I did some artwork for the cover of a half-assed financial magazine back around 1991. The blowhard that owned the company raved about how good it looked. I tendered the bill to the editor and left.
When the check didn't come through, I paid them a visit. All these high-rollers in suits standing around getting ready for a junket to South America yakking it up, and I'm told to come in the next day to pick up the check.
So the next day I go in, and figure if they blow me off again, I'm gonna walk over to the receptionist's desk, lift the computer off it, and head out the door with it. Fuk 'em. I go into the bookkeepers office for my check, and he cries poor. I tell him, "You mean to tell me in this whole organization you can't cough up a check for $350??? He pauses for a moment, pulls out a checkbook, fills it out for the correct amount, hands it to me and says, "Go straight to the bank and cash it. Do not deposit it. This account will be closed in the morning." I haul ass to the nearest branch and cash that mutha. He probably caught hell for it, but at least there was one honest guy there.
The kicker is this: in the credits for the cover, absolutely NO mention of who did the art (me). The blowhard who owned the rag wrote that the cover was "inspired by a poster his snot-nosed son had drawn in junior high school" which was bullsh!t, then mentioned that his son was now an attorney. What an a-hole.
They were out of business shortly thereafter.
