Anyone aspiring to be a freelance artist, graphic designer, writer or photographer understands the pain and humiliation of being shot down. I recently went to the local pub and live music venue “The Vaults” where I attempted to get my foot in the door with a local band. I approached the lead singer after finishing my Dutch courage pint, or so I justified it as I walked with an ever so slight stumble. I should probably note that I become relatively intoxicated after a single pint, drinking is far from a forte of mine. I remember saying “I’m Daniel” and stared at him as I watched his expression turn from happiness to a cocktail of confusion and worry as I grinned and handed him a business card comprised of a piece of plastic with two pieces of home-printed paper glued in place (mostly).
I should explain. Earlier that week I had met this chap, inquiring of possible freelance work to which he replied “only if you have a card”. I took it upon myself as a challenge to make a business card by the time of the next live event at the pub, only four days later. The morning after I set to work, relentlessly slaving over my laptop for sixteen hours, missing breakfast lunch and dinner so that I could order the cards to be printed and sent in time.
I felt relieved and proud of myself as I placed the order, soon after I collapsed and decided to sleep. I was awoken at 7am by a single knock at the door. I rushed downstairs as I put my shirt on, thinking it wouldn’t matter if my lower half was completely exposed as I could just use the door to conceal myself. As I reached the middle of the staircase I saw the silhouette fade and disappear in the window of my door. I yelled as I ran, I slung the door open to see an oblivious driver continue on his way as I stood bearing the harsh breeze of regret upon my knob. “It’s fine” I told myself, it’s not like the bald brick house of a neighbor got to see my exposed body for long.
The days passed, all awhile I attempted to contact the delivery service to no avail. As Friday approached, so did the feeling of panic and desperation. It was half an hour until I was meant to meet the band and I still didn’t have a card. I printed it using my home printer, glued it using wood glue to a piece of plastic from the packaging of a ‘toy’ I recently purchased, got dressed and left for my meeting. I wouldn’t normally drink before meeting a potential client, however I believe given the events that preceded it, it was justified (or so I tell myself).
He gazed at the piece of plastic as I handed it to him. He glanced up with his eyebrows lowered, his mouth slightly ajar and his words unable to communicate his confusion as he lifted it to the light. The light shone through the thin plastic, at that moment revealing the words I had hoped the glue would conceal: “for her pleasure”. I felt my face burn as I blushed, quickly looking at the ground from embracement. Too flustered to explain, too emotionally scared by the bold man seeing my penis to tell the story. I hope this helps anyone with anxiety when approaching a potential client and remember; it could be so much worse.
If you have any embracing or funny stories of meeting clients, applying for work etc. I’d love to hear them!