Guest Post: A Gig Site's Lifespan: A Tragedy, In Four Acts

 

<http://www.impawards.com/2021/gig_is_up.html> 

(One of the best documentaries
on the phenomenon -- a must-view!

See Link Below)

Reckoner's Note: It's been some time since we've chronicled the Piecework Industrial Complex, AKA "the gig economy," and its doings. No longer the new kid on the block, many changes have overtaken the Gig Economy, though not for the better (surprise, surprise). 

The "content farm" approach of yore has given way to more practical impulses. Who wants to read somebody's thinly plagiarized content, when the average bear just wants to know, "Who could help me craft my presentation for that big meeting next week?" Or, "Who can I get to clean my floor tonight?" Or, "Where can I hire a tutor to bump up my kid's test scores?"

The emphasis is increasingly on a service-oriented economy -- from delivery (DoorDash, GrubHub, Postmates, Shipt), to transport (Lyft, Uber), and intellectual labor for hire (Upwork), to name some of the "usual suspects." However, many of the same dubious practices that garnered so much bad press during the 2010s -- inconsistent pay/work, lack of autonomy, and ever-shifting work rules -- have remained in place.

We wondered how anyone could still piece together a living this way, so we put out some feelers, and got a response. For simplicity's sake, and to avoid retaliation from his paymasters, we're calling him The Midnight Marauder, who's a decade-plus gig work veteran. "One thing, though, hasn't changed in this line of work," he tells us. "And that is -- the lifespan of a gig site, which follows the same general story arc." His story follows below, as he's written it.

<"So Many Balls In The Air..."/The Reckoner>

<i.> Act One: The Initial Buzz

Like anybody else out there, you worry how to juggle all the balls whizzing in the air. Groceries or meds? Rent or utilities? The pressure never lets up, needless to say. It's the reason why you aren't sleeping so comfortably these days. 

Then, from out of the blue, a solution drops: MakeWork.com, a third party editing site. Maybe you found it during some late night online search, or somebody recommended it as an option -- "I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy," as Saul Goodman says -- or you might even know somebody who works for one of these sites. Whatever.

The site seems straightforward enough. People contact you for copyediting and proofing jobs. Most of the deadlines are four to six hours. Pressed for time? Then try the quick 'n' dirty jobs that people upload, which are due in 60 minutes or less. The more involved the job, the more you make, for which you're paid every Monday. No fuss, no muss, no need to pound the pavement, as the copy suggests: "FLEXIBLE SCHEDULING! MAKE MONEY THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY: QUICKLY! WORK HOW YOU WANT, WHEN YOU WANT!"

So you figure, "What the hell," and take a simple copyediting test -- nobody wants "Brian" mangled into "Brain," right? -- fill out some basic info (don't forget the PayPal address), and the usual folderol (desired salary, work hours, job preferences). You hold your breath, and hit Send.

Back comes the answer, a day or so later: you're in! No resume, no job interview, no endless bargaining over rates. You're pinching yourself at how easy it seems. MakeWork.com delivers it all to your doorstep, for whatever princely flat rate the job pays. Seems like easy enough work, you tell yourself. What's not to like? Actually, plenty, as you'll soon find out. But for now, the promise of 200 to 300 extra bucks a week is enough to keep you going.

<"The Humming...Of The Digital Sweatshop"/The Reckoner>

<ii.> Act II: The Upward Rocket

You settle quickly into the routine. Come home, decompress over dinner, then hit the computer. You feel a sense of pride when that first 100 bucks slides through your inbox. You start thinking, what would happen if I spent three or so hours a night on this stuff? Within a month or so, you bump that 100 to 200, then 300 bucks. Now and then, you even scrape the heights near $400.

It's not a free-for-all, though. As a newly-minted MakeWorker, you're responsible for keeping track of its ever-changing style guide, and management's continual stream of edicts, via weekly emails and blog postings that hit your inbox. What's more, if the customer doesn't like your work, they can ask a CE (Copyeditor) to review it.

You get one shot at fixing up that file, and if the CE doesn't agree, your work's rejected.  Poof! That $25, $35, or $50 is no longer yours, and the job gets assigned to someone else. The first time it happens, you're livid, and think about walking away -- until you remember that overdue medical bill. The second and third times, you grit your teeth, and engage in a spirited back-and-forth with your CE. Nothing comes of it. 

Though you can -- and do -- appeal the CE's decision, the lack of results convinces you not to bother again, unless the issue is mega-major. Actually, it already is now, because it's eating up time spent on working. After some thought, though, you shrug it off as the cost of doing business. Invoking the nuclear option of closing your account seems less appealing, since your bills never stop coming.

On top of all this, MakeWork imposes a Maker Minimum requirement. Now, you must do X number of jobs per month, which is calculated into a rolling average. Slip below that number, and you risk having your account closed. You wince at the thought, but for now, it doesn't seem like a big deal.

For one thing, you're scoring some other side gigs, to which you can always transition -- theoretically, anyhow -- if MakeWork doesn't pan out. The image of flying solo as a fulltime freelancer is pretty damn alluring, so you don't want to interrupt the fantasy. And besides, they aren't offering any overtime at the office.

<"Be Reasonable...Demand The Impossible/
Take I": The Reckoner>

<iii.> Act III: The Sugar High

For awhile, you don't spot any trouble looming in Paradise. With over 1,000 jobs on the board at any given time, it honestly feels like a gold rush out there. But soon, another fly pops into the proverbial ointment: MakeWork HQ imposes a new requirement, that allows two more revisions, before your work's rejected for good.

