I’ve been a freelancer for most of my life, which means, you don’t get an automatic paycheck at the end of the week.
Your money comes in, incrementally, hopefully on the honor system.
What does one do when that doesn’t happen?
Drink did you say?
Well, before you bury yourself in a wineglass, you need to make calls. To your agent, the producer, the payroll company or your bank, that if it was a direct deposit, might have made an error.
In the sophisticated, technological times we live in, it’s almost shocking when the slick and imperious world of cyber life makes a mistake.
We forget, machinery has flaws.
Just ask NASA.
I live on a financial tightrope, not unusual for a person in the arts. Therefore, every penny is crucial to arrive on time to pay one’s upkeep.
Besides the hassle of having to call, email, text, fax, to practically beg for what you’ve honestly earned, the rudeness on the other end you have to endure is legendary.
I worked, bringing my best self, what’s your problem, you discourteous, ill-mannered son-of-a-bitch?
I’m always amazed by the low-brow behavior of others who couldn’t care less they’re about to shut off your phone.
What’s the answer besides buying a gun to blow Miss, I Could Give a Shit’s, head off? I really don’t know.
I guess to persevere, try not to take another person’s bad attitude personally, remembering foremost, life’s too short to let it make you crazy. SB