do laundry and watch football.

It was nothing special, unless relaxing is special (and for us it was). We didn't even prepare a meal.

Last night's "dinner" involved a swing through the local McDonald's drive-thru. When I placed our order, I noticed that the disembodied voice, while cordial and competent, bore a strange accent.

It was American, not foreign, striking me as the yah-sure-you-betcha-dontcha-know lilt typical of the upper Midwest and northern plains. Curious, I asked the young woman who handed me our bagged food if the friendly order-taker was in that building.

"Um, no -- they're in North Dakota."

Sometimes it feels like I've lived too long.

Oh, I do get it -- efficiency, centralization, customer experience and all that -- and I know that this stuff is nothing new. Even the Ohio Department of Taxation outsources its customer service to a private company in the state of Washington. I suppose it's some comfort knowing that I'm talking to employed Americans and not some offshore operation.

Still, the fact that my fast-food order must make an 1,800-mile electronic round-trip seems wrong somehow. The physical distance, enabled by technology, is short compared to how far we've strayed from the whole concept of neighbor-to-neighbor service.

Yesterday's experience reinforced -- and in some ways redefines -- my personal perception of "local commerce."

In a few hours I'll return to the working world, taking my pay from a small, independent, truly local business. And while much of what it sells is made outside the U.S., when a customer buys an oil filter, a wheel bearing or whatnot, they'll be talking to a living, breathing local in the same building.

In this imperfect commercial world, I can feel good about that.