The Right to Say No

A few weeks ago, I declined two freelance jobs.

Granted, these jobs were low-paying and just so you don’t think I was being a lazy bum, I was juggling several other freelance assignments at the time. I honestly could not take on

more assignments. Still can’t, at least not now.

Nevertheless, saying no was a major step for me. When I first started on this freelance journey, I said yes to every assignment, only to find myself working seven days a week with no social life (nonexistent as it is) and getting stressed out. I soon realized that is no way to live, no matter how much I needed the money. I wasn’t doing myself any favors, nor would I be an asset to the companies if I turned in sloppy work or missed a deadline because I was frazzled or doing too much at the same time.

So I thought hard and long, and said no, which is never easy for me. I was raised to be a “good girl,” to do everything everybody wanted, expected and asked of me, whether family, friends or bosses. I believed if I said “yes” to everything, acted nice, and worked really, really hard, people would like me and I wouldn’t get laid off.

How’d that work out for me, eh? I’ve been laid off twice and repeatedly stabbed in the back by work colleagues.

Now, with the perspective of age and two painful layoffs, I realize I do have the right to say no, to pick where and with whom I work and for what compensation.

Companies possess the right to hire, fire and lay off workers with no explanation given. What they fail to realize is that workers have the same right to choose their workplace.

I understand the needs of companies change over time, and staffing levels reflect that. (Yeah, two layoffs in four years kinda taught me that.) Going back to those freelance jobs I declined, in one instance, after submitting several assignments to the company, I was told they had enough and wouldn’t require my services anymore. In the other, the company was undergoing a reorganization of their freelance staff, so I had no way of knowing I would be retained. (Reorganization is a code word for “layoffs.”)

Again, I wasn’t upset. Freelancing is inherently unstable, and companies remain free to cast off workers without any explanation.

But it’s also true that I have rent and bills to pay. I simply moved on to other paying jobs. The heck with them.

So I was a bit surprised when I was asked if I wanted to work for them again. I politely told both that I could not because I had other freelance assignment on my desk. One lady understood and said to contact her when I was free to do assignments for her. I might. The other guy never responded to my email.

I was also a bit amused by their requests. Didn’t it occur to them I took other assignments? Just as they rejected me, don’t I have the same right to decline their offer — or take another job?

Our society has, I believe, a rather warped perception of laid-off workers. We’re considered unemployable losers — even though we did nothing to merit our termination. We must take any job offered, without any consideration to whether we want the job or not. 

Contrast to that to someone who quits their job with no new job lined up to “find themselves.” They’re considered brave — they stuck it to the corporation and are viewed as free spirits — even though they may have made a really bad decision. Leaving a job with no job in hand is never justified unless you are being harassed or the job is severely impacting your health and wellbeing. Merely being unhappy at work or believing the job is beneath you is never a good reason to quit without simultaneously landing your next  — hopefully better — job.  

Likewise, someone who is fired gets sympathy, yet their firing may have been perfectly justified by poor work performance or some stupid or unethical action on their part.

No so with laid-off workers. Tossed aside by corporate cost cutting, our futures decided in some closed-door meeting of the All White Males Club, and perpetually rejected by prejudiced HR departments, we sometimes feel as if we have no free will at all.

Saying no returns some free will and yes, power to us laid-off workers. At least for one brief moment we don’t feel like Miss Colombia, the Fredo of beauty contestants.

Of course, there may come a time when my financial situation dictates I must take whatever lousy job offered. I haven’t reached that point. Yet. I'm self-aware enough to admit to my folly.

I simply don’t buy the belief I have no free will. I have the right to decide with whom I want to work — jerks need not apply. Just as companies low-ball workers on salaries, I’ll grab the highest paying jobs.

And I have the right to say no.

Dreaming of Bacon

A few nights ago, I dreamt of bacon.

