A small man in a blouse approaches me as I sip my coffee by the window. I’m sitting in my favorite coffee shop. My name is Benedict. And I’m a bassist in a semi-popular folk band that tours half the year. The other half of the year I sit in coffee shops and beg for freelance graphic design gigs online. I’m begging right now, emailing back and forth with a bakery owner in Cincinnati who doesn’t believe my rates should be as high as they are. But I can tell she also doesn’t believe in paying someone less talented than me to redesign her menu and signage. She will come around eventually. I hope.
As the man in the blouse opens his mouth to greet me, I wonder if he recognizes me from my band. An extremely low number of people recognize me in public. But a few do. I’ve been recognized maybe a couple dozen times over my career. It’s almost always pleasant. Folk fans are warm, shy, and appreciative.
I nod to the man in the blouse, giving him the go ahead to have confidence in whatever he is going to say.
He says this: “I’m sorry to bother you sir, but I do believe you’re sitting in my spot.”
Inside my head and my heart, I’m embarrassed that I thought he was a fan. Outside, my face displays uncertainty, incredulity.
“Your spot, sir?” I ask.
“Yes, this is where I sit when I come here. I’ve never not sat where you’re sitting when I sit here,” he says.
For a moment, I break his gaze and look back at my laptop, hoping he is the type of person who retreats when ignored. He’s not. He clears his throat, loudly. His blouse, which had seemed fashionable and distinct before, now reads as pompous and entitled. It reads that way to me at least, the person who is being asked to become small and dislodge themselves from their chair.
The man in the blouse looks back at the counter and waves at the barista, who waves back. “See,” says the man in the blouse, “I’m a regular here. They know me. They know this is my spot.”
“A wave isn’t proof of that,” I say.
“Do you want me to go and get the barista to sort all this out?” he asks.
I consider this. Yes, I do want the barista to sort this out. I want to be proven right. I want to be protected from this self-centered asshole.
“No, no,” I say, “We won’t need to do any of that. I’ll move.”
As I gather my things, the man grins at me, teeth shiny and unsettlingly straight. He offers no thanks, no apology while I make room for him and scan the coffee shop for another spot.
I realize that if I sit in another spot, the awkwardness of the moment will remain. After all, the coffee shop isn’t that big. And the people who’ve been pretending not to notice our interaction have undoubtedly noticed it. Noticed what a pushover I am. So instead of staying, I leave.
—
The key to begging for graphic design work is to pretend you’re not begging at all. To act as if you don’t need the work, aren’t desperate for the pay. You’ve got to convince potential clients that you’ve got a right to win their project. The right to sit where you want to.