Diary of an Instru-mental-case, Part 4

3/16/04
I have some serious ethical problems with this company. A photographer was going to sell us a picture at a discounted rate for use in an upcoming issue until he remembered that he had sent a picture to one of the other magazines in the building nearly five years earlier. He received a written contract and the picture was printed. But when he called several months later because he hadn’t been paid, the Old Guy laughed at him saying that the editor should have never agreed to pay for one lousy picture and that he had no intention of paying any fee. What did he plan to do, fly halfway across the country to sue him for $150?

He almost did sue out of principle, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He also thought about calling our regular advertisers to encourage them to take their business elsewhere, but didn’t want to stoop to his level. I thought his description of the Old Guy– a lawyer who thinks he’s above the law– was quite fitting. We apologized profusely on the Old Guy’s behalf but, needless to say, we didn’t get the picture. If this random photographer knows and hates us, how many others feel the same? It’s hard to produce a magazine this way; it makes me wonder if he’s deliberately trying to sabotage the company, cut his losses and retire. I know he’d rather die than relinquish control, but there are better ways to close a company.

3/27/04
My entire body aches. Yesterday we all worked to package, label, and ship the products the magazine sells every spring. The boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling, filling several rooms and hallways. We worked for nearly nine hours straight with only a short break for lunch, lifting and stacking heavy boxes, and lugging completed orders to the shipping area.

I was furious to find out that the Old Guy pockets all the income. He makes millions from these sales, and keeps it all. We have to handle all incoming calls and process, package, and ship each order on a daily basis in addition to all of our regular duties, and we don’t get so much as a penny, let alone a bonus. The money doesn’t go toward updating company technology, bringing employee salaries up to par, or even hiring temp works to cover the deluge of orders; instead it further pads a number of already cushy trust funds and real estate ventures.

I feel like we’re all slaves, and the Old Guy is the seemingly benevolent plantation owner. He tells us to "go forth" and toil in the field and– we’ll never see the fruits of our labors but the onslaught of riches leaves him feeling generous enough to spring for pizza. I am convinced that he is partially responsible for the nation’s economy troubles. I would like to see a bill passed to cap company profits and raise the standard wages of the employees who make it all happen, but since the politicians are in on this scheme as well, the working class will remain forever oppressed.

4/6/04
I got a postcard from one of the contributing editors congratulating me on my first published article. Her compliments were so genuine and unexpected that I stood there, card in hand, for several minutes. Even though I don’t believe a word the Old Guy says, I guess being told that I’m wrong, stupid, and lazy has affected me more than I realized. The first nice thing to be said about my work came from a relative stranger–I wanted to cry.

I took the postcard home with me and hung it on the fridge. That little card was what made me realize that the constant negativity has made me meaner and more cynical. I don’t really like the person I’ve become, so when I picked up a paper on my way to work this morning, I turned straight to the classifieds and set out to make things right.