Picture This...

I woke up two hours before my alarm was supposed to go off; I was anxious.  The day was to be full of unknowns, but one thing I knew, as the early morning light wrapped its fingers around the corners my shades, was that I hadn’t slept enough.  The last time I remember looking at my clock was at 2:47 am, and I’d rolled over, letting out a hybrid sigh of frustration and exhaustion. 

Now it was time for me to get dressed.  I felt as if it was the first day of school.  I brushed my teeth, got in the shower and then proceeded to fuss with my hair until the jury behind my eyes approved it.

First day memories from someone else’s childhood flooded through me; grabbing the brown bag lunch, rushing out the door, rubbing my mother’s kiss off my cheek as she called my name while I dashed across the lawn.  I’d stop just long enough to turn around, wearing a ready-made smile as the sound of the camera’s shutter mated with the chirping birds.  Only I don’t remember my mother ever taking extensive documentation of my first day of school.

Today would certainly be no different, there was to be a camera involved but I wasn’t going to be documented, I was to be the documenter.  I charged down the stairs, two at a time, and walked out to the under-cast sky.  No green lawn, brown bag lunch, or mother; just pavement, a banana stuffed in my coat pocket, and Timur, waiting in the car to wisk me away to my first paying photography job.

It took us forever to find a parking space by the Lower East Side park we were trying to get to.  I began to feel as if I’d slept for fewer hours than it took us to circle the streets of Chinatown.  Our collective frustration waned as we pulled up outside the iron gates protecting the gleaming playground with plenty of time to spare. 

Camera crews were setting up a mini film village underneath a white canopy populated with school children.  I took a deep breath, slung a tripod over my shoulder and waddled around the block to the entrance of the park.  A text message the night before had given me my assignment (should I choose to accept it) of photographing a tree planting ceremony.  Of all the places I thought I’d be when I first got sick, the last place I would have told you was a tree planting ceremony with a professional camera in hand.  Yet there I was, and I was excited.

(Kids get their environmental hats on.)

Intimidation started to get the best of me while I watched the other photographers, all ten at least ten years older than me.  Their cameras were bigger, their eyes had seen more, and they knew the rules of the game.  I felt as if I had a giant red stamp on my forehead: “novice.” 

“Just follow the other photographers’ lead, and take pictures of everything,” Timur said to me.  “Everything,” he reiterated. 

After a few nervous glances at the other photographers, I started circling the area.  Children called out to me, requesting their moment in front of the lens.  I turned and snapped; each shot like a brick, building a wall of confidence.  Before I knew it, the ceremony had begun and the first speaker took the podium. 

All of the photographers rushed to the front and we went to work.  Shutters went off at such a rapid pace that we sounded like a pack of snipers with muted gunfire.  I crawled over benches and snuck behind trees, utilizing the remnants of my dancer flexibility to acquire more agile angles than the older photographers surrounding me.

(Timur zooms in on the proceedings.)

The events moved us from the podium to a nearby tree (the first of a million that will planted in NYC during the “Million Tree Month,” that was the reason for our attendance) and the true test began.  Photographers around me started barking out orders (“Can we all move back!” “Over here!”) as we jostled for a position in the cramped space.  Some stood on park benches, others knelt in the dirt, and we created a warped cheerleading pyramid that I worried was only moments from toppling over. 

The only woman photographer, whose wide-angle lens had been blocking my shots all morning, started to crawl over a bench and I offered her a helping hand (which, also, may as well have had “novice” stamped on it; manners were not one of the reining attributes).  She gave me a skeptical glance and proceeded to grab my hand.  Just as her leg passed over the wooden back of the bench, it caught between a crevice and she began to fall.  Most people would go for the sturdiest looking thing in sight; apparently it was my crotch.  Her hand, which had only moments before been blocking a shot of mine, was now grabbing my crotch like it was a piece of fruit she was checking for bruises. 

Her apologetic eyes met mine for a brief moment and I realized it was the first human moment I’d seen from her all day.  Before I had time to digest it, a photo op presented itself and I flung my camera up to my face and began snapping. 

After the children shoveled dirt with the environmental representatives for the ravenous press, the event was over.  Crews came into the park to dismantle banners and tents that stood erect and polished moments before.  As I stood beneath one of the trees that hovered over the seedlings that had just been planted, I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder.  I spun around to see the face of the woman who had played doctor with me only moments before.

“I just wanted to apologize for that moment a few minutes ago,” she said, camera dangling from her arm as she stuttered over her words.  “Not to worry,” I exclaimed. “I’m a dancer, so I’m used to all types of accidental inappropriate touching,” as visions of getting kneed in the crotch, or going for a girls arm but accidentally landing on her boob ran through my mind. 

The humor resonated on her face for a moment, and she let her guard down.   But her seasoned photographer ears heard a photo-op in the distance and she spun and ran towards the unknown.

I turned around and surveyed the remains of what had just happened.  Less than a year ago I was dancing for a living and I’d just finished my first paying photography gig.  Two questions passed through my head: Who knew I’d be groped doing what I thought was a "hands off" profession?  But more importantly: Who knows what adventure is in store next?

Comments

[Nick]

Ah! SO EXCITING. Loved this post and so proud of you with your new career as a professional photog. Too bad isn't wasn't a cute guy who fell into you on accident, though, right?

[Natalie D.]

What an exciting day! And so funny when that woman gropped you. I hope you got some great shots!

[jolene]

Hilarious, thanks for the early Monday morning laugh. It sort of reminds me of med school. That is, the statement that "manners were not one of the reining attributes", the competitiveness, and what we must look like to outsiders. Not the inappropriate touching.