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Monday, July 21, 2014

Accountants, New York City, and Hockey

I have a client. A good client, A cordial and compassionate client. Several projects into 2014, and it's been an absolute joy in conducting business with this firm, as well as the project manager who's called me time and time again for my illustration talents. Certainly, there are quite a few options when nestled deep in the heart of New York City, and I consider myself fortunate to have built such a relationship over the years with this company, that they'd reach out to the Left Coast for their illustrative needs.

And, for the duration of our partnership, the money has been very fair, and predictable in its arrival.

Then the Kings won the Stanley Cup.

Check that, the Kings beat the NEW YORK RANGERS to win the Stanley Cup.

And just like that, a $1400 invoice vanished. Then was resent at the request of their accounting department. Then not processed "ASAP", as they had stated would be the case. Then stalled. Then the check not yet cut ("just one more week", noted an email two weeks after the apologetic ASAP email). I jokingly suggested there might be a few Rangers fans working the assembly line down thar in the money trenches.

Now, I'm beginning to think the comment as less a playful jab, and more of a straight hook bulls-eye.

Seriously! I'm absolutely CONVINCED half of their accounting crew lost big bucks on the 4 to 1 series thump-job. And as the Tweets rain in as Lord Stanley's Cup makes its way across SoCal, their rage increases tenfold. Now comes along an invoice for some artsy jerk from L.A. And their mindset flips from "process"...

... to "revenge!"

I can visualize the yahoos as I type these words, toasting themselves with their Pabst Blue Ribbon or Michelob or whatever those f**ks drink in New York, laughing between drags of their Kool cigs (or whatever the f**k they smoke in NYC), amused at the inconsequential artsy Angeleno gripping that his check is nowhere to be found. As they stumble home to inhabit their century-old, oil-heated, mind-blowingly expensive shithole apartments, they smile in delight knowing I am suffering.

But I'm not. In fact, the joke's on them... I'll be fine. The money will come (albeit tardy a month), and as I wait I shall draw. The chug MeisterBrau (or whatever the f**k it is they drink), while I click my mechanical pencil and go at 'em. The above toon is one of many I have promised -- until the money arrives.

See, accountants get drunk. They've got the creative genius of a clam. Artists don't require alcohol to get a buzz. All they need is talent.

And a reason to use it.

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