Before I was a programmer I worked in the Entertainment Industry.  Before that, I was a programmer.   So the arc of my business career might be viewed as; programmer (medical type stuff), made rubber monsters, programmer again (manufacturing type stuff).  It really was rather odd how experiences in one industry provided useful experience during unusual circumstances in another industry.  Many clients in manufacturing think of themselves as sharp when it comes to administering their accounts payable.   In this case sharp does not necessarily mean ‘good’ or ‘effective.’  It really means something akin to ‘tip toeing along the very edge of illegality.’  As one might imagine the sharp business techniques employed in manufacturing pale by comparison to those used in the Entertainment Industry.

Rubber Monster Guys are a lot like programmers in that both groups exchange work stories over beer.  These stories are along the lines of; “You think you worked on a stupid project, well I had a client who wanted to…” or “You think you worked for a crook well I had a boss who tried to…” Unlike programmers Rubber Monster Guys actually like to work for crooks, at least once, so they can join in with their friends complaining about how they’ve been cheated.  Smart, or lucky, Rubber Monster Guys arrange to work for these famous (notorious) crooks on small projects so that they aren’t cheated out of too much money.

Back in 1988 I went to work for ‘The Bonehead Family.’ (not their real name) They had done lots of Effects work in Hollywood for a long time, and had even won an Academy Award.  But their business model was not that of an Efx. House.  They really seemed more like a band of bunko artists.  A friend working in England once mentioned working for The Boneheads and a famous English director said, “But they’re not Special Effects Artists… They’re Confidence Tricksters.”

The Boneheads had a studio in North Hollywood.  Actually, they rented a studio.  I think that the only equipment they owned was three IBM selectric typewriters and the sign on the front of the building.  You knew that there was financial trouble when someone from the front office snuck the typewriters off the property, because that usually meant that creditors were bringing Sheriffs Deputies the next day to seize everything belonging to the business. Unable to find the typewriters, and unable to dismantle the sign, the frustrated creditors would depart accompanied by laughter from Law Enforcement.  The Boneheads would then take the company bankrupt, start a new company, install a new sign, bring back the typewriters, and start all over again.

In the spring of 1988 the Boneheads recruited me to help build a fiber glass robot puppet.

They didn’t actually recruit me, a chum was already working for them and he told me that every Rubber Monster Guy in Hollywood had to work for The Boneheads at least once, and this was my chance to do it without being cheated too much, because the project was only a TV commercial and thus very short. The commercial was for PBS, or a tape cassette phone answering machine, or a new brand of spaghetti. It was a long time ago and I don’t quite remember. I know that using a robot as a spokesman didn’t really make any sense to anyone who was actually building the robot, so it wasn’t a computer or a computerized anything.

A shifty vice president hired me and “because he liked me” offered to pay me not my daily rate, but a lump sum of $3,000 out of which I could pay myself and all the other crew members. When I seemed leery of this idea he suggested that “because he trusted me” that I might consider taking the $3,000 then lying to my crew about the size of the payment, and pocketing the difference. I’d never worked for The Boneheads before, but had heard enough stories to see how this ploy would work. They would offer me $3,000 but by agreeing to pay the rest of the crew out of my pocket everyone would come complaining to me when I didn’t get my check. I said no thanks, that I’d take my normal daily rate, and he could pay everyone on the crew directly. The VP kept repeating, “But you’d make more money my way,” without including the phrase “by cheating your coworkers.” I kept repeating, “It’s less bookkeeping work for me this way,” without including he phrase “and it will be more difficult for you to stiff five guys than just me.”

So we shot the commercial. Then everyone got paid the next week. Then all our checks bounced. Then everyone went after The Boneheads for our money. I don’t know if everyone was eventually paid. I do know that the sign on the building changed once before I got the second check, which was the one that eventually cleared.

The other day I was dusting pictures in my office and found a framed copy of my very first NSF check from The Boneheads. Below the check I kept a list of all the excuses used by the shifty VP to explain why I hadn’t been paid.

Responses from the Shifty Vice President.
1.) You didn’t give us an invoice.
2.) The check is in the mail.
3.) We’ll pay you on Thursday.
4.) We’ll pay you on Friday.
5.) The check is in the mail.
6.) You know that Tuesday is payday.
7.) Didn’t we mail that already?
8.) Why are you acting like this?
9.) We’re waiting for a check from the client.
10.) You have a real attitude problem.
11.) I’ve been in this business 10 years and I’ve never been talked to like this.
12.) What’s the matter? You can trust us until the client gives us a check.
13.) Fine, try to take us to court.
14.) You want to talk to Steve.
15.) Oh, it bounced? Call back later today.
16.) Call back tomorrow.
17.) You want to talk to Suzanne.
18.) I didn’t know that you were having a problem.
19.) I can’t get your money, it’s Columbus Day.
20.) The bank did it wrong.

Response from the bank on which the 2nd check was drawn
21.) It’s not important whose fault it is. What’s important is that there is money in the account now.

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