It sizzled in a pan, along with some slices of ham, the fat bubbling up between the former slabs of hog flesh. Then, an egg slithered into the pan; its whites spread to the edges as if running a race, while the yolk — yellow, round and perfect — remained Buddha-like in its stillness.

I don’t recall if I ate the bacon, eggs and ham. I probably woke up before I was able to

partake of this fat-laden but delicious feast. Just one of many bizarre dreams I encounter before I open my eyes to the pebbly gray of dawn and which quickly fade into the mist of deep subconscious.

I wonder why I had a dream about bacon. I love bacon (who doesn’t), but I haven’t eaten in a quite some time. Was it a subconscious stirring of hunger pangs?

I can’t say I’m hungry. I eat quite well. Yet my financial situation has forced me to curtail certain food purchases. No longer will I spend $5 for three ice cream pops. I scour for the cheapest cuts of meat and cereal boxes. I simply cannot afford those luxuries anymore.

Notwithstanding recent holiday indulgences, I know my hunger has subsided. Perhaps my nervousness over my incredibly shrinking bank account has slashed my appetite. In the past when I’ve been anxious about some major change in my life my hunger typically disappears only to reappear in calmer times.

Now, I feel anxious all the time about my financial status. How much in taxes will I pay next year on my paltry freelance revenues? Will my savings dissipate before I can find a full-time job? Will I end up homeless? And please don't get me started on my health insurance. These thoughts keep me awake at night (when I’m not dreaming of bacon that is.)

I’ve lost some weight (that’s a good thing), but not that much. I’m still frustratingly chunky despite my diminished food intake.

Sometimes, though, as in dreams, my hunger pangs rear up and take me by surprise. Like when I’m out for dinner with friends and relatives and I clean my plate. Oh, look at her, they must think, she can really chow down. No wonder she’s so fat. People can be so cruel when they don’t know your true circumstances.

Little do they know of my modest daily meals: cereal for breakfast, salad or occasional small sandwich for lunch, small piece of meat (overcooked) and serving of vegetables for dinner. Oh, once a week, I have pasta and sauce. I’ve cut out desserts (again, a good thing). They don't know of the meals I've skipped altogether.

Perhaps my bacon dream had nothing to do with actual hunger. Perhaps it’s my subconscious wish for a time when I’m no longer living this ascetic lifestyle forced upon me by two lengthy bouts of unemployment and unstable freelance work.

Perhaps it’s my longing for the day when I can buy whatever I want…food, a car, a new apartment, clothes. A time when I can indulge in bacon (although I’ll probably skip the ice cream from now on). Does that make me selfish?

Or travel. Can’t say I’m a big traveler (my sensitive stomach and swelling of my right leg make travel a bit problematic). All the time I see and hear of friends and family taking marvelous trips and I wonder, How do they get the money to do that? Then, I remember, oh, right, they have jobs.

I wonder why I can't have the life they seemingly have so easily. They have jobs, and I did, until I was told I didn't anymore through no fault of my own. Sometimes, it does make me angry. If it wasn't my fault, why am I the one dealing with the fallout? This summer, I bought two shirts — more out of defiance than need. I just wanted to buy clothes like everybody else.

I’m not jealous of others’ good fortune. I’m just wishing, hoping and dreaming of the day I can indulge as they do in nice clothes, trips … and bacon.

Ghosted From Jobs

Ghosting. It’s a new social phenomenon whereby one partner in a relationship severs all contact with the other person with no explanation. No phone call, no text, and of course,

never any face-to-face meeting. The person figuratively becomes a ghost, a plume of white dust never to be seen or heard from again.

Though this rather distributing trend occurs more in romantic or personal relationships, ghosting happens just as much in professional circles. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been “ghosted” from freelance jobs with no explanation (unless you consider the rather vague “didn’t click” BS I was given by a douchey client). Another time, I was told I had a steady freelance gig. But after I accepted, I never heard from the company again. So what gives?

