I made it through the Pacific Palisades fire.

But nothing—and I mean nothing—can prepare you for the real disaster…insurance agents and their endless calls, roadblocks, inefficiency and paperwork.

Escaping a wildfire is a sprint. Dealing with insurance companies? That’s a slow-motion crawl through a Kafkaesque obstacle course designed by someone who hates you personally.

They lose your claim number.

Then they find it.

They call 2-3 times a week and during each call you have to be told the call is being recorded and you need to provide your name, phone number, address of affected property, social security and claim number.

 Only then can you discuss the fire.

They sign off that it is a pleasure to have you as a customer for the past 14 years.

Some pleasure.

Then the next call they tell you the adjuster has changed.

Then they say your claim is “in process,” which is insurance code for “it’s sitting in a digital purgatory next to your unused gym membership.”

I have now been assigned an adjuster, a secondary adjuster, a claims representative, a catastrophe specialist (her words, not mine), a remediator, someone named Daniel who just calls to check in.  No idea what Daniel does. I think he is lonely.

But, I’m hanging in.

If there’s anything this fire taught me, it’s that I am resilient and that every insurance company should come with a therapist, a translator and a bottle of wine.

Stay safe out there.

Keep your receipts.

All of them.

Forever.

In triplicate.