I celebrated life in general (and working nights, specifically) this morning by wandering down to the Sainte Mary’s River and the boardwalk with my camera at the very friggin’ crack of dawn.
It seemed like a good way to celebrate, since this is the first Wednesday since mid-April or so that I don’t feel concerned about that extra shift I’m working at the Everything Store.
And y’all know what I think of Wednesdays. Yes, you do.
I don’t know what possessed me to agree to the extra shift on an on-going basis (who am I kidding – I want the money, don’t I?), but I’m not sure I can carry on much longer working six nights a week without killing somebody.
In fact, I nearly killed somebody early this morning… or maybe it was that somebody nearly killed me.
I had a great walk down to the boardwalk – I finally got a really good shot of the mortar and pestle that you see up at the top there, that sits on top of what was once a pharmacy way back in the good ol’ days of Queen Street.
Every time I’ve acquired a new camera since 2005, I have taken this same shot with it at one time or another. This morning was the first time I happened to be down there with the SX30 in hand, and I’m pleased enough with the picture that I doubt I’ll feel the need to take another one whenever I should replace the camera.
If I ever replace the camera.
Because of the crazy loud lady that may have killed my love for amateur photography forever. At least, any form of photography involving me holding a camera anywhere in a public place where there might possibly be people about.
Don’t worry – I’ll get to Crazy Loud Lady shortly.
It’s not like I’ve never had people get upset with me taking photos before – the picture attached to this post, for example, is one of a really great series I took with my little A550, just before another Crazy Loud Lady came stomping up the street after me, screaming, demanding that I delete all my photos.
Except she wasn’t crazy, she just misunderstood what I was taking photos of, and once I showed her my camera roll, she immediately mellowed out and even apologized to me (she’d thought I was taking photos of her neighbours through their fence – understandable, I suppose).
And then there was the son-of-a-bitch asshole that allowed me to take photos of the interior of an indoor sports complex a couple of years ago; I managed to take three photos – one of the rafters, one long shot of a chalk line on the floor, and a macro of the artificial turf – before he had second thoughts about having the authority to give permission for photography, and asked me to call So-and-So about it, before handing me a phone number.
No problem – I’ll just call So-and-So later this month.
And a week later, two cops show up at my workplace to inform me that Son-of-a-Bitch Asshole lodged a complaint against me for taking unauthorized photos during a soccer practice, as well as inform me that should I darken the door of said sports complex again in future (camera or no camera), I would be charged with trespassing. I’m not sure who got louder or angrier during that particular confrontation, me, or the loud and rude and boorish not-quite-a-lady cop who outright accused me of attempted child porn, but it was a close match, I’ll tell you that much. I like to think I won the argument, because I wasn’t arrested and the much calmer police officer partner of Not-Quite-a-Lady Cop actually took her by the arm and walked her out the door.
Oddly, I never saw Son-of-a-Bitch Asshole darken the door of my workplace again after that incident, either – he who was once a regular customer. Hmmmm….
Today, though, was the straw to finally break the camel’s back. I was on my way home via Cathcart Street, my old stomping grounds, with my camera card nearly full, and me full of happiness and sunlight and joy, dammit, when I stopped to take some shots of the steeple atop the Blessed Sacrament Church.
I took three.
Three. What is it with three, dammit?!
And then the loudest, largest, craziest lady in Sault Ste. Marie came
out of her house and into my face. I could get no word in edge-wise, and every time I did manage to get a word out, she actually managed to scream even louder and get even closer to my face. I finally just gave up, turned my back and walked away, wiping spittle off of my face and praying she wasn’t nuts enough to jump me from behind.
Anyway…. here’s that third steeple picture. I think it may very well be my last.
Random Song-for-the-Day: “Shut Up and Dance” – Walk the Moon
The Les Becker Bookshop.