Just this past week, a client of the editorial consultant I’ve been working with told him the company was going in a different direction. This swift turnabout came mere weeks after they assured him the company liked our work and would continue on another three-month contract.

Sometimes, personal relationship die out simply because you’ve moved on. You took a new job and don’t have daily contact with former co-workers. You move to another city, and have fewer opportunities to get together. That’s understandable.

Other “ghosting” incidents are less easy to comprehend. As a strikingly unpopular person since junior high school, I’ve become accustomed to people insulting and mocking me to my face, and cutting any and all contact with me in a rude, mean-girl manner with no reason given for their nasty behavior. But, hey, at least they did it to my face. And after some soul-searching, I realized my sometimes clingy behavior and “foot-in-mouth” disease might have caused the rift. Was I deserving of their abrupt expulsion? No, I don’t think my treatment of them ever rose to that level. I never insulted or was mean to them. My guess is they simply wanted someone to kick around so they could feel superior, and I was an easy target. They made it abundantly clear I wasn’t worthy of their time or friendship anymore. Once it become obvious they wanted no part of me, I respected their wishes and kept away.

Yet, those horrible, soul-crushing incidents (of which I count only three) made me a better person, a better friend and co-worker. I tried not to make the same mistakes, and for the most part I’ve been successful. I also know I would never treat somebody the same way those mean girls treated me. I treat people with respect, even when my courtesy is not returned.

What makes ghosting so much easier today is our digitally connected world. Why tell someone to their face why you’re dismissing them from your life when you can simply send a text, or better yet, say nothing at all. Poof! You’re gone.

How ironic at a time when we are more connected than ever that we’ve become less sensitive to other’s feelings. Aided by social media, we’ve become a callous, narcissistic society with no compassion or empathy. We’ve become more distant from one another, not closer.

We send nasty texts and make cruel Facebook and Twitter posts about people. Yet we seem to believe because those vile comments are made in cyberspace — not to the person’s face — they are somehow not hurtful.

So, why was I ghosted from those freelance jobs? Were the people in charge too busy to send me an email response? Can’t pay freelancers anymore? Was my work subpar? (Let me point out here that I’m always willing to edit my work to fit their specifications, and have done so when requested.)

All any of us who’ve been “ghosted” want is a simple, reasonable, respectful explanation of why we’re being kicked to the curb. Give us a reason. It may have something to do with our work or behavior. If that is the case, we can make changes to better ourselves. If it has nothing to do with us or our work — the website can’t pay freelancers anymore, the company is going in a different direction, the person you thought was a friend is a backstabbing mean girl — we should know that, too, so we’re not punishing ourselves for something beyond our control.

Without an explanation, we “ghosted” parties are left to ruminate as to what could have been our failure. As someone who has been laid off twice since 2009, I fall easily into the “I suck” mode anytime I’m ghosted or rejected for a job.

What really sucks is ghosting. Let’s stop it. Be brave and tell people why you’re doing them wrong — to their face. Or at least a frickin’ email.

Take This Job and…

Well, you catch my drift.

Since it’s Labor Day weekend, it’s time for my annual vitriolic (and admittedly biased) rant against corporations and their management lapdogs. Instead of recounting once again my

past humiliations at the hands of devious bosses and co-workers, I’ll tell you of two recent events showcasing just how cheap, disdainful and discriminatory companies are when it comes to hiring and treating their employees.

A few weeks ago, I answered an ad for a freelance editor. In my reading of the ad and my understanding of the term freelance, I assumed the job would be working in the office part-time or writing/editing on a project-by-project basis. Not a bad gig, I thought. Even better, the publication specializes in an industry I’ve previously covered.

I was called in for an interview, and so I went. From, there it went downhill, and fast.

