As you say, OZ, certain acts rise to the level of a boycott for some yet not for others.
I was only dimly aware of the Chick-fil-A brand until their CEO started flinging his anti-gay cash and rhetoric around and then I vowed he'd never get a red cent out of me. But I still had this incredible urge to try one of their chicken sandwiches just to see what all the fuss was about.
Last year, when I was traveling to one of the states where they do business, I got as far as the parking lot and sat there torn between my desire to go in and buy one and my pledge never to put a penny in his pocket.
Imagine my surprise when I saw what looked like a perfectly good chicken sandwich, still in the wrapper, lying right next to the dumpster. I thought this would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just to taste one, with the pickle on top, without having to actually buy one. I'm not proud of this, but I slid out of the car, slinked over by the dumpster and picked it up, hoping no one would see me.
That's when I realized that somebody had pissed on it.
We must have missed each other by minutes.