Pathetic, At Best

We already know the things we cannot trust in life: politicians, the news, reality TV, Radiohead to play a public concert in the US anytime soon...but now our employers? As I sit contemplating whether or not it is at all sophisticated to smear the good name of a renowned local entrepreneur, I am immediately inspired by MSNBC's Keith Olbermann's recent attacks on Massachusetts Senator-Elect Scott Brown, which describe him as a "homophobic, racist, reactionary...supporter of violence against women..." you know the rest. And that was merely on speculation! Well, I've decided, yes, it is a good idea to publicly broadcast my perspective on this man, who has personally and professionally wronged me, and who may potentially screw someone else over. Terrence Sanders, editor of a local New Orleans publication, ArtVoices magazine, has proven to me over the last five months that he does not know the meaning of respect for or communication with his employees. I can only imagine how often this happens to freelancers, and I'd like to shed some light on my experience, which I hope will prompt freelancers everywhere to secure their professional approach.

This all started last June, way back in 2009, when I went to an art opening in a gallery-laden district of downtown New Orleans. It was a small gathering with some very interesting work and copious amounts of free vodka. It was there that I met Terrence Sanders, a sort of "big cheese" in the New Orleans art world as the editor of the successful and respected ArtVoices magazine. After a few drinks I was feeling pretty confident and quite aware of my empty wallet, so I approached him about a writing job. I told him I could write about anything; though confident in my writing skills I was honestly a bit apprehensive about the technical aspects of the fashion and art world! After some chit-chat he got my phone number and said he would call me. When our conversation ended I left him alone so as to not annoy him, though I hung around so he would at least remember who I was after waking up with a vodka hangover. Later on in the evening as he chatted up my friend Colleen in a side room, who was also there in hopes of acquiring some sort of work (or just working it, I'm not sure), I sat down on the bright white couch and joined the two of them, followed by my boyfriend, Mike. We were all a bit tipsy and Terrence was standing over the three of us, a looming figure in whom I saw the potential to get my foot in the door. A thrill at the time! I don't remember much of what undoubted bullshit was said, but I do remember this from Terrence's mouth: "I didn't go to college...I had to build what I wanted from scratch...the two main keys to success are do good work and don't fuck anybody over!" Those ironic words would reverberate in my head with sardonic laughter in the ensuing months.

Imagine my delight when just a week later he texted me with an assignment for his new magazine, Turnstile. A pre-assignment, I suppose it was: "What is Fashion?" I sort of scoffed, but once I got to writing it flowed quite naturally, and I reevaluated my confidence. I could do this. I could write about fashion, even though I had long since stopped caring about much of the superficiality of it. I would write for an established magazine. After I sent the short paragraph he requested, he emailed another assignment: an open editorial. Again, once I finished this assignment, he didn't mention it again and didn't say what he would do with it. But finally, he assigned an actual job: an interview with a local photographer. Yes! I'd never done an interview before, not since some Student Council thing in middle school, but I immediately got to work on formulating questions. I was dead set on doing an impressive job. It finally occurred to me to inquire about payment, as Terrence had not said anything, but this was a real assignment now to be published, so I'd better find out, right? After an awkward delay, Terrence got back to me that I would be paid $100.

When I met the photographer, Mark, for our interview at an uptown coffeeshop, it all went wonderfully. I tried not to let off that this was my first professional job, though that fact simmered beneath the surface. I brought my video camera for accuracy, and we got to talking comfortably. He was a very nice guy, and I really wanted to bring to light the literal darkness in his photography. I didn't know how many times he'd been interviewed, if at all, but I had a strong desire to showcase who he was as an artist. I understood that that was my responsibility as the writer, not to just ask questions and document the answers. Later on at home I edited the interview down from 6000 to 1000 words. It was painstaking, but I was extremely satisfied at the end. I sent it to Terrence cheerily and did not even receive word that he'd received the file until I asked him for confirmation.

A few weeks later, at the end of August, I participated in a fashion show for a local designer, which was amazing. I caught up with Mark outside who immediately commended me for my work, which had been sent to him for accuracy. He said I actually "got him." That was an incredible reward. Using only 1/6 of what he'd said, I could have made him sound like a real boner. I was elated that he appreciated my portrayal of him, which I assumed to be quite rare in the media.

After a bit more time I was wondering about the payment, so I contacted Terrence. He wrote back that he does not pay his employees until the week of publication, and that would not be until the second or third week of September. I was broke and sort of upset that he had not mentioned this stipulation at the beginning, but what could I do? I put it out of my mind until September.