First, the job wasn’t part-time or freelance as I and most understand those terms. It was a full-time contract position. In other words, I would be hired to toil full-time, yet paid hourly with no health insurance, retirement plan, or any other benefits. The ad was misleading, to say the least. In the company’s president’s (more on this a-hole in a bit) view, “freelance” meant the workers could say, leave early occasionally if their work was completed and they needed to visit a doctor. How compassionate of him! Frankly, in my experience at real full-time jobs, most bosses are pretty flexible when it comes to medical and family emergencies.

When I pressed (politely) on possible benefits, he scoffed at me, mumbling something to the effect that providing those perks was too much bother for him. Oh, those pesky full-time workers! How dare they demand fair wages, a decent health plan and a 401(K)! The nerve!

This rather alarming display of stinginess and condescension came after this 60-something, aging Don Draper-type bragged how his family owned buildings in the Garment District of Manhattan, and how everybody knew and loved him. This creaking vestige of imperialistic White Privilege just had to impress me with how great it is. I wanted to barf.

Obviously, he had the money to foot the bill for benefits. He just didn’t want to be bothered. Sickening, truly sickening.

His “publication” —and I use snark punctuation here— was nothing more than a mouthpiece for various PR agencies in the city. Even my sleazy bosses at my former former job wouldn’t publish the nauseating fluff/crap this guy did. He admitted he would never publish a real news story on a person or company. If a company were going through tough times, he would ignore it in print. I’m no investigative journalist, but you can cover the real news and be fair at the same time.

But, hey, everybody loves him. Wonder why?

The job entailed duties so easy I could do them my sleep. I’m looking for a bit more challenge in a new job than that. Also, the publication, as I mentioned previously, covered an industry where I know the most of the players and worse, could encounter some of my former colleagues at my former former job if I went to an event. I’d rather have a root canal than meet up with those bastards and backstabbers.

If that weren’t enough to make me walk away, given the overtly pandering tone of this “publication,” I would be a laughingstock to the entire industry and my former colleagues and bosses. Haven’t they had enough fun at my expense when they cruelly laid me off?

You guessed it. I politely declined this full-time-with-no-benefits job.

How dare she? She’s unemployed! She must take any crappy job offered!

Not really. Just because I’m unemployed does not mean I have given up my free will. I have every right to choose where and with whom I work. You know, the same right everybody else possesses. I believe anyone who criticizes me for not taking an unappealing job is probably miserable in his or her own job and feels everyone else should be, too.

Let me also remind you, I was gainfully employed, happy to work with horrible bosses, impossible workloads and stomach-churning deadlines. Until I was laid off. Where was my freedom of choice then?

I would dearly love another full-time job — if I were offered one with decent benefits and duties that allow me to use my background while also expanding my skills. None has been offered to me.

Unlikely I will ever be offered one, considered the blatant ageism I face. Back in the spring, I went on a job interview and was told point-blank I had “too much experience” (translation: you’re too old). I didn’t get the job. No surprise.

A week or two ago, I submitted an application for that same job, although I didn’t know it at the time. The name of the company sounded familiar, but since I submit an average of two applications a day, I figured why not give it a try? I had all the qualifications for the position.

The HR lady sent me an email asking for a preliminary phone interview. That’s when I did some digging and realized it was the same job I had interviewed for back in May but was rejected because of my age.

I was angry at first – why put myself through that humiliating experience again? — but didn’t do anything until I calmed down over the weekend.

On Monday, I decided to compose a direct, but professional email. Since we scorned candidates get so few chances to vent our feelings to our rejecting employers, I had to take advantage of this rare opportunity.

I recounted my experience, how I was told I had too much experience (as if that’s a bad thing), how those are code words for “too old,” and how I was ultimately rejected for the job.

I closed by saying that there was really no benefit for me interviewing for the job again if the company and the lady I interviewed with still practiced age discrimination. I received no reply from the HR lady. Why should she care anyway? Nobody is going to sue the company for age discrimination, least of all older, unemployed workers with no money. Nevertheless, I took a bit of satisfaction in at least calling the company out on its rather overt ageism.

