It is no big secret that I am a huge LGBTQ+ ally, even from before it was cool. As a result, I have of course never eaten at Chick-Fil-A. They get no monies from me, I don’t care how good that sauce is. See, I’m big on the boycott-if I discover your company policies are outrageously discriminatory, I will go directly to your more socially conscious competitor. So yeah, no hate-chicken for me and mine.
Then one day Mark spends an hour reading up on Starbucks and their union problem. As a man who would love to be unionized himself, he then comes to me guns blazing about how we are no longer a Starbucks house. I mean, yeah, I live in Buffalo, and we have the great and powerful Tim Horton’s, so I really never actually go to Starbucks. However, I do occasionally buy the Double Shots at the gas station when in a hurry. And that particular day, I was in a hurry.
Not that it mattered in the end, however, because I spent five minutes standing in front of the coffee cooler and debating with myself over whether or not to grab the usual. Finally, I came to the conclusion that if I would not allow Mark to purchase the hate-chicken (not that he has or would of his own accord, but in theory,) then I cannot, in good conscious, buy the Double Shot. It would not only show that I don’t care about unions, which I most certainly do, but it would also make me a flaming hypocrite. And so…I walked away. Goodbye Starbucks, we had a nice little run…now get your house in order.
That’s barely a blog, more of an anecdote, but it’s all I can manage because my hands are killing me right now. I drove to Erie PA and back on Saturday to go see Momma (no real updates) and ever since my hands have been numb or in pain. Stupid neuropathy. This blog is a day late because I couldn’t type yesterday…I barely could hold the vacuum cleaner at work.
Anyhoo, E is here so I am off to spend some time with her, and am hoping the sun comes out so that we can go do something.