I bet you can tell, by the end of this tale of two clients, which client I kept and which I stopped serving. This situation is not about editing, so I hope it doesn’t confuse anyone. It’s about volunteer work outside of my business.
Blood Bank and Soup Store are the fictitious names I’m going to give these two organizations, both of which I served on a volunteer basis (no pay was arranged or expected). For both organizations, the parameters were exactly the same:
- I’d host and maintain their website at my own expense as a donation to them.
- I’d teach them how to write and post a blog post and how to add pages and upload media (photos and other images) to their site.
- They would let me know if they needed anything else, and I’d work it in as I found time. Giving is something I love to do, but I also have to feed my family, so there must be limits.
Tale of two clients a nonprofit organization’s website
Blood bank served about 100 people at the beginning and about 20 by the end of our time together. They had access to more than $400,000. At the outset, they didn’t value having a website and didn’t want to pay for one. If we were to have a site, I’d have to pay for it. So I did. They did eventually see the value in having a website, but they didn’t pay for it or for my time to fix all the things they broke.
The nonprofit’s entire board had access to the back end of the website because the login information had to go into their board meeting minutes. While it is wise to be sure an organization’s website cannot be held hostage—which can’t happen if the organization has the access information—it’s also wise to have the board refrain from accessing it except in case of emergency. For several years, the organization lived by the parameters, and everything was fine.
Nonprofit gets a new director
Then the director I worked with left and another took his place. Chaos ensued and this tale of two clients took a turn.
People started accessing the back end of the website. Each person had their own idea of what the website should contain and look like, even though the arrangement was between the directors and me, not them, and even though I was supposed to be the only one making changes and additions to the site.
There were too many cooks in the kitchen, and the organization’s website had A Bad Case of Stripes.
For a while, the site had a Google Calendar to show all of their events and programs, to serve their constituents better. Then one day, someone decided to delete the calendar. Why, I have no idea. No one ever confessed to doing it, but things don’t delete themselves. The new leader came to my home and did so unannounced and unexpected (all cardinal sins). He was visibly upset and wanted the calendar put back immediately.
I told him how irregular his visit was and that it would never happen again. He could message me—not call but message—and I would work things in as I had time. I was, after all, doing all of the website work on a volunteer basis, at my own expense, and I had a business to run and a family to care for.
At one point, they messed up the email connected to the site, and after an urgent message from the leader, I fixed it.
The organization’s YouTube channel had been embedded on the site and functioning just fine, but someone apparently didn’t like it, so they deleted the embed code from the website. The director wanted that put back right away, too, so I retrieved the embed code from their channel and put it back on their site.
Client disrespected my time and effort
At their request, I had put a stack of blog posts onto their site, writing/editing each one for them. One day, someone decided they didn’t want the site to have a blog, so . . . you guessed it: they deleted weeks of my work without a word.
They didn’t want it, so it didn’t go back. Do you have any idea how much time—never mind.
There were a few other things I discovered and fixed, too.
Every time something happened, I told the director that it was a problem and that it needed to stop. I said that I didn’t know—nor did I need to know—who was doing those things, but my time is valuable and should be respected.
Website repair costs time and money
When someone broke something that was beyond my ability to repair, I had to pay a week’s worth of my income for a professional web developer to fix it. A week’s income hurts! Just because some people thought they should have their way with the organization’s website and go deleting things willy nilly?! No.
The final straw was when the director contacted me yet again to say, “Oh, no. Our website. It’s broken.” Someone had deleted several pages from the site. He wanted me to put them back somehow (likely to rewrite them).
Once again, I dropped what I was doing. I restored the pages. Fortunately, whoever deleted the pages left them all in the site’s trash, so it wasn’t hard to restore them. But! I never should have had to do it in the first place.
The next day, I wrote the email that I left in Draft mode for a while as I teach people to do in my post on how to fire a bad client. Taking the time to remove emotion from it and to be sure that the email contained everything necessary and only facts was important. Women are rarely listened to anyway (all of those boundary violations are good examples), and if emotion comes into something, everything they say may be thrown out the window. I wanted this tale of two clients to end as smoothly as possible.
Getting a new website hosting account and developer
In that email, I gave them all of the information they needed to have someone else (not me) move and maintain their website. I even listed the tools and the person I strongly recommend they use. There was no reason for them to contact me further, although an expression of gratitude for my years of service would have been nice. At least a “Goodbye, and thanks for all the fish,” ya know?
Instead, the director and the chairman of the board both contacted me to ask why I no longer wanted to be abused and to pay for the privilege. The director was aware of every instance.
Good client with easy website maintenance
Soup Store was a completely different kettle of fish. This nonprofit served people well and generously. They had less than $50,000 at their disposal, which, in case you don’t know, is a very small amount for a nonprofit organization. They had one point of contact for me, and that person was the only one who handled their website, its contents, and anything related to it. In this tale of two clients, they are the heroes.
As with the other organization, I taught that person how to write and post a blog post and how to add pages and media to the site. Anything that was more complicated than that, he came to me about and asked me to handle—as agreed.
Writing, editing, and posting for them was a breeze. Because they didn’t go breaking things, it was a case of easy website maintenance.
Feeling respected in your work
This founder respected my time and didn’t abuse it. The only time he reached out to me was when the organization wanted to add something to the website. By the time our calls were over, he had sent me money every time, even though we had agreed that I’d do the hosting and maintaining pro bono (free). He thanked me for each thing I did, and they followed the rules.
Their board also had their login information, but they didn’t access it because they knew that there was no emergency and they didn’t have any business touching the site unless there was.
When someone respects my time, energy, effort, and expertise… When someone honors a commitment… When someone treats me right, they get to keep me.
Just in case anyone reading this tale of two clients gets the idea that they should come to me for site construction and maintenance, let me be clear: I’m not taking clients for that service. You’ll need to find someone else. There are plenty of great people out there to serve you. I hope you’ll be Soup Store to them and not Blood Bank.