Oh, and by the way, why is it advertising an opening for the same job a mere three months later? Gee, guess the Millennial it was so hot to hire for a paltry salary didn’t work out, eh?

I know what you must be thinking: How dare she refuse another job! Well, I wasn’t offered that job. Chances I wouldn’t be again. I haven’t gotten any younger in three months or undergone plastic surgery (though I did get my hair cut and colored).

This is what workers of whatever age face today in the workforce: Either you’re being discriminated against because of your age or forced to work for a meager salary for no benefits. Management holds the hammer, and boy, do they use it against workers at every chance. Especially when it comes to layoffs. Layoffs, in my opinion, are nothing more than management getting somebody else — their workers — to pay for their mistakes. And managers wonder why employees flee for another job at the first chance?

Sometimes I wonder, have I willingly left the labor force, or was I kicked out? It’s a bit of both, I think. Two layoffs in four years have made me justifiably hesitant to take another full-time job. A job I can lose through no fault of my own. I refuse to ever again be a pawn in some hidden Machiavellian management scheme that leaves me jobless and broke while my former bosses and their lapdogs continue to rake in their undeserved salaries.

A day to honor workers? What a freaking joke!

Every Day is Judgment Day

Not too long ago, I wrote about rejection fatigue. How the endless dismissal of my job applications eats away at my self-confidence and yes, soul.

That is still very much true. However, I’ve realized relentless professional rejection is not the

only slight damaging my soul and psyche. When job hunting, we expect rejection as part of the process. Nobody gets every job applied for, so we know going in there is a 50/50 chance we will not be chosen.

Yet underpinning rejection is something much more sinister — judgment. Think about it: Every time we submit a resume or fill out an application, we are being judged. Sometimes that judgment is fair; we simply don’t have the requisite experience or skills for the particular job. Other times, our rejection is based on one minor miscue — a wrong answer during an interview or a misspelling in our cover letter. Those judgments are painful, but at least we understand why we were rejected and can vow to do better the next time — if there is a next time.

It’s when we believe we were judged unfairly or harshly — or given no reason for the ultimate judgment and subsequent rejection — which gives us the most psychic pain. We ruminate, we judge ourselves severely, believing we did something terrible that justified our punitive treatment. In reality, we may not have done anything wrong, but it is so easy to fall down that slippery slope of self-doubt. It’s inevitable.

Not only during job hunts are we being judged. It’s also when we are, ahem, laid off. Unless an entire company or department goes belly up, management picks who stays — and who gets kicked to the curb. That, my dear friends, is a value judgment (oh, there’s that word again!). A manager has judged you to be less valuable, less of a worker, than another co-worker. That hurts, and leads us to question our abilities, especially since layoff decisions are typically opaque and we’re given no insight into why we were picked for the dung heap of joblessness while someone else was judged superior.

Judgment and its byproduct rejection also haunt every freelance assignment I do. Will the editor like the article? Will it be published? Or will it be judged inferior and rejected? Friends extol the benefits of positive thinking, to believe in myself. Yet without external validation or even occasional positive judgment, self-doubt corrodes my soul and obliterates my self confidence.

Even more frustrating is that these are mostly subjective judgments, not a test with a definitive right or wrong answer. This maddening situation has forced me to appreciate what actors and celebrities go through daily in our nosy Internet age. Not only are they judged on their work, but how they dress and rear their children. True, they are narcissistic media hogs, but sometimes all this attention and accompanying judgment must grate on them. I'm sure they want to shout, Hey, I worked 14 hours and had to stay up all night with a kid with an earache. Can't I just get a cup of coffee in peace! Nevertheless, many simply smile or put their heads down and soldier on – as we all must do in the face of constant judgment.

