I know this may come as a shock, but I frequently boycott persons, places, and things. Here are two of the more recent examples I can think of off the top of my head. This is going to rile me up, but for you, I do these things...
1. Magic Nut and Candy Company: There's a pretty sizable nut shop at my local Farmers Market. They have these really good smoked almonds that I used to get there all the time. The one thing that always really annoyed about this establishment, though, was the fact that the women who worked there were inattentive bitches, but the almonds were so good I kept going back. Just to set the scene, this nut stand is almost never busy. I would go there a couple times a week. And every time I went, the women would either be talking to each other as I stood there, staring directly at them, waiting to be helped, or, if it was just one of them, she'd sit there reading, or literally staring straight ahead at nothing. I always had to say, "excuse me," to get their attention, even though no one was there and I frequented the fucking place. Annoying, I know. One time, as a little experiment, I walked up to the counter, right in front of the woman who was working, stopped, stood there, and stared at her, without asking for help, just to see how long it would take before she offered to help me. There were no other customers. She was alone. Six minutes. Six fucking minutes. Do you have any idea how long that is to leave someone standing there, staring right at you? Try standing still, in silence, for six minutes one time. Let me know how that works out for you. Anyway, I would usually order a third of a pound every time I went, because due to my lack of self-control around food, I would always end up eating them in one sitting, and I didn't want to get any fucking fatter. So after months of patronizing this nut shop, I decided to stop by one fine afternoon for my almonds. I had exactly enough cash to get my third of a pound of smoked almonds. As usual, I waited an unnecessarily long time for the woman to finish her conversation with the person she spends every single day of her life with, and then I ordered my almonds. With zero recognition on her face, she tells me that they only sell a minimum of a half pound (or some amount that was marginally larger than whatever I wanted) at a time. I said, "really? Because I'm here really often and I always order the same amount, and no one, including you, has ever told me that before." The bitch-cunt-robot repeats, "there minimum of half pound." So I took out my four bucks, or whatever it was, held it up, and said, "so you will refuse to take this cash, in my hand now, in exchange for handing a loyal customer the same amount of almonds he purchases every other fucking time he comes here?" . . . "Half pound minimum." "I hope you go out of business, I'm never coming back here again." And I stuck to my word. But, because there's no such thing as a just God, they are still in business. But you can bet I give them dirty looks every time I walk by. Not that it matters, because in all the months I shopped there, they never once made eye contact or even said, "you're welcome," when I thanked them for the almonds. I hate people.
2. Le Pain Quotidien: These French fucks (even though I think they're actually Belgian. You choose a French name for your cafe, you're French). I had been there a handful of times, and, every time, had thought the food was decent but the service sucked. I wasn't morally opposed to dining there, but they certainly left a bad taste in my mouth. Then, this happened: I went there for lunch one day, because there's one up the street from my house, and the person I was with wanted to go, I think. Whatever. Unimportant. Now I sound like a girl; providing unnecessary, boring details of a story that could be cut into one eighteenth the time. Anyway, I was perusing the menu and noticed that it said that all sandwiches were served on wheat bread. Okay. I hate wheat bread, but no big deal, right? This place is a bakery. (For those of you not in the know, "Pain" is French for "bread." Now if you didn't know that, please stop reading. Now. Walk away.) The fucking word "BREAD" is in the name of the establishment! I can obviously get my sandwich on one of the other dozens of types of bread they supposedly bake daily, right? I'm sure you know where this is going. The whore of a waitress, who was a complete bitch from the moment we sat down, finally comes over to take our order. I tell her which sandwich I want, and I then have the audacity to ask what kind of breads they have so I can get my overpriced sandwich on bread that I actually enjoy consuming. The rest of the conversation went pretty much like this:
Whore Waitress: Our sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
Curmudgeon: Yeah, I know, but is there any way I can get it on something else? I don't like wheat bread.
WW: The menu says that all the sandwiches are served on wheat bread.
C: Yes, I read the same menu to which you're referring, which was why I specifically asked what other types of bread I could get my sandwich on, seeing as you're a bakery.
WW: You can't.
(I just stared at her for a couple seconds. She's very rude about it, too. Not apologetic. Not like, "I'm so sorry, but the chef is a fascist maniac who refuses to change things from the menu, and I'll get in trouble if I ask." Nothing remotely resembling effort.)
C: So, you have an entire store of bread inside (we were on the porch), and I am going to be forced to eat bread I don't like if I want to order this sandwich?
WW: (rolling her eyes and exhaling) I can give you different bread on the side and just bring out the ingredients for the sandwich.
(You realize the absurdity of this, right? At this point, I'm wishing a painful death upon her and whoever raised her, so I've given up on being polite. Now I'm my sarcastic, asshole self.)
C: Great. Let's do that. Thanks so much. And if you could, would you mind putting the first piece of bread down first, then the ingredients, then the second piece of bread on top of the ingredients? Because that would be great.
WW: (eyes roll again) I'll bring them out separately.
C: Of course you will.
So, yeah, that didn't end well. I left zero tip for the first and only time in my life, I believe, and I haven't been back there since. And I beg everyone who reads this to boycott with me, and tell other people not to eat there. I really hate that place.