A modest yet noteworthy group of you (196 souls, give or take) didn’t quite accumulate enough hours to keep your health coverage afloat for the fourth quarter of 2025.
And yes, before you sigh and mutter, “Wait—this again?”—the answer is, regrettably, yes. Again.
Frankly, we’re as weary of writing about this as you are of reading it. This is the Groundhog Day of benefits notices - only with no Andie MacDowell.
Though, to our credit, we’ve managed to keep things both mildly philosophical and unintentionally comedic… just like the movie.
Now, if your name is on this not-so-exclusive list, don’t panic… yet. You’ve got a generous sixty (60) day window to make the necessary payment. That’s practically a sabbatical in administrative time. However—and this is important—you’ll want to act before the deadline starts breathing down your neck like a needy Tamagotchi (look it up) that’s been blinking “FEED ME” since June 27, 2025.
By the time the payment comes due?
The Fund will have gently, firmly, and repeatedly communicated this deadline for more than 93 days. That’s three months.
To put that in perspective:
- That’s longer than Elon and Trump were besties,
- Longer than Trump’s tariffs lasted—and arguably more effective,
- Longer than your last New Year’s resolution lasted, and,
- Longer than the shelf life of many celebrity marriages.
Frankly, if this deadline were a relationship, it’d be talking about moving in together by now.
Let’s also acknowledge this isn’t new.
The dates haven’t changed. They’re not arbitrary. They weren’t plucked from the ether. They live in the Health & Benefit Summary Plan Description book—a riveting document that, while not quite beach reading, does spell everything out. Including the deadlines. Which, yes, we’ve emphasized. In bold. Occasionally underlined. Possibly shouted in print.
Why? Not just for drama (though yes, we know a few of your do enjoy a bit of theatrical flair)—but because, honestly, we rather hoping it might actually stick.
So, if this applies to you, consider this your third, fifth, or possibly seventeenth gentle nudge. Please act. The window is open. But not forever.
How did we communicate, you ask?
Oh, only in about a half of dozen different ways. Let us count the overachieving, borderline-heroic methods of communication we employed:
First off, the dates?
A. Discussed in the newsletters. Multiple times. Lovingly placed after headlines like “The Second Quarter Has Ended. Now Comes the Slightly Awkward Question” or “Deadlines Matter. Receipts Matter. Life Changes Matter. And Mo Flores is not a Myth.”
Then?
B. Posted—proudly—right on the Fund’s website. Front and center. If it were any more visible, it would need its own neon sign and theme music.
C. It will even be mentioned at the August membership meeting.
Yes, those meetings. The ones you attend roughly once every other eclipse, where you spend the first ten minutes wondering if showing up qualifies as a civic duty… or just a clever way to score free food.
Let’s talk about that for a minute. And let’s be honest—many of us mean to be more involved, but life has a way of nudging us toward the sofa instead of the union hall. It’s not apathy so much as inertia—the same force that keeps gym memberships unused and unread books beautifully arranged on coffee tables.
Still, showing up now and then—even just for the food—is better than not showing up at all. But if you want to actually learn something, be an active member, or heck, claim the moral high ground? Well… it helps to climb the hill a bit more often than once per eclipse
Still not enough?
D. An Explanation of Benefits (EOB) was sent to your mailbox, showing—in writing—the shortage. A subtle hint, really. Like the Plan saying, "Hey there, you may want to take a peek at this before things get... unfortunate."
And because we care (borderline too much),
E. We sent you another letter.
Yes. A second one. Unprompted. Not legally required.
We just did it.
Why?
Because we’re cool like that.
That’s right—we’re the over-communicative friend in your group chat who reminds everyone about the dinner reservation and calls the restaurant to confirm. Twice.
Seriously—how is being aggressively thoughtful not cool? We’re not required to be this generous with reminders. But we do it anyway. Like the Plan version of Gandalf showing up right on time with a calendar and a post-it note.
So, if you missed all that?
We have to ask, very gently: Where exactly have you been?
Regardless,
By all means, go ahead and write the appeal.
It is, after all, your prerogative. The Plan is nothing if not democratic in spirit and due process.
But—and this is a rather large “but”—before you sit down to compose a heartfelt request demanding an exception to the rules (because you missed the deadline), may we gently suggest you pause... and reflect on the following truths:
A. You had 93 days.
That’s 133,921 minutes. And within that generous timeframe, you chose not to spend—let’s say—30 seconds (we’re rounding up, mind you) to:
I. Click on the Fund website and check the deadline,
II. Open the letter and EOB we mailed you—yes, those ones,
III. Call the Plan and ask a real human if you were short on hours, or
IV. Glance at your work log or, heaven forbid, your pay stubs.
(Yes, we know… finding pay stubs is about as fun as unearthing socks from behind a dryer. But let’s not pretend you were actually planning to do that either.
B. About those union dues you keep bringing up…
With love and legal clarity: Your union dues don’t pay for your I.B.E.W. Local 697 benefits.
Not your health coverage. Not your pension. Not your SUB Fund. Not your Defined Contribution (Annuity) Fund. Not a single cent.
We get it—it feels like they should. But feelings aren’t funding mechanisms.
And just to be clear: nobody at the Benefits, Union or JATC Offices ever said they did, nor is it written anywhere. Hopefully, you haven’t been spreading that myth.
So, when you say, “I’ve been a dues-paying member for umpteen years!”—what you’re really revealing is how long you’ve misunderstood how the benefits system works.
So yeah - saying that doesn’t make you look like a committed member. It makes you look like… well, pretty much anyone but that.
C. Let’s talk time travel.
The Board of Trustees, impressive as they are, do not possess a flux capacitor. Nor do they have access to a DeLorean.
Which means they cannot reverse time, rewrite history, or erase the deadline because you were busy.
This isn’t Back to the Future. It’s more Reality Bites—and we are all, unfortunately, stuck in the present moment. Consequences included.
So yes—file the appeal if you must.
Just know that sometimes, what you call an appeal, others might recognize as a very elaborate way of saying,
“Oops… but can you pretend I didn’t?”
And unfortunately, we can’t. The calendar won’t let us.