The good news? You get a shot at redemption, and keeping that 25-50 bucks. The bad news? All that extra work jeopardizes your weekly goal of 200 to 300 bucks, and further divides your energy. On one hand, you're still making the same money, but in a real sense, you're not -- because it's taking longer to get there.

A mini-mutiny erupts when MakeWork introduces a lower-paying job tier of QuickWork Tasks that pay $10-15 apiece. Management bills them as "get 'em out the door" projects that can rack up quick money, if you can do plenty of them. However, they're still subject to the same mindless revision requirements as MakeWork jobs, which could eat away at your overall returns.

The announcement curdles your stomach, and for the first time, you begin to question the whole business. However, a quick scan of similar-sounding websites -- BusyBee, CopyEditBistro, Media Cool, Razzer, and so on -- jolts your brain into another unpleasant reality.

Gig work sites act like unions in reverse. Whereas unions generally raise the bar for everyone's wages, gig sites operate as the perverse flipside, by dragging everyone's pay straight to the bottom. Seeing MakeWork's competitors ape their basic business model for barrel scraping wages is proof enough for you.

What's more, the number of jobs is starting to shrink, as MakeWork continues to onboard armies of newbies. To keep up with this potential new threat, you're now forced to park at your computer for several hours a night, gritting your teeth, and telling yourself: Who sleeps beside their cursors? Guess these people do. But you aren't about to quit, since your grocery bills never let up. And neither should you, right?

<"Be Reasonable...Demand The Impossible/

Take II": The Reckoner>

<iv.>  The Downward Spiral

Five or so years down the line, you're well and truly embedded on the site, and its routines. To what effect, though, you're not sure. More and more, you find yourself questioning the setup, as the number of QuickWork jobs continues to grow, while the number of MakeWork jobs continues to taper off. 

As if that worry isn't enough to rattle your cage, MakeWork rolls out another concerning change. Customers can now vote Thumbs Up or Down on your work, whatever the case may be. Too many Thumbs Down ratings in too short a time, and you risk getting busted down to the QuickWork tier. 

Judging by the forum chatter, your stay in MakeWork Purgatory won't be a short one, since it takes 10 Thumbs Up ratings to overcome the one or two Thumbs Down grades that weigh down your standing like a boat anchor. So far, you're dodging that fate, but you don't whip out the confetti, as the amount of QuickWork jobs grows to double, then, triple the MakeWork ones. 

The overall proportion of jobs is also starting to drop. Those $300 weekly totals now seem like a lifetime ago, as it practically takes all seven days to make 200 bucks. What took two or three hours a night now gobbles twice as much time forcing you to hover constantly near your computer. So much for, "WORK WHEN YOU WANT, HOWEVER LONG YOU WANT," right?

On weekends, there's hardly any work, leaving you back to surfing the couch, and binging on Tubi. Not having seen much of you lately, your partner welcomes this new development, even as your wallet whispers insistently in your ear: "You're running out of options, again!" But what else can you do? You signed a non-disclosure agreement, as MakeWork policy dictates, so complaining beyond the forums is out of the question.

And you can't contact customers directly to line up other work, which also runs afoul of MakeWork policy. You're atomized and isolated behind their shiny virtual walled garden, where they wanted you all along. Somehow, that gauzy photo currently gracing the home page -- you know, the woman happily jogging behind her dog -- doesn't make you feel better. Every time you see it, you're ready to upchuck.

Running alongside Rover is the last thing on your mind, with fingers poised on your mouse, hoping to beat someone else to the MakeWork jobs that still roll in. But it's getting harder to do that dance, which eats up more time than ever. Ah, well, what the hell, who needs more downtime, anyway? Couch surfing costs money, especially when you're not making any, right?

<"If I Had A Dollar... (X2)"/The Reckoner>

<Coda> The Morning After

Finally, you realize the party's over. No single magic moment tells you; you're just tired of staring at a blank screen till your eyes pop out. You and your partner return to reselling, to middling success. There's also the new hip record store, where you can sell books, CDs, and other memorabilia from your own collection for 100-150 bucks a pop, which certainly beats MakeWork's rates.

And you still have your job, not to mention all those goodies that MakeWork figured you wouldn't miss -- like health insurance, paid time off days, sick leave, and vacation. MakeWork continues to sputter along, a mere shell of its shinier self. The same site that promised the moon and stars is now lucky to offer 10-20 jobs at a time.

Perversely, you feel way better, since you realize that you're not missing anything. Amazingly, though, a fair number of Makers haven't gotten the memo -- as the forums buzz with various conspiracy theories, rumors, and speculation, to explain where all the jobs -- and the clients -- have gone.

If nothing else, you've learned a good lesson about the life and death of a gig site. From initial buzz, to gold rush era, slippery slope downward, and point of no return, the story arc is always the same. Still, somewhere in America, some vulture capitalist or other is pitching the next MakeWork.com, that some investor is bound to green light.

Why? Because these types of sites operate on dreams, long before they start running strictly on fumes. That dream operates like a siren's song to all those desperate people out there, stuck in the same dead end loop that you're facing -- which bill will you pay this week, and which one can wait till next week?

As long as enough people believe, the site will sputter along, even after those who dreamed it up have cashed out long ago, surfing a wave of bonuses and stock options. How do those who follow them get paid? That's the next sucker's problem, or -- excuse me -- opportunity, or dream.

