Well, that will teach me to snark about working for minimum wage.
The joker who had posted the job on Craigslist had actually dropped by a copy of his publication Monday afternoon. That's what he called it, "his" publication. He happened to have copies in his car and was in the neighborhood. Or so he said.
Monday night and yesterday morning I worked up a reasonable budget for "his" publication. After playing phone tag in the morning, we finally connected. I gave him my proposal and he balked at first but quickly agreed to it.
That was too easy, I thought.
And sure enough, it was. Now that we had a deal in place, he proceeded to give a more in-depth description of his vision and it quickly became apparent that it didn't bear any resemblance to the catalog he had given me to price out.
"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt" I said, even though anyone who knows me knows I always interrupt. "This project you're describing isn't even remotely similar to your catalog, the one you gave me yesterday".
"Oh, that isn't 'my' catalog. It's a competitor's. Mine isn't going to be like that; it will be much bigger and more elaborate. You must have gotten confused."
Oh course, I must have gotten confused. When you said you would drop by a copy of "my" catalog, which you happened to have a stack of in your car. I could see how that would be confusing. Not.
"Well" I said, "this is a much different matter and the quote I gave you wouldn't even begin to cover what you're now expecting". I told him I would get back to him with a new budget. He sounded wounded and sad, but ultimately said OK.
When I got off the phone I did a quick recalculation of this new, grand project. Had I gone ahead with it for the original budget and not found out it had morphed until too late, I figured I would've ended up working for $3.00 an hour. We haggled back and forth all afternoon, each giving a little here, a little there. Finally around 7pm, we reached agreement. And then he said...
"Great. Well, I already gave to project to the designer in Santa Barbara. He started working on it yesterday. So I'll consider you a back-up, kay?"
Are you fucking kidding me? I wasted a whole day dicking around with this asshole and now I'm a "back-up" plan? He can take his catalog and blow it out his ass as far as I care.
This isn't my first time at the rodeo and I've fallen for that "back-up" crap before. Do you know what "back-up" means? It means "when the original designer realizes what a relentless, unrealistic asshole I am and figures out I have no intention of paying him and he bails and I need someone to swoop in at the last minute and save my ass even though I no longer have any money because I blew it all on coke and hookers".
At least that's how it worked in Hollywood.
Speaking of which, in my many years working in the entertainment industry, I certainly dealt with my fair share of lying, deceitful sleazebags. It's to be expected, it's part of the alleged charm. But I have to say that in my year of dealing with the locals here in Bako, any one of them could give your average Hollywood douchebag a run for his money.
I don't know why I just assumed the dealings here would be more honest. Maybe it's because everyone coats everything with an "aw shucks" cornpone schtick. Maybe I should just give up on the locals and pursue work in a more reputable business back in LA...
Porn.