In my own life, I must admit ever since the consultant I had been working with divulged his douchelagoon client said we didn’t “click” during our one and only interview, I’ve been racking my delicate psyche for reasons why: What did I say that could have possibly turned him off? (He did most of the talking!) Was my work so much shoddier than the other freelancers? Why was I given the heave-ho from the project while they were kept on? I know this isn’t healthy, but without a clear reason, I can’t help but think the worst, to internalize all the tough judgments heaped on me. One editor slammed me for — gasp! horrors! — using passive voice and wordiness. Chill out, sister. You made minor changes in the first two graphs of a 1,000-word article and untouched the rest. Yet, even minor judgments carry harsh consequences.

Especially to my self esteem. Though I continue to look for a job and attempt to drum up freelance assignments, I have lost all confidence in my ability. Every article I write I judge as rotten.

If we are fortunate, we’re told why we were judged in a certain manner and can take positive steps to improve for the next opportunity. Unfortunately, sometimes we don’t get a second chance. A harsh, unfair and unexplained judgment stands.

I have yet to hear from that editorial consultant. Meanwhile, he has bestowed more assignments on those other two freelancers. One offhand comment was all it took for me to be judged inferior and unworthy of another chance. 

Life Hacks for Unemployed Losers

Instead of my usual whiny rants against unfair layoffs, nasty bosses, douchey clients, and blatant ageism in hiring practices, I’d like to discuss another favorite topic: How to save

money when you are unemployed and have no steady income.

I’ve touched on this topic previously, detailing how you can convert credit card points and frequent flyer miles for gifts and trips. I’ll spare you the obvious money-saving tips like coupon clipping (which you should be doing whether employed or not) and seeking out discounts whenever possible.

When you are a long-term unemployed loser, you must be more resourceful than that. Just this week, I used some creativity to save myself an enormous amount of money on a hair cut and color.

It had been almost two years since my last visit to a hair salon, and, frankly, my hair was getting unruly. It had grown to waist-length, and to be honest, I’m well past the age when flower-child, long, flowing locks are appropriate. It was a tangled mess, and oof — the gray! But I avoided the hair salon because paying rent and buying food took priority.

Yet it got to the point where I could no longer ignore the matted mishmash at my crown. It was weighing me down — literally and figuratively. I have thick, wavy hair — the kind everyone thinks they want until they realize it means a five-minute blow-dry every morning, gets knotted easily when too long, and frizzes like a Brillo pad in the humidity.

What could I do? My regular hairdresser charges $140 for a cut and color. Too expensive. Heck, that’s too pricey even when I did have a job.

I checked Super Cuts, which would have brought the cost down to $70. Cheaper, but could I do better, I wondered?

Then I remembered how dental hygienist schools sometimes give low-cost teeth cleanings as a teaching tool for their students. Might not a beauty school do the same?

So, through the wonder that is Google, I found a beauty school near me. Yes, its salon welcomed clients, and the price list on its website was more than reasonable. I called and was told to come for a skin test to ensure I didn’t have an allergic reaction to their products. I did so and saw no bad reaction.

Once I got payment for a freelance job, I called for an appointment. My hairdresser was a student, but she was near the end of the program. That makes sense — doubtful the school would unleash a new student on a salon client.

Further, the instructor — the flashily dressed Miss Sue — supervised every step of the cut and coloring process while fluttering around on electric-blue, seven-inch heels. A person like her could only exist in Jersey. Yet underneath her frosted crown of hair, she obviously knew her job and was a top-notch teacher. I felt assured my new hairdo would be professionally done — which is not something I can say of every salon I’ve visited in the past. I’ve endured some terrible haircuts by indifferent and sometimes downright nasty hairdressers that left in me in tears and took nine months to grow out. In college, one “hairdresser” scowled at me while he hacked chunks of my hair in willy-nilly fashion. Unbelievable. I left feeling it was my fault because I had “bad” hair.

