Spanning the Gamut from Dumb to Dumber

Until today, I had never met a photographer that actually got in to the profession to meet girls (and I've worked for people who've shot for Playboy). Photo shoots, even sexytime photo shoots, become progressively banal when they are someone's daily bread and butter. This said, no one I know honestly uses the occupation "photographer" to pick up chicks.

The key is that one has to shoot models EVERY DAY or otherwise the hot-girl-oggling sensibility never gets worn down to the point of being able to distinguish a classy photo shoot from the cheesiest crap ever shat into existence. Models, for their part, should not assume that the photographer is going to "further" her career. The photographer isn't much more than a monkey trained in art of photographic composition, and if they had been modeling for awhile, then they should know it's only going to be fruitful to cozy up with the magazine editor.

Today I had to cope with a forty-year-old man who still very much thinks with his second head when it comes to photographing women. This was a person that, had I not seen his face, would've guessed he was a first year student trying to get some extra-curricular shots for his school portfolio. Like a true studmuffin, he waltzed into the studio today (he was renting it just for the afternoon) and popped a mixed CD into the stereo. "Can we listen to my girl's favorite music?" he asked moments before the pop music intro sonically raped my eardrums.

While his model did her own makeup in the bathroom, the fellow tried to chat me up for a few minutes. "Do you like Lady Gaga? This music is the bomb! It's so fresh!" I stared at this fashion victim. Old boy was dressed like it was 1992: Frosted, shoulder-length body wave- gelled, of course, a billowy red silk dress shirt and a pair of Z Cavarrici's cinched with a tri-color braided leather belt. I almost fell out of my chair.

I tried to be nice and make small talk. "What agency is she with?", referring to the overly tan, bleached blond in the bathroom.

He said "Um, Tom's. Tom's Models."

"Oh, Tom's! I heard they broke from Elite last year", biting my tongue so as to not loose it.

He looked at me blankly.

"Do you mostly shoot CP?", I ventured?

He again looked at me quizzically.

"Do you shoot things for commercial print or editorial purposes?

He mumbled, "Um, well this will be...printed...on paper.

Mentally smacking my forehead, I simplified "Are you shooting for your own portfolio?"

"Yes!", he said confidently "These are going in my portfolio!"

"Ah, so you're testing today," I said.

His features lost confidence so I explained: "You're not shooting for a client, you're just shooting for you." He answered with a shit-eating grin. "Go get her, Tiger! I said as ridiculously as I could as the model emerged from the bathroom.

This woman had not modeled for any length of time and was taken aback when he asked her if she could lie on the floor. Since studio was laid out shotgun-style with my desk at the front of the room and everything else behind me, I swiveled in my chair to watch the shenanigans. The model, who I'll call Peaches, was clad only in a pair of black boyshorts, a corset-style camisole and 4-inch heels. She looked like she was ready for the stripper pole.

"Um, so if you could just lie down and maybe put your legs up in the air...oh that's it, that's right, make love to the camera, that's so fresh, I thought you said that you hadn't done this before!" Gertie came out of her studio to watch, and remarked on how well everything was going. "The model's got a great smile!" She said. The guest photographer heartily agreed. "She spans the full gamut, her range goes from happy to sexy!"

I thought my ears would explode from the onslaught of garbage I was hearing, so I swiveled again to behold a spectacle of soft-porn, but the model was only striking caricature Pilates pose. "Good God, it's the dumb leading the dumber out here", I thought.

I tried to concentrate on my work, but Lady Gag-me was now making it exceedingly difficult. "Romrom Rom Ma Maa, Ah Ah Ooh La La I want your romance!"
Does anybody over the age of 14 actually listen to this drivel?
Don't answer that. I've heard enough bullshit for today.

Fangs For the Lunch Special

Gertie said "I'm going to the grocery store for lunch. I was going to go to Quizno's but I guess as a vegan, you can't eat anything from there."

I thought, "God no. Those veggie-and-no-cheese sandwiches are poison to a veejin!", but I responded, "I'm good, I brought my lunch."

"No meat in there?"

"No meat."

"Just making sure. Me, well I'm going to get one of those fangs-come-out deals from the deli. You know what that is, dontcha?"

I had misheard "thangs come out" and tried to formulate some theory of sexual innuendo tied to lunch specials before she interrupted.

"You know, meat makes your fangs come out, as opposed to vegetables which make your fangs go in."

I'm perfecting the art of the blank stare.

"You know! Like an animal! Their fangs come out when they eat meat and go back in when they don't! So today I'm going to eat like an animal, get it?"

Instead of staring, I nodded to stop her from continuing.

I don't know what mammal has retractable fucking teeth, but I bet it doesn't have a damn thing to do with eating meat! All I can think of are snakes, and if they're anything like me, they have their fangs barred to attack her bigoted ass.

Racist Wednesday

Cutting to the chase, I'm presenting today: Things Overheard at Work:

(Paraphrasing an) Irate Client over the Phone: I want it when I want it and I want it now!

Me: Wow. Sounds like she's got it in for you, Gertie.

Gertie (rolling eyes): Well, she's Jewish. You know how they are. I mean, she's actually from Romania, but you know what I mean.

Me: Did you really just say what I think you said? Jeez, Gertie! I could be Jewish!

Gertie: Yeah, but you're not. You're Catholic, right?

Me: Let's talk about what's wrong with that statement.

Gertie: I think I hear the phone ringing.

Later that day:

Gertie, (to a leaving client): ...So, goodbye Mrs. Chan, we'll have those pictures for you soon! (To me) If I had known she was coming, I would've ordered chicken fried rice, ha!

Me (slowly): To share with her?

Gertie: No! Because she's Chinese. Ring a bell?

Me: (Blank stare.)

Gertie: A lot of Chinese people come over here to work in Chinese restaurants, right?

Me: Ah, you wanted to order lunch from her. You would really ask a paying client to bring you lunch?

Gertie: Oh she doesn't really work in a Chinese restaurant. Girl, you gotta lighten up!

Later on:

Gertie, (to me): This index print is hard to read. You made the type too small. I guess it'll have to do, I'm sending it with the order to the book binder's today.
I sure hope their Mexicans can read!

Me: (Blank stare.)

Gertie: Our book binders? They're in Mexico.

Me: Actually, they're in San Diego.

****

Yay, my job is like slapstick for racists!