Mercenary

First thing’s first. Watch this video.

Welcome to Snowshoes. We both watched this video today and laughed. Tucker was a Snowshoe, and Zion is mostly one (she’s a weird mix). We both still miss Tuck, and find that we’re enjoying Zion’s company more every day. We’ll probably always have a Snowshoe in our lives – they’re awesome pets. If you let them outside, though, your neighbors may not always agree.

Now on to the week in recap. Click through for more.

So we took off for a much needed break over Valentine’s Day weekend to the Green Gables in Pacific Grove. It’s a beautiful circa-1920s bed and breakfast right on the oceanside, with a stunning view of the Pacific in Monterey. We stayed here for part of our honeymoon and still try to run away here when life gets overly stressful and we can afford to do it.

For most of my working life, I’ve been a contract vendor of one kind or another. My twenties were spent most temping in offices and in data entry mills. Then it was IT, again as a contract employee. For most of the last decade, it’s all been contract as a freelance writer and now as an owner of a small but growing marketing agency. I can’t say exactly why I’ve always worked under contract, spending a total maybe of three of the last twenty years actually in the salaried employ of someone. I get bored. I bristle under the yoke of stupid people. I’m happier piloting my own ship and always have been.

During my temp days, a friend commented to me that the job was basically one of a mercenary. Gun for hire. As a merc, yours is not to bow before a king, wave a flag, govern, or play politics. Yours is to go in, do a job, and then get out: period. You roll into town, clear out the gang, hand the keys back to the sheriff, and leave with a paycheck in hand. That’s the gig.

In the freelance life, the analogy comes in with what we call “arms dealing” clients. Some folks look to you to bring talent, insight and experience to a real partnership, to help them build a genuine success. Others, however, just want you to do what you’re told, give them exactly what they want – basically to just push the buttons in the right order. When we realize that we’ve got the latter on deck, that’s an arms dealing client. That’s when you have to do the math, sell them the gun and ammo, sell them training on how to shoot the gun, direct them to their foot if they’re willing to pay for that advice, and then strongly recommend that they do NOT blow their foot off. Then take your check, quietly step away and wait for the gunshot and scream.

Invariably, they then come back and cry, “Why didn’t you tell me that shooting my foot would HURT?!”

And then you sell them a first aid kit at an exorbitantly inflated price.

That’s being a mercenary. Get in, do the job, get out. Cash the check. They asked for it, you recommended that they not to something stupid, they called you an idiot and argued that they knew better. Doesn’t make their money less good.

So unless you are an idiot, you learn after a while to spot these guys early, figure out how to get the most money from their project up front, and calculate the best way to run with the cash shortly before they’re left with one foot (or, in some cases, one leg). You’re an arms dealer. It pays the bills, and the customer is always right. Right?

We’ve had some arms dealer situations this week. On Monday I had to spend a total of four hours on California freeways to go have an insisted-upon meeting with the client’s client, on an utterly rudderless project that has been horribly mismanaged, only to spend twenty minutes chatting about pointless tedium and then drive home. Then all week there’s been an ongoing drama with another client over a brochure job, probably doomed from the start, being driven by an idiot with no sense of direction himself.

Meanwhile, a technology meltdown on Tuesday night necessitated the unexpected $800 purchase and installation of a new office workstation. Coupled with the need a couple weeks ago to buy a new washer and dryer, and some hefty health insurance bills around the corner, and the crazy-busy-more-work-than-we-know-how-to-manage cycle that has dominated our office since the start of the year.. well, it’s been a lot of holding on for dear life. First quarter hell indeed.

So the truth is, having billable hours to fill our coffers right now is a good thing. And being a mercenary does pay off. It can be frustrating, infuriating, stressful and generally crazy making, but being a gun for hire does keep the lights on.

But you know? With each passing month and each passing year, it grows less satisfying. Because at some point you stop and think to yourself, you know, this is why I stopped working for other people to start with. Because of the grind. Because we were tired of not being listened to by dumb people in charge. Because we were going through the motions for a paycheck. Because we really didn’t care. Because it wasn’t really going anywhere. Because none of it really mattered.

And honestly, you want it to really matter.

And sometimes it does. It matters when the small but growing family-owned business, the one you’ve had a relationship with for years, has a really good day and you were able to contribute to it in some small way. It matters on days when a project goes really well, when the creative jazz really works, and you have the opportunity to turn out something really to be proud of. It matters when a tentative, new relationship explodes into a myriad of opportunities and a chance to affect change on a grand scale. It matters when the client listens to what you have to say, looks at their foot, shrugs and decides that, you know, maybe the ammo would be put to better use somewhere else.

And finally, it matters when you can sit back with your spouse and business partner on a Friday afternoon and comfortably hang it up for the week and enjoy a weekend of downtime with friends and family.

So I figure, being a mercenary from time to time is a necessary fact of life. You do what you have to do, and not every gig is going to work out for the best. But it’s the times when you’re not a gun for hire – when you’re truly invested, when you have a stake in what happens after the outlaws have been rustled out of Dodge – that outlines the portrait of who you are and why you’re in business.

It’s a balance that’s not always easy to find. But long term, you do find it, if at least occasionally.