At least you've gotten away clean (relatively speaking). However, your next door neighbor or friend may not wind up so lucky. But if you happen to encounter them, it might not hurt to run this little bit of Elvis Costello folk wisdom by them: "Oh, no, I've seen the movie/Even though it does not move me." 

Chances are, they'll feel like at the midway, who didn't pick the shell under the right pea. Still, the hardbitten carny holds all the cards, so where else can you go? It's not a good feeling. Now I know, all too well, the reasoning behind the saying, "Experience is the hardest teacher", as some lessons are harder to learn, it seems, than others.--The Midnight Marauder

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry, Hurry,
Before Your Piecework Dries Up...)
Los Angeles Times: The Gig Economy
Sucked In Gen Z & Millennials Like Me:
https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2024-01-14/economy-millennials-gen-z-freelance-gigs

Rice University Media Relations:
Hidden Costs Of Gig Work:
https://news.rice.edu/news/2025/hidden-costs-gig-work-job-insecurity-and-customer-ratings-impact-worker-well-being

The Gig Is Up (Full Movie):
https://tubitv.com/movies/654449/the-gig-is-up

TIME: "It's A Race To The Bottom...":
https://time.com/5836868/gig-economy-coronavirus/

 
"When gig work is the only pie 

that’s available

 to millions of people, 

sharing it means 

that some don’t even get crumbs."

Bring The Machine Home (It's Time For Internet 2.0)

 

<i.>

Vince Gill is feeling a bit grumpy these days, and so am I. But it's not just the issue he raises, though if you spend any amount of time creating music, like I do, it's definitely relevant, especially in light of the whole great rock 'n' roll swindle of streaming. You've probably seen the oft-discussed David Crosby meme, in which he talks about netting a fiver, based on royalties of nineteen-thousands of a cent from one of those streaming services -- yee-ikes! And I thought Mafia bosses skimped on fair division.

Devaluation of music isn't the only problem rattling around my brain, though, as I ponder what's happened to this lovely thing called the Internet, of which I became aware in 1995. My wife got there before I did, being the trailblazer that she is -- but that's how we started, going to the library, then tapping out your latest e-mail message, and shooting it off. Click, click, boom! Off it went, without a second thought. 

I'd started doing freelance magazine work, to supplement whatever the day jobs weren't paying (see the Jobs To Nowhere series), so I picked up on the coming of the digital era pretty fast. One minute, you were stuffing stories into some plain brown envelope -- a FedEx sleeve, for longer pieces -- the next, you were copying and pasting them into a blank white space, or attaching a document, and hitting your return key.

Click, click, boom! By the end of the '90s, you weren't using envelopes, plain brown or otherwise, and spending more and more time at all those new cyber cafes that were popping up like mushrooms -- or LANs (Local Area Network), if they had games, to lure the kids. You paid by the hour, so you had to work fast (though you could bend the rules somewhat, once you got to know the management.)

I enjoyed the explosion of blogs, fan sites and forums that sprang up, catering to every cult taste on the planet. I have fond memories of that experience, like the afternoon I spent at my crappy suburban Chicago office job, gently badgering one of my co-workers to print out all this info from a Badfinger site, simply because it had images of releases I'd never seen -- one of many ways that made the minute hand go faster, when the bossman wasn't lurking around.

Many of those virtual highways and byways are long gone, like the Little Splinters site, that catered to Paul Weller fans. (I spent a fair amount of time printing out the contents of that one, too.) Right away, you realized that permanence and tangibility weren't going to play a big role in this equation, as attention spans grew shorter and shorter.

But it didn't seem like such a pressing issue, when anything and everything seemed possible, because society had yet to come apart at the seams. Meanwhile, you kept on clicking and surfing, clicking and surfing. The world is yours, you told yourself. At least...that's how it seemed...at the time.

<"Bring The Machine Home,

Take I"/The Reckoner>

<ii.>

These days, it's a different ball game, of course. The promise and possibility that the mid- to late '90s signified now seems largely suffocated by the usual suspects -- Amazon, Apple, Facebook, Google, Microsoft -- whose Mafia-like antics, and never-ending determination to twist whatever (and whoever) they can in pursuit of their goals consumes more and more and more of our attention, energy and time. 

We've seen this development at a basic level, with the forced format changes that they constantly impose, like Facebook's recent switch from its signature dark blue background (Classic Facebook) to its newer versions (or Clown White, or Off Black, as I call them). 

I'm used to it now, but it irritated me then, especially when the resulting pop-up box asked why you wanted to switch back to Classic Facebook. I wrote in the comment field, "If you really cared what we thought, you wouldn't be doing this, right?" I'm still waiting for a response on that one.

The encroachments on our time and energy don't end there. It's hardly surprising that the so-called gig economy's growing by leaps and bounds, as the conventional job market continues to crater, but it's not driving any greater growth in earning power, nor personal satisfaction. It's harder and harder to square the slogans that these outfits constantly tout ("Do as much or as little as you want," "Work in your pajamas") with the relentless race to the bottom that they actually practice ("If you don't like it, you can't leave," "Your account can be closed any time"), because that's the only way their business model works. Or can work. Either way, it doesn't work for you.

This struggle cuts both ways. Last year, I watched a longtime friend hang up his journalistic hat; two decades of low pay and little advancement will do that. He decided to seek a regular job instead, a possibility that has yet to materialize after a year of elevator pitches, endless shuffling of resumes, and various related trips to job fairs, and support groups. The problem, of course, is that he's one among millions of fiftysomethings out of work at this point. No one's hiring them.

