Sunday, November 25, 2007

What I really want... what you would probably call a small miracle. And I mean small; by most standards, it would be infinitesimal.

I simply want those with whom I must deal to act professionally. No big deal, right? I mean, they put out magazines...that's their business. Without exception, each likes my work, never complains about what I turn in. None are reluctant to call me for those last-minute writing jobs that they need now, if not sooner.

But they seem to have trouble making time to discuss work they supposedly want, have trouble making the decision to give me the go-ahead for new assignments.

And of course they have trouble writing the checks when the work is ordered and completed.

On my side, it is nerve-wracking to keep making those calls, leaving those voice-mail messages, send off those emails with photos and/or information about what's available. It would not be a problem if anyone replied, but they seldom do.

It is even more nerve-wracking to explain to utility companies and landlord that yes, I am working, but no, the checks may not arrive for anything between one and three months. On occasion, longer.

I shouldn't have to do that. And, in fairness, they shouldn't have to hear it.

Therein, the basis of the small miracle I'm seeking: I simply want others to hold up their end of mutually worthwhile bargains. Let me work, and do what you are supposed to do.

I'm a wee bit unhappy with being in this constant ass-in-a-sling situation.

Simple, eh?

I'm not even asking for a lottery win. Not that I'd turn it down, you dig, and not that I couldn't pick a good two dozen items -- and a few people -- on which (and whom) to spend such a windfall. Nope, all I want is to, well, see a little of the respect I have spent 21 years earning*.

Nor am I asking for anyone to step in and make it all better. That'd be very cool, of course; a nice-looking, loving woman who is attracted to me (which I guess is possible) and is, shall we say, well-fixed, spondulics-wise, would be more than welcome to drop by and put me out of my misery.

I don't waste much time thinking of that.

While I make plans and do work that would fit right in with the minuscule miracle, I have trouble believing even in that. The universe seems to be expending more energy on those who make massive fortunes selling bogus "carbon credits" than helping people who actually produce something.

Right now, just let me get within shouting distance of paying my bills on time and cutting down my debts. Had I gotten what I'm asking for sooner, it would have happened already. But I'll take it now, please.

And if it's not too much trouble, could I maybe be able to put a few bucks aside to buy a few Christmas presents?

* Actually, as of next June, it will be 22 years since my first story was published.


Justfly said...

22 years, wow Scribbs.
Does it count that I had a letter to the Editor published in Seventeen Magazine when I was 16?

I think it is horrible that they take so long to pay you, something is really wrong with that.

Interested said...

Respect in the workplace or a semblence thereof is really on a downward spiral. My issues pale in comparison to you not being paid but why must I listen to J farting and belching, using the F word CONSTANTLY and just being a sick indiviual. Years ago that sort of thing wouldn't be tolerated.

I will pray you get paid more consistently.

Sorry tired and having a brain lag :(

MrScribbler said...

JF -- You didn't have to be 17 to get a letter in Seventeen? ;-)

Int -- I may try belching & farting next. Nothing else seems to get through to them.

After that, the "F" word? Maybe.

John said...

I should ask PL what she does. She has to spend a lot of time getting paid, too, and from similar people. Hers is the photo end, but I know she gets a lot of the slow pay routine.
It sucks that you even have to do more than send the work. They know they owe.