Everything Non-Freelancers Know About Freelancing Is Wrong

Some days, my job has the same level of charm and satisfaction as that crunching sensation of squashing an elephant size roach in a cheap 1-ply paper towel.

Not awesome. Not awesome in the least.

Other days, it’s not so bad.

And on other days still, I want to place my head in a vice and turn the handle in a fit of fury. Particularly when you’re preparing to go away for what should be a fun-filled, relaxing vacation in Europe… that… you… earned.

But then you realize it takes 4 weeks in before-and-after preparation, trying to safeguard yourself against the inevitability that some client, no matter how many times you informed them you’ll be “out of the country with limited access to email”, will be perturbed by your “lack of follow up”.

“Go fuck yourself, I say”, is what I say to my husband over dinner this evening, whilst describing this transaction, one I’ve experienced far too many times to want to deal with, yet again, as I prepare for my impending week galavanting under an endless blanket of wine, cheese, and favorable foreign exchange rates in Paris.

But my own exchange with clients resembles something closer to this:

“I just wanted to give you a heads up that I will be out of the country starting next Tuesday through Sunday. If you’re able to send me your revisions before the weekend, I can make sure I finalize the draft before I leave.”

And in the typical fashion of the shitty universe, 8 people magically score “extremely important meetings” for Wednesday morning, as I’m about to hop into an Uber to LaGuardia. Fuuuuuck. Better pack that laptop after all. Have fun editing marketing copy during that transatlantic red eye!

This also marks the week that I’ve decided to ween myself off of 1.5 years of anxiety medication, because it was making me fat. So I’m in a great mood, and my tolerance is sky high. So am I.

It’s 11pm, and I’ve resumed answering my emails, punctuated by some fine post-dinner cannabis.

“I was speaking with one of my coworkers [who has never hired anyone off a resume in their life], and they agreed with me that we should really add more content around this internship position I had 16 years ago. I don’t know — it just shows the diversity of industries I’ve worked in, don’t you think?”

No.

“What if we went with a 2-column design instead — wouldn’t that make it “pop” more?”

No.

“I know it’s been 6 months, but I’m ready to revisit this document finally, and I have some thoughts on how we can edit it more. Maybe make it “pop”. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

No.

There are few clauses in the English language which I fear more than that of “Do you have a few minutes to chat?” Because these are typically conversations that can more than reasonably take place over email, and be answered at my leisure, but never do. Because people need to feel prioritized, and important. And neither is necessary in order for me to do my job, which, at the end of the day, is what they’re paying me to do.

I’m not an asshole, and I do care about my clients — I’m a service-based business, and anyone who runs one halfway successfully knows that it’s 200% rooted in customer service. The trick is not availing yourself to said service all time — just to look like you are, and then do a good job on the actual billable work that matters.

And it’s not just clients. Anyone in the world who’s not a freelancer thinks freelancers do nothing all day outside of daydreaming alone in a crisp white adirondack chair in some far off place (usually Thailand) under sunny skies teeming with craft beer.

That said, when you accept the role as head of your own bustling business entity, you knowingly (maybe) accept the inevitability that you will forever be misunderstood by everyone around you, and particularly by those who pay you.

My father is famous for his various scare tactics that he employs on clients whom he’s deemed less than respectful of his time. One of my favorite stories involves him waiting in a parking lot for a customer who was 10 minutes late. The client was well aware of his reputation for being less than accommodating, and pulled up into the lot with his truck barely in parking mode, attempting to explain the nature of his tardiness to my father, who in turn replied, “You’re late,” and promptly drove off.

Another secretary once told him to his face, “You know, you’re not very enjoyable to work with.” He shrugged, and proceeded into his office shutting the door firmly behind him. And he can do that, because he owned the company.

The irony of my father’s choice to pursue self employment is that he can’t stand working for, or with, anyone else. And my own decisions to make an honest living as a secluded antisocial writer holed up in a 5-foot by 5-foot private coworking space echoed that same sentiment to a degree. I used to work from home, but then I got annoyed by the constant barrage of interruptions imposed upon my workday by my cats.

Just because you fits, does not mean you can sits.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m ever grateful that my marketing business is booming, and I write this in jest, as the consultant-client relationship is a complex one, a strange product of the universe that all freelancers have come to appreciate/loathe. And the truth of the matter is, unless you’re in it, you just don’t get it. And that’s okay. We’re use to it.

But for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t mean we’ll ever come to like it — nor would we trade it for anything.