Count the change!

Every last convenience store in my town is now owned by [insert racial stereotype here]. In every last convenience store in my town, the cashiers have ceased the time-honored tradition of counting back my change. Coincidence? Counting back change isn't very hard. I can do it, and I'm not a even a real cashier. I'm what a lot of people would consider a dumb mouth-breathing gap-toothed redneck. But I can still do it.

Remember how it used to work? Say your purchase came to $5.83 and you paid with a $20. The cashier would say "$5.83, out of a twenty. $.17 [drops change in your hand] makes $6, four $1's [puts four singles in your hand] makes $10, and $10 more [drops $10 bill in your hand] makes $20. Have a great day!"

Nowadays, the [insert racial stereotype here] has a disordered stack of bills stretched taut between his hands, with a little pile of coins on top. Then the [insert racial stereotype here] wordlessly attempts to put the whole jumbled mess in my hand all at once, being extra careful to avoid any accidental skin contact - as though I might have some form of cooties. OK, buddy, that feeling is mutual. But now I have to wonder if the right amount is there. I also have to figure out how to get the pile of coins off the stack of bills without dumping them all over the counter, which I'm not usually successful at. Then I have to count and face all the bills before they go in the wallet - I guess I'm just fussy that way.

The whole thing becomes an ordeal that I'd rather just do without. But overpaying for a stale Hostess apple pie at a convenience store is about as American as apple pie, so I keep going back and the cycle continues. What am I to do?

Dank you beddy mush, sir!