A stiff shot

I have gnawing, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

And it's not coming from this endless quarantining or social distancing. The notion of staying home, writing, working, working out and enjoying some peace and quiet doesn't bother me as much as it seems it bother others.

The roiling rolling in my gut comes from somewhere else. It's a strange sensation, but not one I am unfamiliar with.

I think I'm getting stiffed.

Ask anyone who has freelanced before if they're familiar with the phenomena and the answer will be overwhelmingly yes. It's considered to be a cost of doing business.

Years ago I got stiffed by an "art director" I worked with on a project for a cruise ship. I bit the dust on a few thousand dollars but who is laughing now, captains of the cruising industry? When all this is over what will you do with your oversized floating petri dishes of disease and undersized rooms and overused pool slides?

I also ran into a buzzsaw in 2008, when the financial crisis put the financial squeeze on an agency owner I had been working for. We had a chat about her situation and I agreed to waive the debt.

I'm not feeling so generous about the current stiffer.

Way back in January, pre-Coronavirus times, I got a call from a small agency I had never done work for. I had heard about the agency on Fishbowl and other forums where freelancers go to exchange gripes and dirt about less than honorable vendors. But I was led to believe their so-called "accounts payable" problems had long been resolved.

So like an idiot, I did the gig.

And now, 80 days later, I'm doing the dance to get the money I am owed. It does not look promising. Phone calls go unanswered. Emails go unnoticed. And the prospects of clearing this outstanding invoice from my books looks dimmer and dimmer.

I guess I'll just have a shot of tequila at 7:30 in the morning.

Again.