I was 23 years old, fresh out of college and landing what I thought was my big break. The company looked legitimate — it had a professional website, a steady stream of wedding clients and an office in Orange County, California. I had spent years filming weddings on my own, grinding to make money and here was a business that had it all figured out. Or so I thought.
Within three months, I would be drowning in client complaints, taking furious calls from brides and watching a so-called business unravel in real time. The moment that broke me came when a crying bride called me in sheer panic — her wedding videographer never showed up. Her father was furious and I was the only person picking up the phone.
That was the day I quit and that was the day I learned what kind of business I would never run.
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The “too good to be true” offer
I had been filming weddings since high school, running my own small video business. I skipped the student film phase in college because I didn’t see the point. Why make movies for a grade when I could make them for a paycheck?
One day, John (not his real name) contacted me. He owned a wedding video company and had seen my work. “I like what you’re doing,” he said. “Want to shoot weddings for me?” It was an easy yes. No selling, no marketing — just $400 per wedding and go home. Then, after a few months, he made me another offer: VP of Operations.
I was just out of college and someone was calling me a VP. I didn’t even know what it meant, but it sounded important. A leadership role at an established company? I accepted.
The business looked legit
On my first day as VP, I walked into the office ready to learn, but John wasn’t there. The phone rang and I answered. “Where the hell is my wedding video?” I apologized, took down their information, and promised to follow up. Minutes later, another call. Same problem. Then another. I checked my email. There were hundreds of messages from furious couples.
John, it’s been 18 months. Where’s my video?
John, I’m taking you to court.
John, you ruined our wedding.
Except I wasn’t John, I was just the guy dumb enough to show up. I started digging and what I found was a disaster in the making. John’s business model was built on one thing: being the cheapest option. $799 for a wedding film. Sounds like a great deal, right? The average wedding videographer charges $4,000 or more, so brides jumped at the bargain. But here was the real breakdown:
- Lead shooter: $300
- Second shooter: $200
- Editor: $200
- $99 left for “profit”
That “profit” was supposed to cover rent, marketing, payroll, refunds, and mistakes. It didn’t. To keep the business afloat, John booked as many weddings as possible. We were filming eight, ten, sometimes twelve weddings a weekend. There was no quality control, no customer service, and no plan for delivering videos on time. And because we paid so little, videographers started not showing up to weddings.
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“She’ll get it when she gets it“
It wasn’t just the clients getting screwed. Videographers — many of whom had been with the company for years — started emailing me directly. Hey, when do I get paid for last month’s wedding? Hey, it’s been three months. Any update?
I went to John. “Jennifer has been shooting weddings for you for years, she just wants to know when she’s getting paid,” I pleaded on behalf of one of the longtime staff.
“She’s fine,” he shrugged. “She’ll get it when she gets it.” That was the moment I realized this wasn’t even a real company.
The breaking point
I stuck it out for three months, hoping things would turn around. Then came the phone call that broke me. I was at a graduation party when my phone rang. It was a crying, panicked bride. “My videographer isn’t here,” she sobbed. I stepped away from my family, my stomach in knots. I checked our system. There was no videographer assigned. John had forgotten.
The bride’s father took the phone. He was furious. I wanted to fix it, so I almost wired $1,000 of my own money to get someone there last minute. My dad stopped me. “You’ll never get that back,” he said. “This isn’t your battle.” And he was right. I quit the next day.
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The lessons learned
That experience shaped everything I do now. I learned that being the cheapest option attracts the worst clients, the worst vendors and the worst problems. It also showed me the importance of customer loyalty. It’s not just about delivering a product, it’s about caring when something goes wrong. Answer the phone. Do the work. Make it right.
Busy doesn’t mean profitable: John bragged about doing 300 weddings a year. But his business was losing money. Growth without profit is just speed-running to bankruptcy. And while we’re on that note, I learned that a website, an office and a logo don’t make a business —execution does.
Finally, I learned that some businesses aren’t meant to be saved. I couldn’t fix this disaster, I could only learn from it.
Walking Away Was the Best Decision of My Life
The business collapsed within a year. Me? I built a company that does the exact opposite of everything I witnessed there. We don’t undercharge and we don’t ghost clients. I love running Franchise Filming — and we love helping franchise brands tell their story on video. And when a franchise brand hires us, they get exactly what they paid for. No lies, no chaos and no crying brides. That’s how a business should be run.
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