I was in Old Navy in the South Bay shopping center the other day and saw this parade of mannequins wearing bikinis. I thought, “I wish I had my camera,” which is what I say every time I see a picture I want to take. You should see how many photos I don’t want to take when I actually am lugging around my Canon.
So, I went back tonight, and began feeling pretty weird. I found myself hoping for an empty store. Yes, I needed some pics for a future painting— and this weird image fits in so well in the series I am doing— but who takes pictures of mannequins in a store? Anything for art, I thought, as I paced around and tried to screw my courage up all while shopping for cargo shorts.
After the second pic, I moved the camera away from my face. A woman in a black tee shirt had appeared.
“I’m sorry sir, we cannot allow you to take pictures inside the store.”
Where did she appear from? Who was this “we”? Were there more women in black tees who would tackle me if I took another pic?
I said “OK,” feeling vaguely creepy, “I didn’t know that.” Now that I knew how valuable these photos were I was afraid she would wrestle my camera away. So, I continued to bargain shop.
I am positive that I overheard her relaying the story of her brilliant detective work to another employee while I tried to find my size in the khakis. There was an underpinning to her delivery that conveyed, “there’s the freak who loves mannequins.”
I suddenly empathized with Andrew McCarthy’s character when he fell for Kim Barnes in the movie “Manequin.”. I could practically hear Starship singing “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now.” So, I grabbed one of the mannequins— the blonde— and bolted for the door.
OK, that last part didn’t happen. Or the second-to-last part. I didn’t hear Starship. Thank God.
But it made me think about my buddies in high school who would go to Taco Bell or Mickey D’s and order something and pretend they got the wrong order so they would get it free if they complained enough. I envision a future where people hold blog blackmails to big corporations where they demand cash and prizes to remove bad reviews of service and merchandise.
Luckily, I have always been too greedy to go to all the trouble to get a free Quarter Pounder. I would usually be back in line ordering a second round before my friend had cajoled his way into a free chicken sandwich.
The moral of the story? Don’t take pics of Angelina Jolie, George Clooney, or Old Navy mannequins unless you are prepared to deal with their wrath. I may be the first member of a new avant-garde mannequin paparazzi.
“So if this world runs out of lovers
we’ll still have each other
nothing’s gonna stop us
(nothing’s gonna stop us)
now.”
So, I went back tonight, and began feeling pretty weird. I found myself hoping for an empty store. Yes, I needed some pics for a future painting— and this weird image fits in so well in the series I am doing— but who takes pictures of mannequins in a store? Anything for art, I thought, as I paced around and tried to screw my courage up all while shopping for cargo shorts.
After the second pic, I moved the camera away from my face. A woman in a black tee shirt had appeared.
“I’m sorry sir, we cannot allow you to take pictures inside the store.”
Where did she appear from? Who was this “we”? Were there more women in black tees who would tackle me if I took another pic?
I said “OK,” feeling vaguely creepy, “I didn’t know that.” Now that I knew how valuable these photos were I was afraid she would wrestle my camera away. So, I continued to bargain shop.
I am positive that I overheard her relaying the story of her brilliant detective work to another employee while I tried to find my size in the khakis. There was an underpinning to her delivery that conveyed, “there’s the freak who loves mannequins.”
I suddenly empathized with Andrew McCarthy’s character when he fell for Kim Barnes in the movie “Manequin.”. I could practically hear Starship singing “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now.” So, I grabbed one of the mannequins— the blonde— and bolted for the door.
OK, that last part didn’t happen. Or the second-to-last part. I didn’t hear Starship. Thank God.
But it made me think about my buddies in high school who would go to Taco Bell or Mickey D’s and order something and pretend they got the wrong order so they would get it free if they complained enough. I envision a future where people hold blog blackmails to big corporations where they demand cash and prizes to remove bad reviews of service and merchandise.
Luckily, I have always been too greedy to go to all the trouble to get a free Quarter Pounder. I would usually be back in line ordering a second round before my friend had cajoled his way into a free chicken sandwich.
The moral of the story? Don’t take pics of Angelina Jolie, George Clooney, or Old Navy mannequins unless you are prepared to deal with their wrath. I may be the first member of a new avant-garde mannequin paparazzi.
“So if this world runs out of lovers
we’ll still have each other
nothing’s gonna stop us
(nothing’s gonna stop us)
now.”
No comments:
Post a Comment