Where Everybody Knows Your Name by Liz Flaherty

I like buying local, don't you? And my memories of what "local" was like when I was young are just like everyone else's from my generation. That is to say, probably viewed through rose-colored lenses. 

I used to buy gas from Ronnie Martin in Akron. I'd stop and get a few dollars worth on my way to work in North Manchester. I'd write a check and ask him to hold it till Friday so that it wouldn't be...rubbery. He sold Christmas trees my son's first Christmas. I just wanted a little one for a little boy, and Ronnie charged me a dollar. 

One time, before the days of sliding a credit card through a slot in a gas pump, I pumped some gas at Beecher's in Denver. Then I went over a block to Hagan's to buy some groceries. The guy who was working at the station called Hagan's and asked Bonnie, the cashier, to send me back to the station so I could pay for the gas I'd just absconded with. I stuck my hand in my pocket and there was the money. I took it right over. 

Embarrassment seemed to happen at Hagan's. (I blame Steve Hagan for this, because he's not here to defend himself--he's still working behind the meat counter at the grocery in Denver.) There was the day I bought a cartload of groceries, but when I opened my checkbook, there were no checks--not even the bouncy kind. I'm not sure what I said, but Jeff Hagan yelled to the back to his dad, "Hey, Liz doesn't have any checks. What should we do?" knowing full well Elmer was going to wave me off and have me come back the next day. He did and I did, and it's probably been 40 years and I think my face is red again as I'm writing this. 

A few times, while I worked at the post office in Logansport, I got to spend a few months working at the Macy office instead. Where people brought me stuff to eat and stood at the counter and talked, sometimes playing the "remember when" game that, as you know, is one of my favorites. 

Some places have retained the feel of "remember when." I'm sure Joe DeRozier has the only bakery around where you go in the back door and talk books and not-politics with the owner when you pick up your donuts. There are restaurants and coffee shops and bars where "everybody knows your name," and let's be honest here--we like that. We like it a lot. As much as good and fast service, we like it to be friendly and familiar. 

That happens a lot around here, and it's one of those things in the top ten on my gratitude list. (Which keeps growing, by the way--another gratitude!)

But what about when you don't get good service at a local business? When you've paid cash for an item and six weeks later you still don't have it--only promises anchored by "just waiting for a part"?

That's an easy answer when it's a big-box store; they can afford to lose my business and my good will. It hasn't happened often, but it has happened. I imagine big-chain percentages are pretty good as far as customer satisfaction, so I don't feel bad when I ask for my money back and give them a poor review for whatever standard they haven't reached.

That doesn't answer my question, though. Had we talked to enough people before we bought the item I'm talking about above, we wouldn't have gone there. Wouldn't have made a special trip to the bank to get money out because the shop owner wasn't "doing cards right now." I know that our experience isn't special--a lot of customers are having or have had the same one. 

So here's my question--well, my several questions. What do we do now? Do we ask for our money back? Do we have faith "the part" will eventually arrive? Do we mention the name of the business even knowing we might be doing some damage to it? I want to shop local, I want to be loyal to community businesses (especially since most of them are so great and we're lucky to have them), but where does loyalty cross the line into just being cheated? 

The business has a long and excellent history in the community--but history doesn't deliver service, does it?

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody. If you can, buy local.