Exit strategy

This is the good part of freelance. And the bad part.

This week, I wrap up four months at the agency I was booked at for five. Whole other post.

Anyway, what it means is it's time to start planning my exit strategy, something I've done many times before. It's never the same routine, but it does involve many of the same components.

I'll begin by sending out a few emails. Then I'll graduate to a little dialing for dollars, you know, the personal touch. And of course, a little social network networking is always a good thing. This is what it looks like to me as Friday rapidly approaches.

Once Friday is past, I know from experience my priorities will shift, and my first week off will begin to look a little different.

First order of business will be a long overdue lunch with my great friend Carrie. Then, as long as everyone's working and I'm not, perhaps a matinee or two are in order, just to stay current. Of course, we all know Breaking Bad isn't going to binge itself again, so I'll have to - yes, have to - devote a few hours to that. If there's nothing else to do, I may read Siegel's book again. Then there's always all those things I was going to do over the Christmas break that still need tending to.

The way it usually goes is when I'm finally ready to tackle those odd jobs that've been piling up around the house, I'll get booked for a gig and have to put them on the back burner. Again.

Here's the thing: I'm not one of those people who goes crazy when they're not working. I can not work with the best of them. I put the call out to the universe, and so far it's always answered with fun, lucrative, challenging gigs and a vast selection...er...large number...um....wide variety....ok, a few great people to work with at each agency.

Of course, once the call to the universe is out, I hope I don't have to answer it at least until I'm done with Season 5.

Writer squared

Freelancing is a lot like checking into a hotel. A really crowded hotel, with three conventions going on at the same time.

You never quite know what room, or in this case, cubicle, you're going to get.

As any freelancer will tell you, they stick you where they can. They also stick it to you where they can - usually in the wallet. But that's for another post.

The days where a hired gun could expect a spare empty window office to work in for the length of the gig are long gone. Now, they cram you into whatever space they can.

Lately I've been working in various parts of various agencies: open areas (supposedly better for creativity - total bulls@#%), the lobby, the kitchen, the (small) conference room (that I kept getting booted out of every time they had a meeting, which was every half hour because, well, it's an agency).

But there are cubicles then there are Cubicles.

The ones you see above belong to Chiat Day, and they are the most sought after workspaces in the agency. Rarely does a freelancer get to use them, although I have been lucky enough to work in them a few times while a staffer was on vacation. Everyone jockeys for these spaces, especially the ones on Main Street, which is the bottom row.

Say what you will about Chiat, aesthetically speaking it's nicer than any other agency to come into. It almost doesn't matter where they put you. There's always something to see: some interesting design or architectural detail to appreciate. And pretty people? The place is lousy with 'em.

Plus they let you bring your dog to work. There's a park. A basketball court. And a restaurant.

As far as walking into freelance gigs, I file it under "things could be worse."

Speaking of worse, a lot worse, I just finished working with an art director at an agency in Orange County. I've worked at this agency many times before, and all those other times I had an ordinary cubicle, the kind you're imagining right now. However this time, they put both of us in - well, room is too generous a word - a very narrow space about nine feet long and four feet wide. It was clearly one of those leftover spaces - not enough for an office, too much for a closet.

So it's the freelancer room.

As I broke a sweat trying to breathe while the table was smashed into me, and the chair was backed against the wall, the thing I made a point of remembering is that unlike a hotel, I'm not there for the accommodations.

I'm there for the love. Nah, just messin' with you. You know what I'm there for.

Besides, what did I really expect from an agency that thinks chairs like these are a good idea?