Today started with a list
of things to do. Get a muffler fixed, stop at the bank, get some boots
repaired, buy some new shoes, grocery store and so on. Dan and the dog-face
boys took care of the car drop-off at a local muffler shop, a small
independently owned place that has done work on all of our cars. Dan has a
relationship with them and they once even signed some custom work they did on
his 1960 Ranchero. They know him there and he likes to take his business to the
small shop.
I lounged in, loving
Saturday morning until Dan and the herd returned. When I got up I looked around the bedroom. Quite a mess as
I’ve been trying on clothes to see how they fit since my recent landscaping. Very
pleased with what I’m seeing in the mirror, the resulting debris of cast-off
costume changes needed some attention. Included in that pile were a pair of
boots that never quite fit properly.
Dan did a quick Google
search to find out the hours of the local shoe repair shop. The search led to
one of those sites where people leave reviews. The owner of the little shop
really ticked off a customer with a rant about folks from a political
persuasion other than theirs (and ours as well). This led to a discussion of
patronage – do we go to the most local shop, or do we find another place for
the repair – simply because of this review and the owners political
affiliation? Does it matter if we take our business to a shop in Wauwatosa or
West Allis?
We went to the Tosa store
and turns out the owner doesn’t care to do that type of repair work. He did
give us the name of the one shop in town that might help us and no political
commentary. Off we went to downtown Milwaukee, to a store that has been in
business for over 75 years. This felt good. The proprietor took a look at the
fix we wanted and declined to do the work. Turns out the original purchase,
made over the internet, was not of sufficient quality to warrant the amount of
work needed for the repair.
Next was a stop at the
“big bank” to close our checking account of over 30 years. Since last November
I’ve gone through the tedious exercise of moving all of our automatic bill
deductions from the bank to the credit union. A quick check of the remaining bank balance yesterday
uncovered another fee deducted, I suspect from going under the “minimum
required account balance.” Time to bail. Asked why we were closing the account
I mentioned fees and loss of services. Dan placed his hand on my leg – a gentle
reminder that getting snarky with the woman stuck working on a Saturday, and
with no control over these things, was not the person to vent on.
This led to a discussion
of what does “local” mean. Here was an individual, working “locally” at a bank
whose home office is in another country.
Didn’t our use of that bank constitute local support of their employees?
Which led me to thinking about an all-hands meeting at my employer yesterday
where we discussed economic issues in Europe and Asia that were impacting “our”
projections. I work locally, don’t I? For a multinational. Am I a hypocrite in
my fight against the big bank?
Next stop, locally owned
shoe store to pick up some new running shoes. I’ve been advised by my physical
therapist that now is the time to transition to more foot/body friendly natural
running shoes. The shop is tiny. The shoes are made in China. Damn. Apparently
the only barefoot running that I can do, that is guaranteed to be made in the
USA, is my own bare feet. Shoes purchased and now I was feeling really
conflicted.
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