I'm experiencing my share of aggravation lately, as well. I'm trying to boost my overall rating on one transcript site, and reclaim the top tier, where the best work, pay-wise and quality-wise (such as it is) exists. I had a bad run of three niggling grades that pushed me into the middle tier, and its less desirable discards. (There's also a bottom tier, for the rookies, where I've seen the odd person or two get busted. We won't imagine how that experience feels.)

The way these sites operate, it takes forever to work those lesser grades off, forcing you to dedicate more time than you really want to spend on them. (So much for the claims of not having to squat on Bid Site X every day, right?) And you have to get extremely nitpicky about the work you do, because you don't want to fall further down the rabbit hole. Thankfully, it's not the only thing I do, but right now, I'm thinking of taking a week or so off from that particular rat race. Getting dinged, after putting in a couple grueling all nighters, will do that to you.

<"Bring The Machine Home,

Take II"/The Reckoner>

<iii.>

I don't only have Vince Gill to thank for my inspiration on this post. The other source came from watching a PBS "American Masters" special, late at night, on John Lennon's connections to New York City, and how it influenced his activism, as well as his art. Among the clips is a brief one from an April 22, 1972 peace rally that he and Yoko attended, where he said something that caught my attention: 

"We're here to bring the boys home, but let's not forget the machine! Bring the machine home, and then we'll really get somewhere."

Obviously, at that moment, Lennon was talking about ending the Vietnam War, and pulling the plug on American involvement there. But the last part of his statement, "Bring the machine home," has wider implications. I also see it meaning, "bring our technology closer to home, in a way that works better for us." I'm thinking of Point #5 in the White Panther Party Platform, in particular, which still rings true today: "Free access to the information media -- free the technology from the greed creeps!"

The greed creeps have never done better, as the pandemic is showing us. Relevant examples include Etsy, the online portal for handmade goods, whose second quarter earnings report showed a total gross profit of $317.4 million, and total revenues of $428.7 million. Those figures, released in August, reflected increases of 159.1 and 136.7 percent, respectively. 

That's a thrilling outcome for those sitting in the boardroom, but less so for the community relying on it for some kind of income. It's a dynamic that's guaranteed to keep our collective earning power flowing somewhere else, helping to make an all-powerful entity even more overweening, and less responsive. 

Just imagine how much better off we could make ourselves, if we took even 10 percent of that $300- or $400-some million, and put it into our own DIY ventures -- like a co-op, for example, run by the workers involved, instead of some anonymous digital platform lorded over by some faceless anonymous middlemouth. Now there's a thought, eh?

On the plus side, Etsy supports Black Lives Matter as "the civil rights movement of our time," and has donated $1 million to causes like the Equal Justice Initiative, making them a tad less greedy and creepy. But even so, I find it odd that in the 21st century, we're still run along the same unforgiving lines of the 15th, with some overweening overdog wielding life or death power over the serfs who worked the land, even as it slowly worked them to an early death.

Monopoly money also brings monopoly power. As Free Code Camp reports (see below), half of all Internet traffic now flows to just 30 websites (emphasis mine), with the remaining half spread across some 60 trillion unique web pages that Google indexes. I imagine this is why I've seen a drop in my own monthly website traffic lately, from 20,000-25,000 to 15,000-17,000 monthly page views. The same story holds for other notable categories, like online advertising, where Facebook and Google account for 85% of all new dollars being spent there. The rest fight fiercely for the rest of the crumbs, as the race to the bottom accelerates. Wash, rinse, repeat.

<"Bring The Machine Home,

Take III"/The Reckoner>

<Coda>

To some degree, this is a chicken and egg question. "Which came first?" I'm tempted to ask myself. "The day jobs that barely paid enough to make to ends meet, or the 'gig jobs' that don't pay enough, and don't pretend to?" 

Neither model serves our needs, leaving us trapped in a world of binary Tweedledee-or-Tweedledum (non) choices. Psst. Hey, kid! You want AT&T or Verizon? Chocolate or vanilla? Democrats or Republicans? Food or medicine? Medicare only, or sliding scale fees? You know the drill. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Or, as Bernie Sanders so bluntly put it, when he ran for President: Americans don't only want a choice between Aetna and CIGNA. We can do better than the standard binary paradigms that the world continues to offer. 

That begins by realizing how much buying power we have, and finding better places to funnel it, as Michael Bloomberg did, by sinking $16 million into a fund that aims to help former Florida prison inmates fully pay all their fines and costs, as the state demands, and reclaim their voting rights. That's real power, and will make a real difference in those ex-offenders' lives.

Obviously, most of us don't have anywhere near $16 million, but that's not the point. For a start, we can still make better decisions about whom and what to support with our existing energy and money. That thought occurred to me when I stumbled across a multi-part podcast series aimed at zinemakers, including outlets to sell them. Sounds great, I thought. I can use that info. Let's see what they've got.

Unfortunately, the "resources" turned out to be the usual suspects, like Etsy, where the podcaster focuses their 'zine sales -- and, not surprisingly, directed much of their ire. To top it all off, the podcast site opened with a royalty free musical greeting, a gesture that totally undercuts their own message. How can you bitch about Etsy fees, I asked myself, when you're OK with screwing the pooch for yet another musician? 

