Imagine! Two weeks ago, a check arrived, made out to me, at my address, for the sum of $2,666.67. It was from a major consumer magazine from a Glossy Mag publisher we all know.
Problem was, I hadn’t written anything for that magazine, or that publisher, in about a decade.
Maybe it was a re-sale and this was my cut? Could be. I’ve gotten unexpected checks from other contracted re-uses of my material, and the odd number sounded like that might be the case. That’s a lot of dough in our house, and maybe many homes these days.
The company, of course, won’t let you actually speak to anyone in accounts payable; only by email. So, for the past few weeks, I’ve been tugging on their sleeve asking repeatedly who paid this to me and what for and why? I knew it wasn’t mine. Of course, I wanted to keep it. Lord, that’s a lot of money.
Today I found out who to send the check back to and why, possibly I got it in error — I’m not (sob) the only freelance writer with my name writing for this company. News to me.
Guys, how about a fruit basket for my determined Boy Scout-ness?
What would you have done?