Busy

I’ve got a reception to shoot after work and the next day I am meeting an estate planning attorney that specializes in pets. You heard right, as in cute and cuddly Fluffy wants a slice of your estate after you die. And this guy helps divvy it up. He seems flakey and we have a time scheduled for 9 am on a Saturday morning.

I’m on time in the Haight Ashbury district, knocking on his door and I am not surprised when no one answers. I knock a few more times and 5 minutes later the door swings open and a messed up hair, no shirt and barefoot dude squints at me. He tells me he completely forgot and ushers me in to the Victorian foyer. I look past an empty bedroom and then glance over and through a doorway I see a woman pull the covers up to her chin and call out, “Michael can you shut the door.” I tell him to take his time and run a comb through his hair as I creep off to the living room to hide out.

After a while he comes back and suggests I photograph him naked with his cat and we can title it “Cock and Pussy.” I think it’s a great idea, but I am pretty sure the editor wouldn’t want to run it. We shoot some photos and I am thinking there is nothing crazier than an early morning shoot in the Haight.

Grace Under Fire

I am trying to catch up on some last minute work when my boss pops around the corner and says, “Scheck just got a tip that a supervisor is being searched by the Feds.” I reluctantly grab my gear and head out with the reporter. We head over to City Hall and talk about hockey and softball. My team is 7 and 0 and for the first time in my softball career we’re undefeated.

I dread the thought of waiting outside in the wind, so we head in and wander aimlessly knocking on doors. I notice a cop standing outside a door and suggest that maybe it’s that guy. The reporter says, “Oh I see just because his last name is ‘Jew’ he’s obviously the thief.” After some talking the deputy gives up that the Feds are indeed searching this supervisor’s office on a warrant.

The agent enters the bathroom and unzips in the next urinal. I ask him for his card. He declines, but confirms that they are serving a search warrant.

The reporter calls in his story and stops in the middle of the grand staircase to tie his shoe. Later in the office when I show him his picture he says, “The one thing that separates me from the others is grace.”

The Number 3 Lane

I remember first falling in love with the Bay Area crossing the Bay Bridge and leaning back, looking out the back of the hatch-back as the suspension cables went up and down. I would plead, “drive in the middle” as this would help foster my fantasy of the bridge raising and lowering the car with every tower. The sun was shining and I would count out the towers silently as we went past. One, two, three, four and then I would ask how come the bridge to Treasure Island doesn’t have cables. Just the kind of question an adult loves to answer.