The employer lost money. Where did it go?
Or the hotelier who couldn't convert his hotel: He lost money. Where did it go?
It didn't go to the labor: The film crew didn't get paid more. Nor did the drooling moron maintenance staff.
Energy cannot be created or destroyed. It can only be converted. The "lost money" was converted into another form of energy: It was converted into political power. This political power was then used by those who control the union.
So, as usual, the labor came out empty-handed.
Let's see what you get for being a member of a union:
- You require another man's permission to work. (The union.)
- You cannot negotiate for greater compensation on the merits of your own work.
- The fruits of your labors must be shared with the dullards among you.
- If someone tells you to stop working, you must do so.
- A percentage of your compensation is converted into political power and delivered to those who control the union.
So, as usual, the labor comes out on the losing end of the stick. Oh, you're being exploited, alright: But not by a transaction partner who wishes to sell his product (pay) for what the market (you) will bear. ...You're being exploited by labor unions who steal from you.
The destruction of that union is the best thing that could ever happen to writers.. (The ones who are competent, anyway.)
"Hey, Chris... I, uh, need some writing done... Are you busy right now?"
"Well, Mr. Producer... I'm kind of busy, but I think I may have some down time in a couple months. What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing big... I need some voiceover copy for a douche commercial. It won't pay a ton but it needs doing anyway. ...Anything you're interested in?"
"Yeah... It's fine that it's low priority because my time is kind of catch-as-catch-can right now. ...How's a grand sound?"
"We're not even sure we're going with the douche manufacturer, so I can't know that we'll use the copy. ...How's five hundred for fifteen seconds of copy?"
"Yeah, that's fine. Email me your ideas and I'll bang something out. ...Shake on it?"
[Union rep waltzes in] "Hey!!! You can't do that!!! You two adult humanoids cannot enter into a private arrangement amongst yourselves!!! You need my permission, and I say no!!! No, no no!!! ...Where's my cut, anyway?..."
[Chris and the producer look at each other and then at the union rep and instruct in unison:] "Get the fuck out of here, you fuckin' parasite."