A photographer's bad day

[Gabe]

Saturday night: I get all my gear ready for an early shoot the next day: get the digital body, both memory cards (384 MB combined), two lenses, a silver/gold reflector, my workbook (has sketches for the model, Danika, to use as a reference for poses), a small personal fan for the girl as it's gonna be a hot one tomorrow; throw it all in the (motorcycle) tank bag and go to bed by midnight.

Sunday, 6:30 AM: AwjeezIt'salreadytimetogetupholycrapwhydoIdothis?

7:00 - Out of the shower and much more awake now. Why hasn't the girl called? She said she'd be leaving her place by 7 AM and would call to get exact directions. Well maybe she figured it out on her own.

7:40 - Running late, gotta be there by 8:00 and it's about 30 minutes away. Toss the Icon bag on the tank, secure it, and I'm gone. Some fancy riding and no traffic gets me to the meeting place - the only "big" shopping-center parking lot on the island known as Key Biscayne - right on time. No sign of Danika.

8:30 - I've been patient enough. Call up Danika and wake her fine ass up - she's obviously still sleeping. But all I get is her voice mail. I don't bother with a message.

8:40 - B*tch ain't showing up. Why are so many of these girls so immature? Last weekend I also got stood up by another so-called "model". Damn. Screw it. I head home.

10:00 or so - I fall asleep again, finally, and stay in bed till the afternoon.

4:00 - My editor from the newspaper calls me to confirm for a big reggae concert going on that night. He wanted me to shoot a cricket match (boooooooring!) as well, but I had managed to get out of that.

5:00 - My editor's confirmed that we have passes for the show. When can I be there? Not being a reggae fan (though Elephant Man puts on a helluva show, and he was scheduled to be there), and knowing these things last till the wee hours, I weasel my way into getting there around 8 PM.

8:20 - I park illegally on the sidewalk, out of the way but with half a dozen other bikes. So I've skipped the $10 parking fee, and it's barely a block from the concert. I fight my way through a drunk and stoned crowd, Icon backpack over my shoulder, press credentials round my neck, to get backstage.

In a few minutes I get there, and I'm told by security that photographers are only allowed near the stage for the first two songs from each artist, and then we get pulled out till the next guy comes out. WTF? "They're being d*cks about it," the security dude tells me. No kidding.

The next couple of hours are spent going in and out of the press pit, having to squeeze in between some scaffolding and the little fence holding the audience out. I hear some girls complain about how we are blocking the stage, and that someone's "backpack" (mine or this other photog's? Hm) has got to go as I guess she got hit with it. Oops. Oh that's right, I don't really care...

11:00 or so - By this time, the security guys and the PR flacks are telling us that we can't use any flash. HUH? It's a nighttime concert, folks.... Jeez they're stoopid. Thankfully, my D30 goes up to ISO 1600 and both my lenses are fast, so I manage to get sharp, useable shots anyway. Some of the other photogs don't seem to be as well-prepared.

After getting ushered out of the press pit yet again, I'm sitting on a stage support when this cute girl in these tiny tiny tiny shorts (did I mention that they were tiny?) sits next to me. With nothing to do for the next 30 minutes, I start talking her up. Real friendly girl named Destiny (?). Turns out she's the American dancehall queen of the world. So here I am flirting back and forth with a celeb of sorts. lol. She invites me to some big party tonight, but I doubt I'll go. I've been reggae'd out already.

11:30 - Around this time the crowd goes nuts after Elephant Man (oh but who else? lol) practically goes off the stage to sing to the VIP crowd on the side. The sweaty crowd rushes the fence and it starts to go down. Everybody in the VIP section storms the bottom of the stage, right towards me, to get away. I look up from my camera's LCD, having been worried about the sharpness of my shots, and see what's going on. Instead of running away, I push through the throng to get closer to the upstarts for a good shot. I get one in before things calm back down.

Now the flacks are telling us that we can only shoot for the first song. What the...? So now I have to hope that the damn singer will do something interesting in the first five minutes. By now I could not care less if they throw me out, and I start using my flash again.

Midnight - Weed, weed everyhwere. They're rolling it, smokin' it, tokin' it. It's been like this all night but now it's even worse. I hate this stuff, and I hate the stink of it. I'm glad when I see someone light up next to me and it's just a regular cigarette. Thankfully, I don't ever get contact highs from this crap.

12:30 - The concert is finally over. I get to go home. I hurry back to my bike, a little anxious now about my chosen parking spot. It's still there, though, with no tickets on it and no sign of tampering. I can barely hear the loud Muzzy exhaust can after standing next to those enormous stage speakers all night long...

It feels good to be back on my Ninja, and I rip it up a little on the empty roads on the way back home.