People are stubborn, and sometimes even if change is good, people

Host: The factory floor was almost silent, save for the faint hum of old machines cooling after another long day. Dust floated through the air like forgotten snow, and the smell of oil and iron still lingered — thick, familiar, almost sacred. Through the grimy windows, the sunset leaked in thin orange stripes, cutting through the smoke like truth through habit.

Jack stood by the open roller door, coat over his shoulder, watching a group of workers leave. Their laughter echoed faintly — exhausted, hollow, but still human. Jeeny walked toward him, her boots leaving faint prints in the dust. She carried two cups of coffee, handing one to him with that quiet grace that always made endings feel less final.

On the wall behind them, someone had scrawled in chalk — half erased, half defiant — the quote of the day:

“People are stubborn, and sometimes even if change is good, people will always oppose change.”
— Ben Askren

Host: The words looked simple enough, but in that dying light, they felt heavier — like they were written by the building itself, whispering to the people who had lived inside it too long to believe in anything new.

Jeeny: “They announced it this morning — automation in six months. Half the staff gone.”

Jack: (sighing) “I heard.”

Jeeny: “You’d think after all these years, people would’ve seen it coming.”

Jack: “People see it, Jeeny. They just hope it’ll skip them.”

Host: Jack’s voice was steady — not cold, just worn. He took a sip of the coffee, grimaced at the bitterness, then stared back out at the horizon where the city lights were beginning to flicker alive.

Jeeny: “You sound like you agree with Askren’s quote. That people are stubborn.”

Jack: “I do. Stubborn’s the one thing that’s kept us human. Every empire that ever fell, fell because it couldn’t adapt — but every person who survived did so because they refused to let go of what made them human.”

Jeeny: “So you’re saying resistance is strength?”

Jack: “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just fear in disguise.”

Host: A gust of wind swept through the open door, scattering a few old blueprints across the floor. Jeeny bent to pick one up — a design for an outdated gear assembly, faded and obsolete.

Jeeny: “You know what I think? I think people resist change because it reminds them how little control they ever really had.”

Jack: “Exactly. It’s not the change itself that scares them. It’s the idea that someone else decided it for them.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that how progress works? Someone has to decide?”

Jack: “Sure. But progress always sounds noble when it’s not your job being replaced.”

Host: The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. It was the kind that carried the weight of a thousand small endings — the quiet understanding that something was dying here, something that had lived longer than anyone cared to count.

Jeeny: “I talked to Elena. She’s been here thirty-two years. She said she doesn’t even know who she is without this place.”

Jack: “That’s the cruel thing about work. You give it your best years, and when it changes, you realize you built your identity around something that never belonged to you.”

Jeeny: “You think it’s wrong to resist then?”

Jack: “No. I think it’s human. Every revolution, every protest, every war — all of them are people saying, ‘Not yet. Not this way.’ The problem is knowing when resistance becomes decay.”

Host: Jeeny walked to the far window, her hand resting on the frame. The glass was cracked, the edges smudged by time. Beyond it, cranes moved slowly against the skyline — steel giants constructing the next phase of the city’s future.

Jeeny: “You know what this reminds me of? My father. He refused to use smartphones. Said they were ruining humanity. He’d still print directions from MapQuest if he were alive.”

Jack: (chuckling) “A man of principle.”

Jeeny: “A man of habit. He wasn’t wrong about what we lost — just blind to what we gained.”

Jack: “That’s the tragedy of change. It always looks like loss from the inside.”

Host: The lights in the factory flickered, one by one, until only the one above them remained. The sound of the city outside grew louder — horns, footsteps, the rhythm of progress marching without apology.

Jeeny: “Do you ever wonder if we’re the stubborn ones now? Clinging to a world that’s already let go of us?”

Jack: “Every damn day.”

Jeeny: “And yet we stay.”

Jack: “Because leaving means admitting we’ve been replaced.”

Host: The coffee steam curled upward between them — two ghosts rising and fading before they could become anything permanent.

Jeeny: “I think Askren was talking about something deeper than just resistance. I think he meant that people are wired to need constancy. Even pain feels safer than the unknown.”

Jack: “That’s what Nietzsche said — people would rather will nothingness than admit they’re powerless. Change demands surrender, and surrender isn’t in our DNA.”

Jeeny: “And yet everything good we’ve ever become came from surrender. Evolution itself is letting go.”

Jack: “And every revolution starts with saying no.”

Host: Their words struck against each other like flint, small sparks lighting the dark. Neither tried to win. It wasn’t a debate — it was a slow recognition of truth from two directions.

Jeeny: “So who’s right, then? The ones who resist or the ones who adapt?”

Jack: “Maybe both. The stubborn ones keep our history. The adaptable ones build our future.”

Jeeny: “And the rest of us?”

Jack: “We try not to get crushed between them.”

Host: She laughed softly, though it wasn’t amusement — more like a sigh given shape.

Jeeny: “You know what’s funny? This factory was built on progress once. Back then, change was hope. Now, it’s eviction.”

Jack: “That’s the cycle. Yesterday’s revolution becomes today’s bureaucracy. It’s the law of every system — even the human heart.”

Jeeny: “So maybe that’s the real meaning of Askren’s quote. People oppose change not because it’s bad — but because it reminds them they’re temporary.”

Jack: “Yeah. Every new beginning announces someone’s ending.”

Host: A long silence. Outside, the last train passed — its rumble shaking the thin glass like the pulse of a living city moving on. Jack turned toward Jeeny, his voice quieter now.

Jack: “You ever wonder if the future feels sorry for us?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it envies us. We’re still allowed to feel the ache of change. It’s proof we’re alive.”

Host: The light above them buzzed once, then went out, plunging the room into half-shadow. Jeeny’s face glowed faintly from the fading sunset, soft, uncertain, beautiful.

Jeeny: “So what do we do now?”

Jack: “Same thing people always do. Fight the change until it becomes routine. Then pretend we wanted it all along.”

Jeeny: “And when the next change comes?”

Jack: “We curse it — and start over.”

Host: They both laughed, softly — two voices in a dying room that somehow still carried warmth. The factory around them seemed to breathe one last sigh, the way old buildings do before sleep.

Outside, the sky deepened into indigo. The cranes moved on. The city buzzed louder.

And on that chalk-stained wall, Askren’s words stood like a prophecy — not of despair, but of the strange, stubborn beauty of being human:

People are stubborn, yes. But maybe it’s that stubbornness — that fierce refusal to let go — that gives change its meaning at all.

Host: The camera pulled back — Jack and Jeeny silhouetted in the last light of the day, two souls caught between what was and what must be — their shadows long, their silence honest.

And as the screen faded to black, the only sound left was the whisper of the wind through the open door, carrying both the past and the future in one breath.