THE RESISTANCE
It’s 4:37 on a Thursday afternoon, and Hector is sitting in his car outside Sara’s school, listening to the same annoying music for the fourth time.
He’s been on the phone for 46 minutes, and this is his third call this week. The last representative seemed helpful until she transferred him to another department, where they’re now reminding him how important his call is.
His daughter climbs into the passenger seat, drops her backpack on the floor, and asks if they’re going home.
“Not yet, baby. Daddy’s trying to get something straight.”
She looks at the phone, hears the music, and shakes her head.
“You’re still dealing with that?”
“Yep.”
“Why don’t you just tell them to give you your money?”
Hector looks over at her. “That’s a very good question.”
He checks the clock on his dashboard. His daughter has practice in less than an hour, and he still needs to stop for gas. He’s already spent most of the afternoon thinking about what he’ll say if someone finally answers.
I’ve had enough conversations like this over the years to know Hector isn’t unusual. Somebody starts telling you about a problem they’re having with a company, and before they finish, three other people have jumped in with their own stories. Everybody’s got one. The insurance company that won’t return a call, the bank that keeps requesting the same paperwork, the government office that insists your case is being reviewed even though nobody can tell you who’s reviewing it.
The funny thing is how quickly we recognize the routine. You can almost guess what the person on the other end of the phone will say before they say it.
“I completely understand your frustration.”
Of course you do. You’ve been listening to it for the last twenty minutes.
And I don’t even blame the person answering the phone half the time. They’re probably sitting in a cubicle somewhere with a supervisor watching how long they’ve been on the call, trying to follow a script somebody else wrote. They may have no more authority to fix the problem than you do.
Somewhere, somebody decided this was an efficient way to run a business.
I’ve always loved Star Wars, especially the original trilogy. And the funny thing about those movies is that the Empire has everything. Money, weapons, technology, entire planets under its control. Meanwhile, the Rebels are hiding out in some freezing cave, trying to keep their spaceships running long enough to fight another day. You look at the two sides and wonder how this is even a competition. But somehow you’re sitting there rooting for the people in the cave.
Then you’ve got The Terminator, where the machines have practically wiped out humanity, and the remaining people are still trying to figure out how to fight back. I remember watching those movies and thinking how crazy it was that human beings could become so powerless in a world they helped create.
Of course, Hollywood makes the whole resistance thing look pretty exciting. There’s always somebody with a plan, somebody willing to sacrifice everything, and usually some music playing in the background to let you know something important is about to happen.
Sometimes you’re just sitting in a parking lot, waiting for somebody to pick up the phone.
Now, I’m not saying Hector needs a lightsaber to get his refund, but it probably wouldn’t hurt. He’s dealing with an organization with more money, more resources, more lawyers, and far more time than he does.
Meanwhile, you’ve got a job to do, children to pick up, dinner to figure out, and a life that doesn’t stop because somebody opened a case number.
You pay for an insurance policy for fifteen years, and when you finally need the coverage, you’re buried in paperwork. Or you spend nearly twenty years building a business, employing people, and making sacrifices, only to discover how quickly everything can change when the company you’re connected to decides the relationship no longer works.
I’ve been in business long enough to know contracts matter and organizations have rules. I’ve also been around long enough to know that the person with better attorneys and a bigger bank account usually has more options when things go sideways.
It’s not just the money. It’s the time you spend trying to understand what happened, the emails you write after everyone else has gone to bed, and the way you keep checking your phone, hoping someone finally responds. You start rehearsing conversations in your head before they happen, trying to find the right words so the next person will actually listen.
Sometimes somebody at home asks whether you’ve heard anything, and you just shake your head. They’ve heard the story so many times that you can almost see them trying to come up with something encouraging to say. You know they mean well, but you’re tired of being the one to talk about it. So you change the subject, ask what’s for dinner, and spend the rest of the evening pretending you’re not thinking about it.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve had some experiences I probably wouldn’t believe if someone else told me. And every time I’ve talked about one of them, somebody seems to have a story that’s just as ridiculous. Different company, different situation, same kind of frustration.
One person tells you about an insurance claim. Somebody else is trying to get help for an aging parent. Another person is dealing with a school or a youth sports organization where they’re paying a small fortune but still feel uncomfortable asking a question.
Somewhere there’s a person who spent six months figuring out how to deal with the exact problem you’re facing today. They know which department to contact, what documents to have ready, which questions to ask, and which mistakes to avoid because they already made them.
You don’t know that person. They don’t know you.
So you start from the beginning.
You make the same calls, get transferred to the same departments, and probably say the same things under your breath when the call disconnects.
Eventually, maybe you resolve it. Maybe you don’t. Either way, you learn a lot, and by the end, you’re usually so tired of it that you don’t want to talk about it anymore.
You can spend three hours on the internet watching people argue about something that happened twenty years ago, but try finding someone who’s actually dealt with the same insurance company you’re fighting. You’ll find plenty of people complaining about them. Finding somebody who figured out what to do is a different story.
You’ve seen how these conversations go, especially online. Someone shares a problem, and within minutes people explain everything they should’ve done differently.
Should’ve read the contract. Should’ve saved more money. Should’ve picked another school. Should’ve known better.
Maybe. But none of that does much for the person sitting there trying to figure out what to do now.
I don’t think people have to agree on politics, religion, or much of anything else to help one another. You can disagree with somebody about practically everything and still tell them which office finally returned your call.
A guy tells you he’s having trouble getting his insurance company to pay a claim, and before long somebody wants to know who he voted for.
Man, he’s trying to get his claim paid. Can we deal with that first?
I’ve got plenty of stories myself, believe me. Some of this stuff is funny now. Some of it still pisses me off when I think about it. But I’ve also learned quite a bit from it, usually after spending more time and money than I should’ve.
I don’t have all the answers, and I’m certainly not interested in pretending I do. Sometimes you need an attorney, a doctor, or someone with expertise I don’t have.
I’m calling it The Resistance. I’ve learned some things the hard way, and I know I’m not the only one. I’d like to see what happens when we start sharing some of that knowledge.
I’ve got stories to share, and I’m sure you do too. Some details will have to change to protect people’s privacy, but we can still talk about plenty. Sometimes the most useful part of a story is simply what you learned.
I’d rather find out by doing something useful than spend the next six months talking about building a movement.
We’re not preparing for the machines to attack, although if a Terminator shows up at my front door, I reserve the right to reconsider.
I hope Hector gets his money back. And when he does, I hope he remembers what finally worked, because somewhere there’s somebody else sitting in a parking lot, trying to get somebody to answer the phone.
And maybe that’s how this thing starts.
The Resistance. You Are Not Powerless.
