The modem blinked again. It always blinked, taunting me with the promise of connection it couldn’t deliver. I stared at it like a ship's captain scanning the horizon for land, knowing full well there was none. Not here. Not with this provider.
For years, I put up with it. The lies. The excuses. The broken promises. “Blazing fast speeds,” they said. But what I got was slower than a message in a bottle caught in a lazy current.
And when I called to complain, they acted like it was my fault.
"Your devices are too far from the router."
"You have too many devices connected."
"The house is too far from the node."
Their excuses came faster than their internet ever could, each one more ridiculous than the last. It wasn’t just bad service—it was a bad relationship. But what choice did I have? They were the only provider in town. I was stuck.
Until the trench diggers came.
They arrived quietly, laying fiber-optic cables underground like they were planting hope itself. Word spread quickly: A new provider was coming. No contracts. No excuses. Just fast, reliable internet.
I didn’t hesitate. The second their service was available, I jumped ship. And for the first time in years, my internet worked. No blinking lights mocking me. No endless calls to tech support. Just internet that did what it was supposed to do.
But breaking free from the old provider wasn’t easy.
Canceling my service felt like trying to leave a cult.
First, I had to find the right number to call—a task harder than finding buried treasure. Then I navigated their automated system, where every option was designed to funnel me back into their clutches. Finally, I reached a “retention specialist,” who was anything but.
They tried everything. Discounts. Free upgrades. Empty promises to “make it right.” But I’d heard it all before.
When I insisted on canceling, they got nasty. Early termination fees. Threats about “violating the terms of the contract.” It was a last-ditch effort to keep me trapped.
But I was done.
So I stopped paying.
A few weeks later, they disconnected my service, which, hilariously, was all I wanted. The irony wasn’t lost on me: The company that clung to contracts so tightly abandoned them the moment it suited them.
It wasn’t just a bad experience—it was a betrayal.
And here’s the thing: I’d rather go without internet than ever do business with them again.
This isn’t just a story about internet.
This is a story about trust.
Marketing isn’t about flashy ads or catchy slogans. It’s not about how clever your website is or how many followers you have on social media. Marketing is about trusting that the promise you make is the promise you’ll keep.
The fiber-optic company didn’t win my business with a better commercial. They won it because they made it easy to do business with them. No contracts. No fine print. No hoops to jump through. Just honesty and simplicity.
That’s what marketing really is: Every interaction. Every experience. Every moment of truth.
The old provider lost my trust because they broke their promises—and then tried to trap me with contracts and caveats. The new provider earned my trust by doing the opposite.
Here’s the lesson every business needs to learn:
It’s not enough to have a great product or service. If you make it hard to work with you—if you create barriers, excuses, or hoops—your customers will leave the first chance they get. And they won’t just leave quietly. They’ll leave loudly, telling anyone who will listen about the time you failed them.
Trust isn’t built in boardrooms or brainstorms. It’s built in the small moments:
- The moment your product works the way it’s supposed to.
- The moment your customer calls for help and actually gets it.
- The moment you say, “We’re sorry,” instead of, “It’s your fault.”
Trust is built by being easy to work with. By keeping your promises. By treating customers like people, not account numbers.
And here’s the kicker: It’s not just good ethics. It’s good business.
The harpoon is thrown, and this time it lands.
The whale? Spectrum, Comcast, or any company that thinks contracts can substitute for good service. The lesson? Marketing isn’t a commercial—it’s the heartbeat of your business. It’s how you treat your customers, every single day.
Don’t make it hard for them to stay. And for the love of Queequeg, don’t make it impossible for them to leave.
Because without trust, you’re not just sinking your boat.
You’re going down with the whale.
Now that’s marketing.