Because of those frightening incidents, I usually request a blunt cut, nothing too fancy. So, I knew going in I wasn’t asking for anything too elaborate and definitely something a student hairdresser could handle. I merely wanted a trim and a dye matching my natural hair color to cover the gray. I couldn't look any worse than I did before I entered the beauty school salon.

Now, she was deliberate, as you would expect (and want) a student to be. The whole process took over three hours, longer than a normal salon visit that typically takes two.

Now to the best part: the cut and color cost $34. With a $12 tip (okay, I could have given more, but remember, I’m still unemployed), the entire bill came to $46. Not bad, and the results are excellent. My new hairdo looks as if were done by a professional — and it was.

I would definitely recommend contacting a local beauty school if you want to save a lot on a hair cut and color. You have nothing to lose by giving it a try. If you want a more elaborate hairstyle for a special occasion, then go to a professional salon. But for a basic cut and color, a beauty school is a great option. Hey, if it doesn’t look good, you can always go to a regular salon for a redo; but as my experience shows, that won’t be necessary. Choose a well-established, national chain, as I did, not some fly-by-night cosmetology school. Do your research.

When you are unemployed, you must get inventive to find ways to save money on so-called non-essential items. Will a new haircut and no grays help get me a job? Who knows? Solve my financial problems? No. However, I feel a tad better about myself, and even the smallest boost in confidence can’t hurt at this point.

Now, about that mani-pedi...

Who Do You Trust?

The answer, as I have lately realized, is no one. Trust. No. One. That is my mantra. Forget those corny posters with inspirational sayings, like Persevere, Never Let Go of Your Dreams, Be Kind, or

some such BS. None will ever grace my wall. What will is the one that states: Trust. No. One.

This past week drove home that cynical truism in the worst possible way. About a year ago, I started working with a freelance editorial consultant. Essentially, he found clients, and then hired freelance writers to report and compose articles (i.e., the real work). Things had been going smoothly, or so I thought. Of course, there was the typical back-and-forth between writer and editor. Nothing out of the ordinary. He seemed pleased with my work.

Earlier this year, he asked two other freelancers and myself to ghostwrite blogs for a marketing executive. To be honest, this was a new type of assignment for me. However, since my freelance work has pushed me into areas previously unknown to me, I figured, why not give it try. When I take on a new assignment, I jump feet first, full bore. We can debate the results good or bad, but you can never question my effort.

Long story short: I did the assignment to the best of my ability, adhering to the instructions. Each of us had to “write” three blogs on topics given to us. True of my life of late, one of my assignments was one of the more difficult ones, and one, frankly, the marketing executive pretty much ignored. He obviously had no interest in dealing with the topic. Nevertheless, I tried my best.

Since the blogs were to be bylined by this marketing executive, all the articles were heavily rewritten. Considering the nature of the assignment — writing for someone else’s voice — that was to be expected. When I asked about the rewrites — remember, this is a new assignment for me and I wanted to know if the work I did was okay — I was told it was fine, that the changes were normal. All the blogs I wrote were subsequently posted on several online publications.

The editorial consultant told us there would be more work for this particular client in June. Sounds good, I thought. I can use the money and maybe I’ll do better the second time.

Well, dear reader, I think you know where this is heading. A week ago, I was dismissed from the job, or more precisely “archived” off the Internet job board where the workflow was documented. Yet another sudden, slap-in-my-face professional rejection and embarrassment.

When I questioned the editorial consultant about the reason for this, he at first gave some mealy-mouthed explanation about not having enough work to go around, the assignment changed, he didn’t need three writers, an in-house person would be doing the assignment…blah, blah, blah. Then came the real kicker: The marketing guy told the editorial consultant that he and I didn’t “click” well over the phone during our interview. When I read that, my shoulders slumped, tears stung my eyes, and my confidence sank. It hurled me back to every time I was criticized and backstabbed by bosses and co-workers.

