InternationalBoycott backlash
Why snubbing doesn’t always serve its intended purpose
Published: Thursday November 13, 2008
Yerevan - Boycotting can be a very empowering experience. There is something instantly gratifying in the act of snubbing - in showing someone that you are so appalled by what they've done or what they stand for, that you are stripping them of the privilege of your business. That is, unless the reaction on the receiving end of the boycott is, "I couldn't care less." I've always been a big fan of the boycott and have put it to use where I have seen fit, but lately, I'm beginning to wonder if my efforts are in vain.
I live in Yerevan and love the city for all its quirks and absurdities. I can't picture myself living anywhere else. Yerevan has truly become a part of me, like a family member. So it's only in the most loving way that I say this: there are some things about the city that drive me absolutely crazy. Ranking high on the list is the service industry. Every time I get service that I deem inadequate, I voice my complaint to the manager and if I'm not satisfied with the response, I march out vowing never to return . . . which is all very nice until I realize that I'm running out of places to eat and shop! So I find myself in a bit of a bind. I'm suffering from a bad case of boycott backlash.
Coming from Canada, the land of politeness, I must admit I'm a service snob. I want my service with a smile - big smile, small smile, real smile, fake smile, whatever - just show me some teeth. Really, I'm not that harsh. I always try to keep in mind that my definition of service is not the definition of service, and that conceptions of what good service entails vary around the world. Very few places share the North American idea of customer service, an idea that stems from the capitalist tenet: smile, because if you don't, your customers will go to your competitor.
The service industry in Armenia has come a long way over the past few years. During the Soviet era, there was no such thing as competition, so the idea of customer service was completely foreign. The only reason I demand service with a smile is because I'm trained to, so I can't expect people who have grown up in a completely different environment to feel the same way or to even know how I want to be treated. Service is getting considerably better here, and fast. But there are still times when I feel so outraged by the way I'm treated that I see no other option but to boycott.
Looking back at these instances, they're actually kind of funny, like the time when I was trying on a bathing suit at a sports store and the saleswoman stuck her head right into the changing room about fifteen seconds after I'd gone in to tell me, "Hurry up, okay? People are waiting." Or just last week, when I was sitting at my (then) favorite coffee shop and enjoying the free wireless Internet, until the boycott-worthy incident occurred.
I had ordered a sandwich and gone to sit in the basement of the two-story café. I should explain that this particular establishment has a strange policy: if you order something that will take a few minutes to prepare, one of the employees will come all the way downstairs to your table to tell you that your food is ready, but not bring it with her, so you have to go all the way back upstairs to get it. I always found this strange, but was more amused than annoyed by it.
Anyway, on this day, I had waited about fifteen minutes, but still no messenger bearing news of my sandwich. So I went upstairs, and sure enough, my sandwich was ready and waiting. "Why didn't you come earlier?" asked one of the girls, "Now it's cold. There was no point in us even warming it up." Are you kidding me, I thought, but I took a breath, and explained to her that no one had informed me that it was ready. "Oh," was all she had to say.
I went downstairs only mildly peeved. There are worse things in life than a cold chicken sandwich. I'd just taken a bite of my soggy treat when the same girl who had scolded me for my tardy sandwich-fetching came down with a tray of pizza and drinks and brought it right to the couple sitting at the table next to mine. As she walked by, I stopped her and asked, "I'm confused. Why do you bring the food right to one customer, tell another to come upstairs and get it, and in my case, forget about it all together?" She smiled and said, "Well, he's the manager."
The manager overheard our conversation, but didn't even have the courtesy to come over and see why I was upset. Before I left, I approached him and told him that after seeing that I was not satisfied, as a manager, I would have expected him to at least come over and ask me what was wrong. Right away, he was hostile and defensive. First he pretended that he hadn't heard what was said, then he told me that if I was the manager, I would get better service too. He ended on an accusatory note, saying, "I see you and your friends here all the time. You should know our policy." I couldn't believe it. "That's exactly the point," I said, "I'm a regular customer and I'm upset. Shouldn't you want to fix that so that I stay a regular customer?" He shrugged and told me that if I didn't want to come back I didn't have to. So that was that. Boycott. But the umph was taken out of the act because the bad-mannered manager was the one who had suggested it.
A few days later, I had to go to the OVIR (Office of Visas and Registration) - a bleak, miserable government building that diasporans and foreigners in Armenia are all too familiar with - to begin my application for Special Residency Status. I won't go into the details of my experience that day. A few lines wouldn't do it justice, so I'll save that tale for another time. But it made my falling out at the coffee shop seem like a cordial chitchat. After I had waited in line for an hour in a dank, musty hallway with no chairs, the visa-issuing officer was completely rude and unresponsive. He even had the nerve to imply that the whole process would go more smoothly with a bribe. That's when I lost it. My boycotting instinct kicked in and I was ready to march right out of there to show him exactly what I thought of him and his bribe, but it suddenly hit me - he didn't need me, I needed him. I couldn't boycott my way out of this one. So I sat it out, did my best to hide my disgust, and tried to get all the information I needed without losing my cool.
