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[01 Nov 2007|10:29pm] |
When I signed onto AOL, the welcome screen said `Hollywood Elite On the Horizon.` At first, I thought it may be a sign of things to come [well .. it is, but I meant for myself], but then I decided to take it literally and leave it that way. It's not a sign of things to come for me. But for the ugly, untalented people that fill Hollywood. This is depressing.
I probably should have documented this more. That way this doesn't seem like one downhill set of memoirs one after another. It would've seemed more like a rollercoaster if I had written about the awesome plans for my new room, or the fact that I'm a rockstar to girls in Schenectady. But no. This is about the discouraging trials I've been put through this past hellish week.
We'll start with the scam. He said his name was `Brad.` A fast talking scam artist that could look someone square in the eye and tell them he's a legitimate businessman, interested in fresh faces for modeling. Before I knew it, I was forking over $200. $200! It was idiotic of me to do so, I admit. He didn't even tell me that I was paying $200 for crappy black and whites. It wasn't until I went to review the images that he tells me that he suggests I get them in color. Naturally, I'm like, `wtf?!` He says its $4 for each picture I want in color. I just paid $200!
Godmotherfuckingdamnit.
I tell him to just give me the amount I paid for in color. Know how much that is? Two poses with multiple copies. What the fuck is THAT? They were supposed to be touched up, too. But they weren't. Although, he swears they were. So I go in today, trying to play on his sympathies. A girl did it two days ago when I reviewed the pictures and she got $100 back. She originally paid $217. Another girl got hers for $50 after negotiating. I wasn't so lucky, but I further proved his scam. I went fuckin' Batman on his ass.
``What's your name?``
"Brad."
``Brad. Brad. Brad. Brad ..``
"What?"
``Brad. WHAT?``
"Brad. Brad .. West."
``Interesting that your name is Brad West and you work on 34th West Broadway.``
"Mhm."
``Is that real? Your name?``
"Yeah, sure."
``Lets see your drivers license then. For verification.``
"I don't have a license. I don't even drive."
``And you live in Connecticut .. ? Listen. I need $100. Family emergency. Something just came up. Don't think of it as a refund, think of it as incentive. When your guy, Ricardo, pays me, then you'll get paid back. Ricardo, right?``
"::nods.::"
``Ricardo .. or .. was it Enrique?`` [His client's name is Enrique.]
"Oh, Enrique."
``So why'd you nod when I said Ricardo?``
"You know, whatever."
``Give me my money.``
"I can't do that. Most I could do is give you $2 for the train."
At that point, I just gave up. If I went further, I would've shoved his fat ass right out the window. That's how mad I was. I was ready to just fucking beat this guy until he pissed blood. But I restrained. My `good guy`, pacifist nature prevailed or something. So instead, I'll call from my private number and make death threats. I don't intending on letting him sleep easy. I'll more than likely get the authorities involved somehow.
With that done and frustrating me to no end on the walk to Sixth Avenue to catch the R train [which took me almost a half hour. I was on 8th. I walked in the wrong direction for two blocks before ending up on 10th and realizing I was going the wrong way], I was off to 65 Broadway. I had an appointment with LK International and needed to drop off those crappy pictures I just received at Destination World Modeling, which thankfully happened to be in the same place.
Destination was a breeze. Dina, the hot Russian ex-model DWM employee, implied I was totally ripped off. Ray Charles could've told me that. She said she has to review my picture with her boss, and in 2-3 business days she'll get back to me.
LK was different. The fruity Hispanic guy tried selling me some BS. Now I had my guard up since I was intent on not being scammed again. The package deal was $650, which included BS, attached to more BS, with a side of BS. It was supposed to go to the photographer, one which he knows. I assume he'll get a cut from the profits, which doesn't benefit me at all. He swears it goes to the photographer, and that they don't charge upfront.
So. I quit. I'm not putting up with this crap. The only good thing to come out of this was Auntie I's hospitality. I gained about twenty pounds since I been here. .. Which doesn't benefit me either.
I'm headed back home tomorrow. $200 poorer, stressed at my lack of prospects and my streak of bad luck. Where the hell else do I go from here?
I think I'll go find a bridge.
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