California Coffee Shop Sees 312% Sales Surge After Supporting Charlie Kirk Despite Cancel Campaign
Sara De Luca, owner of Invita Café, didn’t get the memo about cowering before the aforementioned mobs. When she decided to honor Charlie Kirk with commemorative stickers reading “Thank you, Charlie Kirk” and “We Love You,” she approached it with the same straightforward courage that built her business nine years ago.
“I didn’t think twice,” she said, noting her previous support for Israel during wartime. This wasn’t political grandstanding; it was simply standing by someone her business had hosted and supported for years.
The digital mob descended swiftly. Phone lines jammed with “horrible and horrific things.” Google and Yelp pages flooded with one-star reviews from people who’d never set foot in the café. It was the kind of coordinated harassment that has broken countless small businesses, forcing them to issue groveling apologies just to make it stop.
Then something extraordinary happened. The real community—not the Twitter avatars or anonymous reviewers—showed up. Sales didn’t just recover; they exploded by 312 percent. Lines stretched 30 to 45 minutes long, filled with what De Luca called “righteous people” who came to support both the business and the principles it defended.
“I was actually tearing [up] because I was like, ‘Where did these people come from?’ We went 312% up in sales. We were flooded with righteous people just showing up, supporting us, defending us.
They were defending Charlie. Obviously, we all were. We didn’t have any haters show up. It was only the righteous showing up—just God-fearing people.”
The support transcended geography. A caller from Georgia sent $500 to buy the next hundred drinks. Another customer walked in, left $300 on the counter, and walked out without a word. These weren’t orchestrated responses from political organizations—they were spontaneous acts of solidarity from Americans tired of watching the mob win.
The transformation at Invita Café revealed something the cancel culture crowd never understands: real communities have deeper roots than social media campaigns. De Luca’s church, Awaken, mobilized not with hashtags but with actual bodies in the building. Members drove from across San Diego County, some waiting nearly an hour for their coffee, turning what was meant to be a punishment into a celebration.
Look, this wasn’t just about coffee; this was about something more fundamental: the right of a small business owner to express her values without facing economic execution.
The Italian-inspired café, built on De Luca’s vision of creating a space where “espresso is the magnet that unites people,” became exactly that: a rallying point for Americans exhausted by the constant demands for ideological conformity.
Here’s what the left doesn’t get: Their greatest weapon—economic intimidation—only works when targets stand alone. When communities refuse to abandon their neighbors, when people vote with their wallets as powerfully as they vote at the ballot box, the mob’s impotence is exposed.
“I didn’t think twice,” she said, noting her previous support for Israel during wartime. This wasn’t political grandstanding; it was simply standing by someone her business had hosted and supported for years.
The digital mob descended swiftly. Phone lines jammed with “horrible and horrific things.” Google and Yelp pages flooded with one-star reviews from people who’d never set foot in the café. It was the kind of coordinated harassment that has broken countless small businesses, forcing them to issue groveling apologies just to make it stop.
Then something extraordinary happened. The real community—not the Twitter avatars or anonymous reviewers—showed up. Sales didn’t just recover; they exploded by 312 percent. Lines stretched 30 to 45 minutes long, filled with what De Luca called “righteous people” who came to support both the business and the principles it defended.
“I was actually tearing [up] because I was like, ‘Where did these people come from?’ We went 312% up in sales. We were flooded with righteous people just showing up, supporting us, defending us.
They were defending Charlie. Obviously, we all were. We didn’t have any haters show up. It was only the righteous showing up—just God-fearing people.”
The support transcended geography. A caller from Georgia sent $500 to buy the next hundred drinks. Another customer walked in, left $300 on the counter, and walked out without a word. These weren’t orchestrated responses from political organizations—they were spontaneous acts of solidarity from Americans tired of watching the mob win.
The transformation at Invita Café revealed something the cancel culture crowd never understands: real communities have deeper roots than social media campaigns. De Luca’s church, Awaken, mobilized not with hashtags but with actual bodies in the building. Members drove from across San Diego County, some waiting nearly an hour for their coffee, turning what was meant to be a punishment into a celebration.
Look, this wasn’t just about coffee; this was about something more fundamental: the right of a small business owner to express her values without facing economic execution.
The Italian-inspired café, built on De Luca’s vision of creating a space where “espresso is the magnet that unites people,” became exactly that: a rallying point for Americans exhausted by the constant demands for ideological conformity.
Here’s what the left doesn’t get: Their greatest weapon—economic intimidation—only works when targets stand alone. When communities refuse to abandon their neighbors, when people vote with their wallets as powerfully as they vote at the ballot box, the mob’s impotence is exposed.
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