Last Minute Shopping

Out on the town I feel it. At parties and walking in the streets of The City I love, I see it. Window displays beckon invitingly, while panhandlers and street musicians double their efforts trying to take advantage of the season of sharing. I feel the elusive Christmas spirit.

I am doing my usual last minute shopping for an image that I can turn into a holiday card. Shopping means cruising, trolling and fantasizing; meandering around city streets shooting random stuff and wishing the light was better. I picture Mary Ellen Mark’s photo of Santa Claus on break, eating a bowl of soup. I think maybe I can find him today, on Muni with a latte. Instead of a cigarette he’ll be chomping on some Nicorette and plugged in to his iPod, oblivious to the rest of humanity.

It’s my birthday and all my friends are with me in spirit. They keep calling, sending cards and taking me out to lunch. My best friend Jen sings to me and sends me a parcel of toys to brighten my day. My boss buys me a cake. I get gifts from people I haven’t seen in years. This is my best birthday ever and its Christmas time in The City. I make a good photo of City Hall and as usual, last minute shopping pays off.

Being There

It’s hard to know when to say no. I don’t like saying it when it comes to my job. I tend to think nothing is impossible, but the reality is I oftentimes take on more work than I should.

My day starts with a speedy drive to the San Mateo Superior Court, where I photograph a judge that loves talking shop with me. I wind my way though traffic back to San Francisco and when I walk in, the editors are asking if I can run over and shoot a section of the Aids Memorial Quilt at the law firm Heller Ehrman. My thoughts are no, I say everything but, “I am too busy.” The truth is, I am really too busy. I am backed up from days of neglecting non-time sensitive stuff and it has piled up—literally. I begrudgingly grab my camera and head out.

I hustle over to the firm and travel up 34 floors to reception. I didn’t bother to call ahead. I’m feeling edgy as I say, “I am with the Recorder, and I am here to shoot some photos of the quilt.” Surprisingly, the receptionist doesn’t immediately say yes. When you have been doing journalism for a while you know that there are two kinds of stories; ones that they bend over backwards to have you cover and ones they try to stop you from reporting on. This one seems like a ringer for back-bending acrobatics. She is calling the dude in charge of the quilt, which is roped off in the center of the lobby and I am really starting to squirm.

My impatience is growing as I imagine more notes, work orders and photo requests stacking up on my chair. Seconds seem like hours. The receptionist asks me if I want to get started and I jump at the chance.

The dude shows up. I talk to him for a while. He tells me he was at the firm 15 years ago when the quilt was first stitched together and that he remembers all 15 people listed on it. He explains how they have since quilted a new section for additional people that have died. I suddenly realize how important this is. I feel like dropping to my knees. I almost said no to being here and I am so unbelievably glad that I didn’t. Now, I just wish I could have gotten a better photo.