But swapping one bid site for another isn't the answer. Shifting priorities from Etsy to Fiverr to Scribie to Submittable to Upwork and back again, or some equally closed loop, isn't the revolution I have in mind. Finding alternatives that empower real people in real life is, and that's the prize we should all focus on achieving. 

Time will tell what those alternatives look like, or how they'll take hold, but getting that discussion going -- and keeping it going -- is the first step in forming bigger and better ideas that lead to action. Like the man said, bring the machine home. Then we'll really get somewhere. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry,

Before Some Algorithm Punishes You Again):

Business Insider

Etsy, Inc. Reports Second Quarter 2020 Financial Results:
https://markets.businessinsider.com/news/stocks/etsy-inc-reports-second-quarter-2020-financial-results-1029474868#

CNET

Four Memorable Moments

From The Congressional Hearing On Big Tech:

https://www.cnet.com/news/four-memorable-moments-from-the-congressional-hearing-on-big-tech/

Free Code Camp

The Future Of The Open Internet

Is In Your Hands:

https://www.freecodecamp.org/news/inside-the-invisible-war-for-the-open-internet-dd31a29a3f08/

Think Globally Act Locally:

https://peterfeld.tumblr.com/post/21601283204/john-lennon-and-yoko-ono-at-a-rally-in-bryant-park

Yer Psuedo Employer Isn't Yer Pal (A Day Late & $80 Short)

I had an unpleasant experience recently with one of my editors at the local paper. Having enjoyed a relatively stress-free April and May, June became an uphill financial struggle, especially the last couple weeks. First, Squawker and I ran out of the decent food. Then we ran out of crap food. With 10 more excruciating days to go, finally, I said uncle, and borrowed $100 from one of my best friends to help me squeak across the finish line. You get the idea.

With invoice time looming on Friday, I called up my editor, and asked if he could make room for a couple last-minute stories, including an update on this road project I'd written about before, and our county school district's 2017-18 budget.

At $40 per story, I wasn't looking for a Pulitzer, just the difference between a $360 paycheck, and a $440 one. Guess which one I wanted?

My editor hedged. “Space is tight tomorrow. You're coming up on an invoice deadline, I take it?”

“You got it.”

“Tell you what, just get 'em to me tonight, and I'll try to find room for 'em in the local section.”

A couple hours later, the email rolls in: “Sorry, No room at the inn.”

My teeth start grinding, and my stomach starts fluttering, but I don't panic. I do what any mercenary does in these situations: adjust my fees, as best as I can, to make up the shortfall. Add $10 here, $15 there, and presto! Now, I have $400, which is still short of my target, but patches some of the holes in my budget.

Fortunately, I've found another transcription company to work for, and I just got paid $100 for some copyediting/proofreading, so all's well with my little corner of the world...at least for now. Only for now. Remember: your bills never stop shooting across your desk.

But what's this episode prove? Your pseudo-employer isn't your friend. Start with the obvious: you're not getting niceties like health insurance, retirement, sick pay, or vacation pay. Your “gig,” such as it is, could end any time, without warning.

Your pay, such as it is, doesn't go up, but your bills never stop coming. How these matters play out isn't your concern, because you have no say over any of them (except in rare instances). Somebody else calls all the shots, not you. If they get the job accomplished with you, great. If they can get by without you, they will.

And, still, you get odd propositions that don't add up. I guess that's why my editor emails the next day, asking if I can cover a competition in a town that's about 30 miles and 45 minutes away. The contest is one of those small town affairs that winds on forever, typically around three hours. So, even if I tack on $15 for gas, on top of the standard $40 rate per story – I'll be lucky to make 10 bucks an hour, maybe, once you plug the round trip in the equation.

So, not surprisingly, I say no. Not only for the economic reasons, but the sourness that's lingering in my mouth over the stories that didn't get in. I'm thinking to myself, you can't put an extra 80 bucks in my pocket, but you want me to cover an event that's barely gonna cover my costs, for which I won't even get paid till next month? I don't think so.

What's funny, though, is how few people seem to grasp how much the Piecework Industrial Complex has changed the nature of work – often, quite drastically, but not for the better. A couple months ago, Squawker and I went to a panel of local state representatives and senators, where you could air whatever was on your mind.

A good 10-15 minutes of that got chewed up over the lack of health care workers – in other words, the underpaid aides and nurses who barely make more than minimum wage, because (as one supervisor charged) “McDonald's pays more,” or they're on welfare, and afraid of losing their benefits.

To which one of our local state reps responded, “Well, we need to address that. We certainly don't want to incentivize people not to work.”

I found myself asking, “Incentivizing what, exactly?” Obviously, this particular local politico seemed unaware of how many untold millions, Yer Humble Narrator included, are patching together several different situations – “gigs,” part-time jobs, temp jobs, whatever you wish to call them – just to pay all these stupid ass bills that gobble up what little they make, till it's time to do it all again next month. Sounds like fun, right?

It's funny – I recently saw Office Space (1997) again, late one night, and wondered how many viewers long for those days when they had a cubicle to inhabit, and a crap job that paid, well, slightly better than the norm – which meant they actually had a little bit of money for a few small pleasures.

Sadly, that doesn't seem to happen for many of today's prisoners of the Piecework Industrial Complex – such as drivers for Postmates, who find that many of their customers don't tip. In return, your car takes a beating, and you're lucky if you earn back the mileage it's racking up. Having fun yet?

I didn't think so, but I'm amazed at how many people seem resigned to such one-sided arrangements as their lot. The first step in tipping the balance is to stop accepting inequity as inevitably woven into our lives. Otherwise, I find repeating a line from one of my favorite local poets that sticks in my brain: “Will somebody save us from us?”

