The Ones Who Walk Away from Amazon

“The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” by Ursula K. Le Guin is one of my favorite short stories, because the discussion goes on long after the story ends. (For those unfamiliar, the story depicts a utopian city, which depends upon the suffering of a single child. You can read it in Le Guin’s collection, The Wind’s Twelve Quarters.) Do those who walk away accomplish anything? Is it a meaningless, feel-good gesture, if the child still suffers, but those who leave no longer benefit from the city’s delights? Those are but a few of the questions and discussions this story generates. Also, if I ever open a diner, the no-egg options for breakfast will be under a heading titled The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelettes.

When I bought my first batch of books online—never thinking that the stores I loved, like Borders, would ever suffer—I didn’t imagine that twenty years later, I’d be sending a psychopath into space. I can’t remember what the final straw was for me with Amazon. It was somewhere before their warehouse workers were passing out in droves, and their truck drivers not wearing seatbelts and peeing in bottles to make time, but after they had been selling books below cost to hurt bookstores, and long after they bullied the feminist bookstore Amazon Books of Minneapolis into changing their name. I had been a customer since 1998—I began when they had a cheesy webpage and only sold books—but I haven’t bought anything from them in years now. And if anything, I’ve saved money, so it’s more than a feel-good action.

Union organizer Chris Smalls was fired from Amazon; now he heads the union.

I’m not here to judge. It’s hard to be a saint in the city, or anywhere else. Also, it’s exhausting. But personally, I can’t ignore how bad the company is for… well, everything. That may sound hyperbolic, but their carbon footprint alone—driven less by 2-day free shipping than their massive data centers, where they sell server time on demand—is immense; they’ve made us expect items to magically appear as soon as we click buy; and their server farms have enabled everything from police surveillance by video doorbell, Alexa always listening, massive outsourcing and elimination of tech jobs with servers-on-demand, and…and…and….

Remember the delivery drones? I bet they’re still working on them. As douchey as Elon Musk—the union-busting son of a South African emerald mine magnate built during Apartheid may be—he at least jumpstarted the electric car revolution after it was stalled for years. Bezos can’t even be bothered to give his drivers—who are all “independent contractors” who don’t really work for Amazon, and thus get no benefits—electric trucks. Imagine if Amazon did well, anything that was more than lip service to… anything good. Like pushing electric vehicles for delivery, at least in cities. Being less like Walmart, and more like Waffle House, using their logistics to be members of a community. Or take the paywall down on the Washington Post, because you don’t need the money. The good thing is, Amazon workers are unionizing. Henry Ford, that old Nazi, didn’t pay his workers well until they walked off the job. Before that, they couldn’t take bathroom breaks. Sound familiar?

Another benefit of walking away from Amazon is you see what else is out there, and your eggs aren’t all in one basket. I buy direct as often as possible. Recently, I ordered some GoTreads traction mats in case I get stuck in sand in the Pines; the best price, with free shipping, was direct. I always check Costco first, because they treat their employees somewhat well, but bulk isn’t always the way to go. I use Everything Kitchens for cookware and the like; DeepDiscount for DVDs and music. Books, I use my local bookstore. For online book orders, I love Watchung Booksellers, who discount most books and ship reasonably. I get my coffee from Community Coffee, ten pounds at a time, during their frequent sales. That Between Roast is the best. I also like their Toddy cold brew rig for making concentrate for Louisiana iced coffee. Electronics? Beach Camera usually matches Amazon price-wise. Cables, etc? Target or Best Buy. The Vitamin Shoppe and Staples both ship cheaply or free. Pet food and stuff? Chewy is the best. Good prices, and great service. When I order Louie’s cat tent, the tunnel didn’t attach as advertised; the tunnel and tent worked fine separately. I asked for an adjustment, and they refunded the whole price.

Louie in his tent.

And honestly, it feels good not to give Jeff Bezos any more money. If that’s virtue signaling, so be it. It’s not much work to have a few more apps on my phone and more websites bookmarked. And like I said, it’s not spending more money conspicuously to show virtue. Amazon is not a bargain anymore, especially when you factor in paying for Amazon Prime. Convenience? When I search online and get shown an Amazon link, it reminds me how cruddy their website is. Choosing the right item, finding out the seller isn’t Amazon but some fly-by-night, worrying if it’s counterfeit junk… is that convenience? Not to me. Another friend raves about Facebook Marketplace for deals, but I left FB a couple years ago, and it feels great. Next is paring down my Twitter habit and getting off Gmail, but that last one is a bit scary.

What about writers? When Stephen King and James Patterson talk about supporting bookstores, they don’t use their considerable power to try to not sell books through Amazon. I used to blame them, but it would be a futile gesture. Several years ago I moved my self-published anthologies and books to Draft2Digital for digital and IngramSpark for print. (Draft2Digital is great for listing ebooks across all retailers from one website.) The books are still listed on Amazon. At first, I didn’t open that channel. Then I found that Amazon listed my physical books anyway. I’m not sure how they were getting them. So now, I just don’t use Kindle publishing directly, or Createspace. Not that the guy who owns Ingram is any better; apparently he’s a political nightmare. But in this system, lesser evils are sometimes all you’ve got.

Some of the companies I buy from instead, well they also do bad things. I avoid WalMart, but I do buy from Target on occasion. They’re no angels. Back in the day they used the PsychScreen employment test, and they have a history of anti-union tactics, among other things. One of my first tech jobs was doing phone support for their Bridal Registry guns. I learned if you need help on the phone or the store, you ask for the Guest Services Team Leader. But keeping up with all this is exhausting. If you contemplate the repercussions of every single action, your brain would overheat.

And I know my own limits. Early in the pandemic, after I lost my job—working for a fast-fashion clothing retailer who contributes heavily to pollution and the sweatshop industry—I seriously considered a job with Amazon’s server team in Ireland, where I have citizenship. From what I’m told, Amazon is a nightmare to work for at any level, but there weren‘t many jobs listed, and getting out of the States in 2020 looked like a good move. I’m glad it didn’t pan out. I made it to the third round, but by then I had better prospects with employers who don’t use a “call-out culture,” as one former worker told me, where the lowest performer on every team is let go every quarter. Like decimation in the Roman army! As if you can never have a good team that wouldn’t be better through use of constant culling. At some point you’re not cutting dead weight, but vital organs.

So, there you go. I don’t judge people who use Amazon. I was about to work for them when I felt desperate. But it’s easy enough to not use them, if you’ve ever considered it. It’s not like Omelas, where you’re abandoning that kid in the cell. The fulfillment centers (what a name) that supply other retailers are probably not lovely to work for, either. But you won’t have to wonder if you helped pay for those awful shirts Bezos wears.