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I was freelancing, writing, and managing a range of marketing projects, from brochures to annual reports and other such company projects. My friend Laura introduced me to an ex-colleague of hers whose office needed a couple of small brochures written and produced.
I agreed to drive from Arlington to Rockville which involved time on the dreaded Beltway. I arrived on time and chatted to the colleague for a few minutes before being passed on to an underling.
We talked for a few minutes, decided on a price and then she gave me a large, envelope taped shut.
“Everything you need is in here,” she said, practically shooing me out of the door. I got back on the road and headed to my townhouse. Once inside I had to get the scissors to cut the heavy tape off the envelope. Even so, the bag was so over packed I had to yank the materials out.
When I did, a couple sheets of paper fell to the floor.
When I picked them up, I saw they were written in Chinese.
“What’s this?”
I looked at every sheet they’d given me, and they were ALL written in Chinese. Not a single document in English among them.
“Well, maybe she handed me the wrong envelope,” I thought, picking up the phone, wincing at the idea of driving back to Rockville..
When I got the assistant on the phone and explained the problem, she actually got pissy with me.
“Of course it’s Chinese, the brochures will be aimed at a Chinese audience.”
“What you seem to have overlooked is that I am NOT Chinese. I don’t speak, read, or write Chinese. If you want me to produce these brochures you’ll have to give me the materials in ENGLISH!”
Jesus! What a bunch of maroons.
My memory of what happened after this point has disappeared into the ever changing sands of time. I may have ultimately written an English brochure but the aggro factor was certainly too high a price to pay for such a small job.
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