(The image above is a baby my cousin watches from time to time - she is not one of the kids in the story)
I spent my hour lunch break crying in my car.
Why?
An old lady wearing yellow slacks and a floral print blouse told me off.
She was a customer who didn’t like the pictures of her grandkids.
Standing outside the portrait studio, she waved her hand through the air saying, “I’m really angry right now. I know you’re new…”
I interrupted with, “I’m not new.” (In my head I was counting all 8 agonizing months I spent dealing with customers who thought they could lord over anyone wearing a nametag)
Her eyes became squinty and her voice got louder, “Don’t interrupt me! You act like you’re new! You did a terrible job! It took us a long time to get the kids ready and we specifically told you we wanted blah blah blah…”
In the name of cheap retail photography, I face these women (and the occasional men – but let’s face it, it’s mostly women). We move three paces away from each other, hold our hands out in front like swords and we attack.
They open with a death blow…
“Horrible Photographer,”
I counter the attack with an equally fatal maneuver…
“Horrible Children,”
The battle continues until one of us blinks, admits defeat and awards the victor a forfeit.
I’ve given and received many battle scars.
Old ladies are my weakness.
They deliver the hardest punches.
And so I spent my lunch break crying in my car.
