I Want to Support You, But You're Making It Really Difficult

I'm waiting for three books I ordered from a local bookstore. Books that should have at least shipped by now – if not arrived. Books I specifically chose to buy from them because I believe in supporting independent businesses.

The miss on shipping isn't what prompted me to write today; it's that this is the second time they've let me down.

The first time, a book sat on backorder for nearly three months with zero updates. I had to chase them for information, only to eventually give up and order elsewhere. You'd think I'd have learned. But I went back because I want to love them. I want to be the customer who raves about the indie bookstore that still exists.

Instead, I'm filling out contact forms and wondering if I should have just gone to the big box bookstore I can walk to from my apartment.

Two Things Are Often True at the Same Time

That big box bookstore I can walk to? While not my preferred destination, they've never let me down.

I desperately want to support small businesses and I want my books when promised.

When expectations are set by a company, I expect them to be honored and I understand sometimes stuff happens.

In a lot of cases empathy is my default setting and I get frustrated when I have to work this hard to get what I paid for.

The tension between these truths is what I'm calling a "Loyalty Tax"—the extra effort, patience, and mental energy we're willing to spend when we believe in what a business stands for. We'll wait longer. We'll be more forgiving. We'll give them another chance.

But the Loyalty Tax has a limit. And when you exhaust it, you don't just lose a customer. You lose someone who wanted to be your advocate.

What Actually Broke

My bookstore problem isn't about being small. It's about execution—specifically, failing to manage expectations and communicate proactively.

Setting expectations you can't meet. The website promised 4-10 day shipping. My confirmation said I'd get an update when it shipped. I've gotten nothing. If you can't consistently deliver, don't promise it.

Making customers chase information. I shouldn't have to fill out forms to find my order. One proactive email—"your order is running behind, here's why"—keeps me engaged instead of frustrated.

Radio silence when things go wrong. Problems happen. Disappearing when customers need you most is the issue.

Assuming goodwill equals infinite patience. Your values don't replace reliability. Customers will forgive a lot, but not being taken for granted.

The Tragic Irony

Here's what breaks my little book-loving heart: exceptional customer experience doesn't require huge teams or massive budgets. It requires intention and follow-through.

One automated email would have kept me. A simple system to flag delayed orders. Thirty seconds to acknowledge reality. These aren't enterprise-level resources—they're choices.

The "big guys" don't win because they have more people or money. They win because they've built systems that keep promises. But small businesses have an advantage giants can't replicate: the ability to be human, responsive, and genuinely connected.

When small businesses fail at the basics, they're not competing on charm anymore. They're just failing. That's the tragedy—I chose them specifically to avoid sterile efficiency. I wanted the story, the connection, the feeling of supporting something meaningful.

The Update That Proves the Point

Here's the plot twist: after I submitted an "order issue" form, they created a shipping label with tracking. I only know this because I went back to check—again. No email. No notification. No "hey, we saw your message and here's what's happening."

They did the work. They just didn't tell me they did the work.

And now I'm even more frustrated because it begs the question: what would have happened if I hadn't done my detective work? Would my order have just... shipped…or not? Would I have received it with zero communication and been expected to be grateful? Or would it have sat there indefinitely while I wondered if my money disappeared into the void?

This is the entire problem in miniature. I'm not asking for perfection. Despite loving a good mystery novel, I'm asking to not have to detective my way through a simple book order.

The Bottom Line

A single email would have prevented me from writing this post and abandoning the notion of doing business with this brand again. That's it. Proof someone noticed I exist and cared about what was promised to me.

You can have the best intentions and stand for all the right things. But if you can't deliver on promises—or communicate honestly when you can't—you're charging a Loyalty Tax that eventually bankrupts the relationship.

The gap between "I love what you do and what you stand for" and "I can't keep doing this" is shorter than you think.

I wanted to be their advocate. They made it too difficult.

Which story are you telling?