I worked as a photographer's assistant today. It is a position I enjoy...usually.
Today was an all day shoot of hundreds of dancers, ages 2 through 18 or 19. The dancers were all in such beautiful costumes and incredibly cute or beautiful or both. A couple were just as incredibly grumpy and uncooperative.
But, no matter the difficulties with the little ones, in no way did it compare to some of the mothers (and 1 dad). Some of the mothers were just wonderful and not surprisingly, so were their children.
Some of my duties included keeping the adults from knocking over light stands, tripping on wires, distracting their children from the photographer and trying to keep them quiet so that the kids could hear the photographer's directions.
When I asked the mom's to please step behind the line, or not to use flash as it will mess up the professional photo which other people have payed for or distract the kids or just hold their voices down....OMG....one would think I had just asked the Queen of England to pole dance.
They did their best to let me know that I was "no one" and therefore my requests were to be ignored. It was funny, the more unruly and rude the parents were, the more unruly the children were,. Funny how that works, huh?
About half way through the day I ran up to the bathroom. When I walked in a mother gave me a really ugly look (wish her face had stayed that way, actually, it kind of did!). While I was washing my hands the woman's little girl said, "Look, Mommy, there's the mean girl!"
Oh, the responses that flew through my head:
1. Oh, Mom, you want mean? I'll show you mean.
2. Funny, how you, precious child, think I am the "mean girl" when you were with the photographer 15 feet away from me while I was wrestling with your uncooperative mother.
3. Mean Girl! Freakin' A!
Instead, I smiled at her and smiled at her mom and left the room.
Let me tell you why I was helping. Why I had to, sometimes, be more forceful than was actually necessary.
There were electrical wires, expensive equipment and equipment that if one of you mother's, or your unsupervised toddlers or dancers, had tripped or fallen or knocked over, someone could have seriously been hurt. Or you would have been paying the photographer and his lawyer, as well as the Convention Center lawyers and your lawyers large amounts for reparations.
I asked you several times in my "nice girl" voice but, apparently, you don't speak "nice girl".
I, also, wanted your pictures to be pretty and your pretty little face to be seen, but your mom kept talking and calling out your name and we would only have gotten a profile, or the back of your head or your pretty costume pulled over your face because you were done with the chaos and moms! When the photographer was trying to direct other groups it would have taken twice as long, so by the time you got to take your group shot you would be tired, cranky, hungry and beyond itchy in your crinoline skirt. You would have been making the "this-isn't-fun-anymore" face or crying. Or your mom and 1 very obnoxious dad would have ruined the picture by washing it out with the flash of their cameras, I-phones and I-pads.
"Mommy, is this my picture when I was a ballerina? How come my face is a big bright light and my forehead looks so big?"
Next year, I am going to wear my tall pointy black hat, paint my face green, park my broom next to the sign-in table and I am going to show you moms what "mean girl" means.
I'm hoping several of you mothers return because my nice-lady-trying-to-help personality ran away about 3:30 today and might not ever come back.
p.s. Moms and 1 obnoxious dad, when your kid climbs out the bedroom window when they are 14 to catch a bus to anywhere-but-here seriously think about what you taught them about honoring and respecting authority and boundaries.
Today was an all day shoot of hundreds of dancers, ages 2 through 18 or 19. The dancers were all in such beautiful costumes and incredibly cute or beautiful or both. A couple were just as incredibly grumpy and uncooperative.
But, no matter the difficulties with the little ones, in no way did it compare to some of the mothers (and 1 dad). Some of the mothers were just wonderful and not surprisingly, so were their children.
Some of my duties included keeping the adults from knocking over light stands, tripping on wires, distracting their children from the photographer and trying to keep them quiet so that the kids could hear the photographer's directions.
When I asked the mom's to please step behind the line, or not to use flash as it will mess up the professional photo which other people have payed for or distract the kids or just hold their voices down....OMG....one would think I had just asked the Queen of England to pole dance.
They did their best to let me know that I was "no one" and therefore my requests were to be ignored. It was funny, the more unruly and rude the parents were, the more unruly the children were,. Funny how that works, huh?
About half way through the day I ran up to the bathroom. When I walked in a mother gave me a really ugly look (wish her face had stayed that way, actually, it kind of did!). While I was washing my hands the woman's little girl said, "Look, Mommy, there's the mean girl!"
Oh, the responses that flew through my head:1. Oh, Mom, you want mean? I'll show you mean.
2. Funny, how you, precious child, think I am the "mean girl" when you were with the photographer 15 feet away from me while I was wrestling with your uncooperative mother.
3. Mean Girl! Freakin' A!
Instead, I smiled at her and smiled at her mom and left the room.
Let me tell you why I was helping. Why I had to, sometimes, be more forceful than was actually necessary.
There were electrical wires, expensive equipment and equipment that if one of you mother's, or your unsupervised toddlers or dancers, had tripped or fallen or knocked over, someone could have seriously been hurt. Or you would have been paying the photographer and his lawyer, as well as the Convention Center lawyers and your lawyers large amounts for reparations.
I asked you several times in my "nice girl" voice but, apparently, you don't speak "nice girl".
I, also, wanted your pictures to be pretty and your pretty little face to be seen, but your mom kept talking and calling out your name and we would only have gotten a profile, or the back of your head or your pretty costume pulled over your face because you were done with the chaos and moms! When the photographer was trying to direct other groups it would have taken twice as long, so by the time you got to take your group shot you would be tired, cranky, hungry and beyond itchy in your crinoline skirt. You would have been making the "this-isn't-fun-anymore" face or crying. Or your mom and 1 very obnoxious dad would have ruined the picture by washing it out with the flash of their cameras, I-phones and I-pads.
"Mommy, is this my picture when I was a ballerina? How come my face is a big bright light and my forehead looks so big?"
Next year, I am going to wear my tall pointy black hat, paint my face green, park my broom next to the sign-in table and I am going to show you moms what "mean girl" means.
I'm hoping several of you mothers return because my nice-lady-trying-to-help personality ran away about 3:30 today and might not ever come back.
p.s. Moms and 1 obnoxious dad, when your kid climbs out the bedroom window when they are 14 to catch a bus to anywhere-but-here seriously think about what you taught them about honoring and respecting authority and boundaries.
Huzzah! from a PTA Dad!
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