Unprofessionally Yours

It's bile-spewing time and if the person for whom it is intended reads this, well and good. Let it be known that I am not angry, just peeved.

And perhaps a little disappointed too that he has neither courtesy nor grace to come clean with me. He shouldn't have kept silent and avoided my queries.

I am a freelance public relations (PR) practitioner. He knew that only too well because he had, on numerous occasions, hired me to do some PR work for his organisation.

He was also privy to the fact that I, the freelancer, was edged out to make way for a full-fledged PR agency. That's perfectly all right by me, for I believe God knows best where my rezeki lies.

He knew the scope of my work: I write, edit, translate, advise clients on their communication needs, plan proposals and execute them, liaise with the media, organise events ....

I may not be the most competent PR consultant in town but I have always given my all. And if my best is not good enough (some clients can be very critical and demanding), I usually withdraw my services rather than take the crap.

Likewise, if asked to compromise on my principles, I'd pack up and leave. Money I can find elsewhere, but if my professional reputation is sullied, I might as well quit the field and start breeding Boer goats.

Public relations consulting has been my bread and butter for over 20 years. Throughout the 1990s when I was a single mom coping alone, it was this skill that put food on the table and the kids through college.

I wasn't always a freelancer; for six years from 1998 I was on the other side of the septic tank, managing the PR needs of American food giant Pillsbury (Malaysian operations) and later, The Royal Mint of Malaysia (previously known as Kilang Wang Bank Negara).

I wasn't a new kid on the PR block. In not so many words, this old hag is an old hand in corporate communications.

So when he came to me in late 2009, asking me to write a speech for a Tan Sri corporate figure whose speeches I had penned countless times over the years, I obliged. All I needed was talking points.

The Tan Sri and I understood each other completely and he was very aware of this. He knew the Tan Sri hardly made changes to my writing, always reading them verbatim. It was always a pleasure to write for this gentleman.

It did cross my mind why he didn't ask the new agency to do the job; then I realised he had wanted the status quo maintained insofar as my work was concerned. He knew the Tan Sri would inevitably say "suruh Puteri tulis." End of story.

Everything was fine and dandy, until I sent him an invoice for my work. The silence from his side was deafening. He knew the sum was nominal, that I quoted well below market rate.

Still, my phone calls were avoided, my e-mails unanswered. My invoice had disappeared into thin air. For six months I was left wondering what in the world happened and why was this organisation giving me such a wide berth.

But God works in mysterious ways. Over the weekend Pak Abu played golf with the aforesaid Tan Sri and company, and took the opportunity to ask the organisation's lady executive about that 'missing' invoice.

Back came the answer: "Boss said we only asked her to HELP write the speech. She was not supposed to charge us. It was supposed to be for free."

Err... hello?? How come I was not told from the beginning that I was supposed to perform the job gratis? And if so, what the freaking hell do you think I am? A charity home? Writing speeches is what I do for a living, you dimwit!

You can spend tens of thousands of ringgit on door gifts and souvenir programmes and giveaways, and you expect me to spend hours crafting a speech for free?

Worse still, you avoided me like a plague when I asked about payment. You don't even have the balls to tell me to my face that I should not expect to be paid.

Anyway, I am putting this all behind me. You can keep the $$ and stuff it up your @#^*.