Now, I could go into a lengthy diatribe about why we didn’t “click.” But that would take up too much space, and sound rather whiny and defensive. Since I truly do not know what he meant by that statement, I have no clue as to what possibly went wrong — or if anything did go majorly wrong. It would be pure speculation on my part. I can assure you of this: I was professional and polite during the entire assignment. I don’t know how to act any other way.

There's no point in trying to rationalize anyway. The editorial consultant has to please the client, and if the client wants me gone, well, I’m a goner. The client is always right, even if that client is a douche-bro from Connecticut, land of craft beers, beemers, and white privilege. The entire stuck-up state ought to be renamed West Rhodesia. He probably likes the ego-surge of dumping a nobody like me off the assignment. Hey, it's his money, so that gives him the right to act like a jerk.

I didn’t respond to the email about not clicking with the client. No point. I would sound crazy (although in truth I took up residence in CrazyTown many eons ago).

More upsetting was learning later the two other freelancers are still working on this assignment. What the what!? (I learned this because I still have access to the Internet job board where the assignments are posted.) So, obviously, there is enough work for three freelancers. I was not picked to continue. Was their work better than mine? Apparently so. That hurts, not only because it is a poor reflection on my work, but, dammit, I need that extra money.

I’m not angry with the editorial consultant. He has his business to run, and my insecurities and feelings are of no concern to him. His priority is his bottom line — even if that damages my bottom line. It's his prerogative to dismiss me. But I'm under no obligation to accept or like his treatment of me.

So, no, I'm not angry with him. The person I’m angriest with is myself. Yes — me, myself and I. Angry because I believed this guy when he said there would be more work on this assignment for me. I believe he liked my previous work. I trusted. And what did I get in return? I was lied to and betrayed.

There could be work for me on other client assignments, the editorial consultant mewed unconvincingly. But I’m not holding my breath. Would I consider those jobs if offered? Of course I would. My financial situation is such that I cannot refuse any job. Alas, I doubt any offer is forthcoming. The relationship, as I perceive it, has been severed. Trust broken is never to be regained. You're dead to me Fredo.

Sadly, his actions have once again hoisted me into an insidious whirlpool of self-doubt: I’m not good enough. My work is horrible. I can’t write. I suck. No one will hire me. I'll be homeless in six months.

For a year, I worked hard for this editorial consultant, toiling on the weekends and meeting my deadlines. And all seemed fine while he was underpaying and over-working me, so he could reap money off my diligence. But one client makes an offhand comment and I’m gone? How is that fair?

Sadly, this is not new experience for me. I worked for a company for 16 years, and was laid off. Another company kicked me to the curb after three. Once again — once again! — I trusted that if I worked hard, my boss would treat me right. I was wrong.

Once again — once again! — I trusted my professional future and financial stability with another person who took it away without one iota of compassion or thought of how it would affect me. They didn't care. Never will I make that mistake again. Never. 

In all those instances, never once did I get a chance to defend or explain myself — or receive a clear, logical reason why I was terminated. Perhaps the reason we didn’t “click” wasn’t all on me. Since I have no idea what he meant by that, I have no clue as to what I did wrong, if anything. At the very least, if I knew what I did wrong, I could use that information to improve for the next time. Looks like there won’t be a next time. Oh, well…

As a side note, I had followed “Mr. Didn’t Click” on Twitter and connected with him on LinkedIn. Not anymore. Doubtful this egotistical douchebag will even notice, but it was my way of saying, “click off, Buddy.”

So where do I go from here? Tomorrow is Monday. I'll submit a freelance article I've been working on for two weeks (hopefully it'll be better received than the blogs I wrote for that marketing guru/master of the universe/class A prick). I’ll scour the job boards for full-time jobs and freelance gigs. If hired, I’ll work hard, but with an understanding that I can only really depend on myself and my ability to do a good job. Employers toss you aside, with no warning or explanation. You can’t depend on them. I’ve learned my lesson.

Trust. No. One.