Last spring, I got an email that started with “We can’t pay you, but…” and ended with my soul leaving my body. The client—a startup “visionary” with a vape pen and a logo sketched on a napkin—offered me “exposure” for a full site build. Exposure. As if 30 years of web design left me desperate to be seen. I pictured myself waving at the electric company: “Look, I’m famous—can you keep the lights on?” Spoiler: they don’t take clout as currency. So, I sent an invoice for oxygen—because if we’re bartering intangibles, I need to breathe through this nonsense.

It went down like this. Vape Guy needed a sleek e-commerce setup—custom cart, snappy UX, the works. I quoted him fair, because I’m not the jerk who charges Silicon Valley rates from a semi-retired recliner. He countered with, “This’ll get you in front of our 12 Instagram followers.” Twelve. I’ve spilled more coffee than that in a single debug session. I laughed—dryly, because my face forgot how to fake it after three decades—then built half the site before he ghosted me mid-Slack thread. Exposure doesn’t pay for my Wi-Fi, pal.

Here’s the human bit: I’m not above a good barter. In ’98, I swapped a homepage for a case of beer—craft, not swill. But 2025? The game’s changed. Clients think “exposure” is a golden ticket, not realizing it’s Monopoly money in a world of VPN bills and overpriced oat milk. I finished the site—because I’m stubborn, not saintly—then emailed my Oxygen Invoice: “$500 for air consumed during your project. Venmo preferred.” He didn’t reply, but I slept fine.

Now, the no-nonsense part. Pricing digital work in 2025 isn’t rocket science—it’s survival. First, know your worth: 30 years means I charge for scars, not just hours. Base rate? $100/hour, minimum, adjusted for clients who say “NFT” too loudly. Second, scope it tight—Vape Guy got a 10-page contract he didn’t read, which is why I own his napkin sketch now (kidding—maybe). Third, upfront deposits—50% or I don’t touch a div. Exposure’s a myth; cash is king. Last year, I pulled $80K from freelance gigs, no “visibility” BS included. That’s fact, not flex.

The satire? Clients like Vape Guy are time capsules—dot-com dreamers reborn with worse haircuts. They think “exposure” buys my groceries because TikTok told them so. I’d rather trade for a sandwich than a hashtag. The win? I’ve learned to spot these clowns a mile off—vague briefs, buzzword salad, “we’re like Amazon but smaller.” My Oxygen Invoice’s my shield now, a petty jab that says, “Pay me, or I’ll bill you for blinking.”

Three decades in, I’m done with bartering for fairy dust. Digital work’s real—sweat, code, and coffee stains—so the price is too. If “exposure” paid bills, I’d be a billionaire from every “just one more tweak” since ’95. Until then, I’ll keep invoicing oxygen, smirking at the chaos, and building sites that don’t need a vape cloud to shine.