One of the great powers of the public its ability to boycott. On a whim or for more political motivations, it’s another tool in the populace’s limited toolbox. It’s generally a great way to push some corporate entity back in line. That’s not my method of boycotting.
I’m an individualist. And as an individualist, I deal with individuals, not a company’s superstructure.
Basically, my rationale for boycotting has little to do with something said during a national ad campaign, but rather the interactions had during checkout.
I refuse to step into a nearby grocery store because of the incompetence, not of employees, but of certain repeat customers. The self-checkout line exists in another dimension, where neither time, nor space play an important role. You can charge whatever you want, but my time is worth something.
Over the years, I’ve boycotted bodegas after they wanted me to pay for a spilled Gatorade that feel out of the fridge when I opened the door. The accusation, along with my stained shoes, was enough to send me to the metaphorical picket line.
Get my order wrong once, shame on you. Get my order wrong dozens of times without apology, shame on me. That’s what happened at a notorious Hudson Valley market, known for its peculiar blend of arrogance and incompetence.
I willingly boycott plenty of establishments due to petty squabbles, personal slights, minor misunderstandings, and other random things that in the moment seem much, much larger. I don’t go on social media (unless you count this site) and complain. I don’t grab a sign, a sharpie, an acoustic guitar, or a megaphone.
I just take my business elsewhere. Until they too inevitably betray my trust and generosity.
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