By the end of the third week of September, I had not only received no word from Terrence but had recently discovered I was pregnant, and my boyfriend and I had decided to move out of Louisiana and up north to reconnect with my friends. I was sick with fetus, sick of the heat, and sick of being broke! I inquired to Terrence about my check and informed him that I was moving out of state and would like to receive payment before that happens so as to make it less sticky for everyone. He updated me that publication had been pushed back until the first week of October, and he does not make exceptions. I started to see the interesting loophole he'd created for himself. Well, we already had our plane tickets, and I was melting, so we took a leap of faith and left.

This went on for three more months. Every month I would have to email him, wondering why the deadline had passed and I had not received my check or any notification, and he would push back the issue release another month. But eventually he knew he couldn't stave me off much longer and began promising me that he was sending it: "You'll have your check by next week," "I'm sending it out this week," "you'll have it by the end of the month." By the time December rolled around and I was still empty-handed, I started to get cranky. Despite my growing frustration I did not want that to come off in our correspondence. I scrutinized my word choices meticulously, careful not to appear angry, crazy, or just plain rude, but I held true to the main points to be addressed: Why did he promise to send the checks when he knew he did not intend to? Why doesn't he just send the check so I will get off his back? A hundred dollars is a delightful trip to the grocery store for a pregnant woman--I want my money! Why won't he communicate with me clearly and tell me what's really going on? However professionally I worded my emails, however, he shot back that I should be ashamed of myself for disrespecting him, such an important man, and for having the "audacity" to come to him with my "problems." My problem was his behavior, so yes, I most certainly came to him with that complaint. His true colors were shining through, loud and clear.

I finally contacted Mark about the magazine, if he knew anything about the publication, since I could never find any information about Turnstile online. I had no evidence of its existence at all. He responded that he had seen the layout, but indeed the launch of the magazine had been pushed back to January. I thanked him for the confirmation, but then it dawned on me that this was the launch of Turnstile--no wonder I could never find anything about it! I wrote to Terrence and asked him why he had never just explicitly told me that this was the first issue. I even conceded and admitted humbly that I understood how the launch of a new magazine could get pushed back. Why hadn't he told me? But now there was no reason to delay, the issue was coming out, and I would definitely get paid.

He responded, by now late in December, that he claimed to have sent me the check two weeks earlier. Confused and once again suspicious, I reported that I'd never received it, so we agreed it must have been "lost in the mail." I had no reason to believe him, but I implored him to cancel the check and send me another. After a couple weeks of going back and forth about who's going to pay the $30 cancellation fee, I conceded and said I would pay for it if he sent me the receipt for the canceled check, along with the issue of the magazine. The least he could do is send me the work I did in exchange for all this crap! He surprisingly responded that he would pay the fee and I would have my check by the end of the week of January 18, if only this would end. I received no word that he had sent the check, and of course no check by Friday, so I sent another inquiring email. He did not respond. Downright angry, I emailed him again, this time threatening to expose his distasteful business practices if he did not actually send the check this time. This is honestly the first time I have threatened him with public disclosure, and apparently he did not appreciate it. He wrote me back quickly--allow me to quote him accurately: "I don't know why I even entertain you but your threats are pathetic to even think anyone cares what you have to say anyway is evn more pathetic. Who are you and what have you done to even compare yourself to me. As I said before your checks in the mail and get a life. I'm not sending you your pathetic $100 because you're threatening me I'm sending it to get your negative energy off of me. I will register your address with SPAM so there will be no further correspondence. I can't believe I even hired you after you begged me to write an article which is mediocre at best. Good luck with all your future endeavors you're going to need it. Best Regards"

No, I am not pathetic. And the work I did for him was superb. What's pathetic is not paying a pregnant woman a measly $100 that she earned, simply because she asks questions. I will not just roll over as he tries to screw me. Eww. The important thing is that he is the employer, a dastardly one at that, and for me to have to badger him for even a response or some notice on the status of due compensation is unacceptable. Furthermore, for him to insult me for pursuing my rights in the matter is completely repugnant and unethical.

Perhaps no one does care what I say, but there's nothing more pleasing to me in this moment than making some attempt to let others know what really goes on behind some pseudo-philanthropic doors. All freelancers must be very clear in their expectations of payment and treatment by their employers. This editor's disrespect is unwarranted, his arrogance unparalleled. What have I done to "compare myself to him?" Dear God, I hope nothing comes close!