I am an independent contractor, a "freelancer".
Not by choice. As we fast approach the fourth anniversary of my ultimate downsizing, not a day goes by that I don't actively look for a full-time job. Actually, "actively" isn't quite right since it's really devolved into a pointless morning ritual, like playing the same lotto numbers week after week without winning because of the fear that the one week you don't play will be the week your numbers come up. So every morning I go through the motions, knowing full well that the continuing sorry state of the advertising business and my advanced age (falling well outside the desired demographic) mean the odds of full-time employment are slim to none.
Freelancing does have it's advantages. For one thing, in this digital age, it's all virtual. I can work from home, which the dogs feel is an ideal arrangement. I can actually work from anywhere. And more importantly, I can pretend to work from anywhere. Most of my clients are in LA, but none of them ever knew about our two year exile in Bumfuck, thanks to my 323 area code cell phone. I've come clean to most of them about our move to Orange County, since that's a marginally more respectable address, although several I still leave to believe I live in LA. Additionally, I save a fortune on car upkeep and dry-cleaning. I can work in shorts.
There is, however, a considerable downside. I rarely leave the house. Clients tend to believe you operate a 24/7 drive-up window and have no reservations about firing off revisions at midnight on a Saturday and expecting to see something at 6am Sunday. There are no such things as "days off" or "vacations". And you can forget about luxuries like... insurance. And then there's personal hygiene. Most days I opt not to shave. The boyfriend thinks I look like the Unibomber, but really, why bother? If he didn't come home for lunch most days, I'd probably forget to shower too.
The first couple of years were brutal, but by last year things seemed to markedly improve. I now have a stable of about a half dozen steady clients and it looks like I'm on track to double what I made last year. That being said, I still craved the stability of a full-time job and would periodically put out feelers and drop hints to my clients. The response was usually along the lines of "not fucking likely."
In particular, I'd hit up my best client. He takes up most of my time and accounts for half my billings. As recently as January, before the sudden and unexpected move to OC, I'd prodded him about a more permanent solution, to which he said "maybe in a year or so."
So imagine my surprise when I was summoned up to Hollywood for a meeting a few weeks ago. It was all the more remarkable because I had only ever met him in the flesh once, at his company Christmas party last year. We don't even actually speak all that often, everything more or less being handled through email and text.
It was an 11am meeting and not wanting to be late, I left Orange County at 9. I barely made it on time.
The meeting was brief and to the point... he now had some angel investors and was planning on staffing up and going big. He offered me a full-time job.
Oh, how I had waited to hear those words! The joy was a little short-lived as I suddenly reflected on the two hour gridlock I'd just sat through to get there. He evidently sensed my concern because he assured me I could still work from home and maybe only come into the office one or two days a week. Since I already teach in LA on Monday evenings, that seemed completely manageable.
For the next couple of weeks I was walking on air. Although the official offer hadn't yet come through and we'd yet to hash out the numbers, I was counting the days until I was back to being a functioning member of society.
The first worrying sign came in an email. I was told the investors would like a list of my hardware and software requirements. They were fairly adamant about company work not being done on personal machines. Connecting the dots meant that the company machine would more than likely be located in the company in Hollywood, which more than likely meant I would have to be there more than a day or two during the week. More like... every day.
Not to worry, I told myself. It wasn't working in Hollywood I minded, it was the commute. But I couldn't help but notice the office in Hollywood sat atop a subway stop.
And we live near a train station.
With a combination of Metrolink commuter train and subway, I could be at the office in an hour. That's half the time it would take to drive. I suddenly had my "Mad Men" fantasy, talking the train into the big city! And with the free Wifi on the train, I could work. Or blog.
Everything would work out great!
Then this past Saturday came an innocuous enough email. A request from the client to design a splashy announcement about the expansion.
And the MOVE.
Turns out the investors are insisting the agency move to a building they already own.
At Wilshire and the 405 freeway.
The busiest intersection in all of Los Angeles.
Which just last week started a multiyear freeway improvement.
Which promises a state of permanent "Carmageddon" for the foreseeable future.
I briefly freelanced for another agency near there before we were exiled out of LA. In rush hour traffic, it could take an hour to go a mile. We lived 8 miles away and it took two hours to get home. And that was without the freeway closures. In the current conditions, I can see that easily being a three hour commute. Each way.
This morning I received a cheery e-mail telling me i could expect the formal job offer from the investors any day now.
Now I'm not so sure I want it, although in reality I have no choice but to accept it. It's the first concrete job offer in four years. Although, in the end, it will probably kill me.
I mean... it's the fucking 405.