Never forget: no matter chummy your conversations or emails may get with the moment's favored gatekeeper or decision-maker, just remember – they're usually answering to someone else, so their interests aren't the same as yours. Your pseudo-employer isn't your friend. When your latest gig ends, he won't miss you, and you probably won't miss him. Your wallet might, though. Such is life. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (...just cut 'n' paste if they don't spring right away to life)

(Get Out & Make 

Some Money, You Lucky Gigger, You):

Salon.com: Need Proof That 

The Gig Economy is Painful?:
http://www.salon.com/2016/05/12/need_proof_that_the_gig_economy_is_painful_just_ask_people_who_work_for_uber_or_lyft/

The Bold Italic: How The Gig Economy

Profits Off Of Desperation:
https://thebolditalic.com/how-the-gig-economy-profits-off-desperation-47bc5f04d11b

The New Yorker: The Gig Economy

Celebrates Working Yourself To Death:

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-gig-economy-celebrates-working-yourself-to-death

Anti-Xmas 2016: A Holiday Screw You, An Orwellian Interview

<From 
Ramen Noodle Nation's 

Movers 'N' Shakers (w/LOVE):

Have An Anti-Christmas...

...And An Anti-New Year>

<"Anarchy Recipe">

<i.>

Every time I visit a retail shop around this time of year, it only takes a second for my vision of Hell to register: Christmas music pumped over the speakers, making me eternally thankful that I don't work here. My chief aversion is "O Holy Night," but not for its religious content, honestly. That aversion started at my last day job, where I heard -- over 'n' over, to the point of Chinese water torture -- some crack-brained parody of  someone garbling the song in a shredded wheat-style falsetto. It was funny the first time -- barely -- at noon. By five o'clock, my eyes and ears felt glazed beyond recognition, having heard my clueless co-workers crank it God knows how many more times. Such experiences put the "nausea" back into "ad nauseum."

That said, why do so many of us feel so ambivalent about Christmas, then? I reckon it's the disconnect between the approved sentiments (birth of Christ, comfort and joy, goodwill toward men, blah-blah-blah) and the reality (crass relatives, food pantry visits, rich jerks bragging about their endless foreign junkets). For me, this season carried an especially bitter sting that dropped in mid-November -- when I got an email from my writing outlets, entitled, "Next Seven Weeks." That heading, as I quickly found out, provided ample reason to say "Oh, crap!"

The email duly informed me that the corporate masters were making immediate budget cuts, so I'd have to skip some meetings, and clear any other ideas in advance. That freeze will lift on Monday, in conjunction with that organization's new fiscal year, but the damage has already been done. Thanks to this sudden email stinkbomb dropping, I've lost about half my monthly income. There's nothing like a big "screw you" before Thanksgiving and Christmas to show you how little you matter in the scheme of things.

And I don't know what pisses me off more -- the lack of notice, the havoc wreaked on my household budget (slender as it is), or all the extra (rmainly, transcription) work I'm doing to staunch any further bleeding. So while I'm not out to dampen anybody else's holiday, I'm not getting caught up in all this artificial, enforced holiday cheer, either. When a financial landmine blows up in your face, "Bah, Humbug!" hardly seems like the ravings of Ebenezer Scrooge -- your favorite elderly, friendless, financially endowed killjoy, and mine. Right now, it seems like the only honest, sane response.

<The Damned: "There Ain't No Sanity Clause."
1980 UK SIngle (Chiswick Records>

<ii.>

The story doesn't end there however. Squawker and I gotten a couple breaks to make the last eight weeks somewhat tolerable. A friend sent us $200 here. I made $195 there for helping track our county's vote results last month.  I'm cranking out transcription files almost every night, which will likely be necessary until February 1 rolls around, when my prospects might finally pick up again. (Remember, as a freelancer, you're typically paid next month for everything that you did last month. Hence, that email should have read: "Next 12 Weeks.")  And I've been pounding the pavement, searching for new opportunities.

Anyhow, last week, I spent half an hour interviewing with a transcription firm that works with the insurance industry. My test results looked good, the recruiter said. Only 2 percent of the initial applicant pool even gets an interview, she confided. (But I didn't feel that "space cadet glow," as Roger Waters calls it. Statements like those are part of the recruiter's repertoire, to make you feel: gosh, maybe I'm one of the Fortunate Few!) We had a cordial conversation, or so it seemed, and hung up. I'd hear something by the end of the week.

Word came last Friday: thanks for your time, but...no. I've no idea why, because -- like so many of these situations -- you never hear the rationale (anymore than I did for the budget axe wielded against my paycheck). All I got was a vaguely worded puff letter whose verbiage would have done George Orwell proud: "Unfortunately we are not able to offer you a position as an independent contractor at this time...Again, thank you for your interest in [NAME WITHHELD] and we wish you much success in your job search."

Huh? Come Again? Say What?

Uh, not to sound like a killjoy, old chaps, but...we have a language disconnect, don't we? An independent contracting position is not a job. They're recognized categories of labor, but they're not created equal, either. Jobs, however poorly they pay nowadays, tend to come with health insurance, 401(k) plans, and paid time off -- items that you rarely (if ever) see in the Gig World. (But if you do, take a photo, and email it to me. I'll keep it next to the flying pig that I just snapped cruising past my window.) Now that I remember it, the recruiter also repeatedly used the J (Job)- word during our interview. Either she really buys her own spiel, or it's another piece of ammo in her ass shining repertoire, I don't know. Take your pick: you're probably right either way.

 In some ways, I'm not upset. Like so many of these outfits, they were demanding a lot. Sign a nondisclosure agreement. Buy a foot pedal and three software programs, just so you could do their piecework. Submit to an annual criminal background check. I'm surprised they didn't ask me to Fedex a urine sample, really!  Of course, they waited until the eleventh hour to drop these little details. But that's not the point, is it?

Crappy as these experiences have been, they've hardened my will to carve a different path that doesn't involve giving away so much power to such outfits. I'm working on a few ideas as we speak; I'll let you know how they end up. The moral here? Whatever business relationships you enter, keep a keen eye, and a clear head. Why feel buddy-buddy with someone who doesn't see (or treat) you as an equal?  So, in that spirit...have a Merry Anti-Christmas, an Anti-New Year...and Bah, Humbug," all the way. -- The Reckoner

Links To Go: Some  Anti-Christmas Faves
(Hurry, Before The Copyright Nazis Yank 'Em Down)

Crass: Merry Crassmass
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNRVl7LUuI0

Damned: There Ain't No Sanity Clause:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN8n99BUO-A

Fear: F#ck Christmas Snoopy Video:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJOFBq7cV5U

Kinks: Father Christmas:(W/Lyrics)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Mgwlxtrfgg

Graham Parker: Christmas Is For Mugs (W/Lyrics):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aexekTNY0_I

UK Subs: Hey Santa:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8FSXXeDAUI

The Digital Sweatshop Strikes Again (The Piecework Army Wants YOU)

<i.>

Last month, one of my longtime writing outlets -- a local entertainment rag that kept me busy for six years, interviewing comedians, DJs, and every type of band that you can name -- closed its doors. The situation arose for the usual boring reason. Many of the businesses on which the publisher depended to keep the enterprise going have also closed their doors. The TV talking heads may continue to claim that we've finally clawed our way out of the Great Recession. Out here in the provinces, that's not happening.

Coincidentally (or not), that same week, I got an email from out of the blue, about writing for some mobile app platform or other. I only had to answer a questionnaire, which, assured the project manager, would "pair your interests with your potential," or something along those lines. I duly filled it out, sent it back, and forgot about the matter for a couple of weeks.

Last week, I still hadn't heard anything, so I emailed to ask: "What's going on?" My contact apologized. He'd been out of town, but a response was in the pipeline. Sure enough, I got it a day later. After much deliberation, the email said, the product and ops team have decided to go with bloggers with proven followings, not freelance writers.

Not to worry, though: the company was working up an "Uber-style" option for people like myself, and would reach out soon enough on that score. I can hardly wait. Incidentally...the company's based in Beijing. Need I say more?

<"I'm Not Joining The Piecework Army"/Take I:
The Reckoner>

<ii.>

I'll just have to keep plugging away, I suppose, and see what else is out there. But the landscape isn't looking too pretty. Lots of ink has been expended on the "content farm" model pursued by the likes of About.com, Demand Studios and others of that stripe.. Though that model came in for a well-earned kicking, what has sprung up to ease the freelancer's lot? So far, what I've seen doesn't look terribly significant.

In full disclosure, I did a fair percentage of this work to fill in the monthly blanks, but never expected anything more from it, and didn't stop look for better-paying assignments -- unlike the legions who cranked up their efforts to full-time levels (minus, of course, the wages and benefits that a "real" full-time job promises). For many, I suspect, the withering of the content mills has slammed the door shut on such delusions with a sickening thud. 

I recently checked the Demand site, where (lo and behold) I still have permissions. These days, however, there's no work, since the corporate entity (Demand Media) has shifted to a different model of trying to boost corporate brands (or something along those lines). The giddy era of cutting and pasting dozens and dozens of 500-word mini-masterpieces for $15, $25 and $50 apiece are long gone, just a distant memory to share around the virtual water cooler....if you still get to hang out there.

I noticed that the forums -- where so many Demand denizens spent countless of precious time jawobning, nattering, and woolgathering -- are long gone, too, unceremoniously wiped away like so much used Kleenex. All that chatter faded away...."not with a bang," as T.S. Eliot would say, "but a whimper." The digital sweatshop had the last laugh, after all.

<"I'm Not Joining The Piecework Army"

Take II/The Reckoner>

<iii.>

I think about my fellow travelers who spent so much time on these forums. What's become of them, and where have they gone? Did they finally get the message, and start to try realizing some of their own dreams for a change - whether it's a blog, a chapbook, or umpteenth draft of that oft-threatened Great American Novel, or zombie-versus-vampire exploitation film script? Or did they go back to brainwashing themselves yet again, with a resigned shrug ("Hey, it's the best I can do"), and search for some new content farm or mill that somehow escaped the Google's Great Search Engine Purge?

If they chose the latter route, they'll keep searching for a long time, I suspect. Many of the blogs and platforms and websites that have popped up since the Purge kicked in are even worse, if anything, than their predecessors -- demanding a lot of the writer's time and effort, yet committing little or nothing in return, while paying rates that make the original content farms seem positively princely, by comparison.

It's time to wake up. While nobody wants to revisit the pre-Internet era of compiling (and then updating) endless mailing lists, or such equally brain-rotting mindlessness. Let's keep one other thing in mind, however. Behind the online world, like everything else in the real world, is an array of corporate interests that never stops trying to shift the tide in tis direction. Virtual reality doesn't automatically equate to virtual utopia. Before we put all our hard-won eggs in that particular basket, it's worth asking, "What else is out there? What else can we do? What other options do we have? What other possibilities can we imagine?"

The day we stop asking those questions is the day we'll hear these words below, clattering in our ears, uttered by Johnny Rotten after the Sex Pistols' final live appearance on January 14, 1978, at Winterland (San Francisco, CA), when he'd decided that his own rock 'n' roll swindle felt like it was running on empty....take heed of the dream. Enough said. --The Reckoner

"A-ha-ha! Ever get the feeling
 you've been cheated? Good night!"

Nickled 'N' Dimed To Death By The Piecework Industrial Complex

Reverie

I'm completely and utterly bored

With the theatre; and starving for my art

It's come to the point where I just can't afford,

To wait any longer for a part.

Somewhere in this land of milk and honey,

There must be a practical solution.

I wonder if there would be any money,

In starting a one-man revolution?
-Ann Winthrop

I found the above-cited piece while looking for something entirely different.  It appears in You Work Tomorrow: An Anthology Of American Labor Poetry: 1929-41 (University of Michigan Press). For further detail, see John Marsh's introduction below. According to my Google Books info, "Reverie" first appeared in Equity magazine's December 1936 issue.

Winthrop (1902-82) appeared in various Broadway productions of the time. Her notable roles included those of Ruby Keefer in the 1933-34 production of Sailor, Beware, plus Ann Herman in Lend Me Your Ears, in 1936. Though "Reverie" focuses on the jobless actor's lot, it has a deeper meaning if you look beyond that issue...especially in the last two lines.  As someone working with the written word, Winthrop's sentiments strike a chord with me. Living from week to week is nerve-wracking enough  -- which doesn't stop those who contract your services from finding new ways to twist the knife. 

One of my longtime editors recently sent an email stating that any further stories spun off from local government meetings are worth only $20 per piece...instead of the $40 I'd been getting for the last few years. The email further stated that if I wanted to earn that extra $40, I'd have to do some additional reporting, and note those instances on future invoices. So that lead story is still worth $40, because that's what this organization pays. However, if you write two extra stories, they're only worth $40 altogether (2 x $20)-- not $40 each, which would mean $80 (2 x $40).

Doesn't seem like a big deal, right? On one hand you'll probably find ways to score that missing $40.  On the other hand, it does make a difference...after all now, you're rolling that rock a little further uphill. Increments add up fast in today's short-change economy.

To rub a little extra salt into that open wound of mine, the editor said he'd already discussed that issue with his boss, behind the scenes -- so, after five years of picking up this outfit's odds and ends, you apparently don't rate a phone call, let alone any real notice. Ka-BOOM! There goes the bomb dropping -- now shut up and start picking up the pieces, right?

Considering how this bunch has treated you recently, however, the pattern isn't a random one, because your work increasingly means picking up the scraps and the dregs -- the stuff that nobody with an IQ above room temperature really wants to do. That's how you wound up interviewing the local music promoter a couple of summers ago about his Jimmy Buffett tribute band...and the three-hour set they expected to play.

On one hand, you felt sorry for the guy, because the (now-defunct) festival was struggling to afford the ever-spiraling costs of band booking: apparently, even faded stars still command fearsome guarantees (as in, the $100,000-plus range -- I kid you not). On the other hand, the whole thing seemed like an ego trip. Surely, 90 minutes of Jimmy Buffett would be more than adequate...and couldn't you find some noteworthy local acts to fill the remaining time?

But you weren't able to interview the two or three "name" acts that were coming...since the section editor had cherry-picked those opportunities for himself. So you just gritted your teeth and got on the job, swearing to shut your eardrums whenever that damnable "Margaritaville" song gatecrashed its way onto some hapless bank or supermarket radio speaker.

The whole episode left you pondering what your own particular version of Hell might look like...forced to sing those f#cking songs at pitchfork point with your fellow travelers in eternal damnation...all squeezed into ill-fitting flip flops and loud Hawaiian shirts...while the demons prepare to slather some more sulphur onto your back, laughing hysterically at your torment.

Warning, warning (danger, danger): Corporate absurdities coming ahead.

All jokes apart, such incidents show how you rate in this corporate entity's scheme of things -- of which this memo, unpleasant as it reads, is only the latest reminder.  Your brain recalls a similar hammer that dropped in your email box about this time last year stating that your take home pay was getting chopped to 25 percent of its previous level.

As always, the authors cited financial constraints, and -- as always -- thanked us for our work, because we played such a valuable role for the organization. Cue one of Rod Serling's tight, clipped soliloquies: "You're on assignment for the Piecework Industrial Complex, a duty that carries no insurance, no benefits and no job security...but the pats on the back never stop coming...only in...The Twilight Zone."

Thankfully, that cloud soon lifted, but it should serve as a warning: "Don't get fooled again." As they say in business: past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior. All jokes apart, it's time to keep prospecting for alternatives that make a bit more financial sense than this one, because...all this constant nickel 'n' diming will only bleed you to death. --The Reckoner


Links To Go (Piecework-Free, Thankfuly):
You Work Tomorrow: Introduction:
http://www.press.umich.edu/pdf/9780472070008-intro.pdf

You Work Tomorrow: Table of Contents 
(Lots of great titles to look up, and savor):
http://www.press.umich.edu/pdf/9780472070008-toc.pdf