Cameras flashed. Babies wailed. Balding men and overly-perky women leaped
around waving hand puppets. All in a good day's work, thought a
particularly shiny-browed man in his late 40's.
Mr. Goodman didn't very much care for his job of photographer, but it was the only career option he had at the moment and it just had to do. It was nearing closing time, and Goodman was the last employee left, which meant he'd be the one stuck closing up. He cursed those last straggling people who kept him from speeding home in his old station wagon to a nice, hot dinner. Glaring at the computer screen on the desk of his small section of the studio, he scrolled down to the last family on the list, wishing that he was done for the agonizing day. "Great... They're 30 minutes late, AND I can't even pronounce the last name, for cryin' out loud!" Goodman whined. Eh, it would probably sound friendlier if he addressed them by the first names, and maybe he'd get more sales out of it.
His stressed thoughts were rudely interrupted when the studio's entrance door slammed loudly, the tinkling of the little bell reaching an ear- splitting volume. He could hear a woman's disgruntled voice overpowering a man's, who had, by what Goodman could hear, let it slip from his mind the time of their appointment.
"I can't BELIEVE you forgot! Ugh, and I'm already late for my book-signing downtown. Is there anything ELSE that you need to tell me? Anything else that might have 'slipped your mind?'"
"No, and it won't happen again, I promise. This week's been really hectic at the school, and it's not like I've screwed up anything TOO badly before this. Remember what Bliss said? Just calm down and it'll all be okay. I'm sure the world's not going to explode if you're a few minutes late for your signing."
"Do you always have to look on the bright side?" the woman replied, but her voice was oddly transformed, as it hinted at some level of tenderness.
Goodman sighed determinedly, and walked briskly towards the front desk. A young, frustrated-looking blonde woman in a deep pink business suit was tapping her high-heeled foot impatiently in front of the desk, like SHE was the one who had been unjustly wronged by showing up late for THEIR appointment, WHICH, Goodman scowled, had been scheduled MONTHS ago. Composing himself, Goodman extended his hand to the husband, whose blonde hair stuck out in big tufts all over his oddly shaped head, and began, "Ah, you must be--"
"Yeah, yeah, let's skip the small talk and get this over with, pal. I got places to go, people to see," the woman waved her arms in the air, "BOOKS to sign!" She glared in the direction of her husband. He had just bent down to lift their child from the stroller they brought in with them. He sheepishly smiled and nervously bounced the baby up and down in his arms, making her giggle delightfully.
Goodman was done trying to be friendly. "Right, MA'AM," he said with a little less gusto. "Bring the kid on back, PLEASE," he grunted as he gestured to the ecstatic, chubby, slobbery, blonde pig-tailed child.
"Her name's STELLA, Tea-Bag. And if I were you, I'd treat your customers with more respect!"
Goodman tried his best not to retort. Gritting his teeth, he mumbled something inaudible, and led the way to his section of the studio.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, after being asked a thousand times if he was "sure you're doing this right," told a million times that "I'm not getting any younger here," and threatened a zillion times that "if you don't hurry it up I'm gonna file a lawsuit against your sorry--whoa, get a hold of yourself Old Girl, he's an old man, obviously not in the best state of mental health--" Goodman was displaying the photos to the parents, sitting around the computer.
"Oh, I like that one, and that one," the husband was saying, comforting his harassed-looking daughter in his arms. Apparently, the Raggedy-Anne doll's flaming red hair didn't appeal to her liking, and she had burst into tears at the sight of it (DNA, it's a weird thing ;) ). The safety of her Daddy's warm, gentle embrace quickly soothed her after the fright, and she busied herself by blowing some rather loud raspberries, giggling at the funny sound. "And that one too. Honey, which one of those is cuter?"
"Gee," the angry woman answered sarcastically as she glanced at her wristwatch, seemingly for the hundredth time, "I'm about to walk out of here and take the car with me. You know what? We can afford it--let's just buy the biggest order they've got and LEAVE!"
Music to his ears, Goodman showed them the selection, which contained every size, tone, cropping, and frame imaginable, with duplicates abundant enough to supply a small town. The blonde woman glanced at the price once, opened her pocketbook and slammed down the cash right then and there on the desk in one fluid motion. The husband opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and stood up to leave, his daughter stealthily reaching up to grab a tempting lock of his hair.
Extending his free hand to return the postponed offer of a handshake, the blonde man shook Goodman's hand, thanking him for all he had done. His wife had long before gotten up to leave and was already standing impatiently at the front of the studio, out of earshot.
"Don't mind her, she gets a tad cranky when we're late for anything. Thanks for putting up with it." He smiled, eyes half-lidded, looking towards the front of the studio. Goodman perceived what looked like a disturbingly dreamy expression on the man's young face.
"Don't mention it, sir." Goodman smiled strenuously. "You can expect your order to be delivered in a couple of weeks." When the family had finally exited the building, speeding off in the woman's pink sport's car, Goodman gave a giant whoop of relief before locking up.
Reflecting about his day on the way home, Goodman wondered aloud to himself, "Wouldn't wanna know how THOSE two paired up. That poor man. Eh, I guess opposites really do attract."
Mr. Goodman didn't very much care for his job of photographer, but it was the only career option he had at the moment and it just had to do. It was nearing closing time, and Goodman was the last employee left, which meant he'd be the one stuck closing up. He cursed those last straggling people who kept him from speeding home in his old station wagon to a nice, hot dinner. Glaring at the computer screen on the desk of his small section of the studio, he scrolled down to the last family on the list, wishing that he was done for the agonizing day. "Great... They're 30 minutes late, AND I can't even pronounce the last name, for cryin' out loud!" Goodman whined. Eh, it would probably sound friendlier if he addressed them by the first names, and maybe he'd get more sales out of it.
His stressed thoughts were rudely interrupted when the studio's entrance door slammed loudly, the tinkling of the little bell reaching an ear- splitting volume. He could hear a woman's disgruntled voice overpowering a man's, who had, by what Goodman could hear, let it slip from his mind the time of their appointment.
"I can't BELIEVE you forgot! Ugh, and I'm already late for my book-signing downtown. Is there anything ELSE that you need to tell me? Anything else that might have 'slipped your mind?'"
"No, and it won't happen again, I promise. This week's been really hectic at the school, and it's not like I've screwed up anything TOO badly before this. Remember what Bliss said? Just calm down and it'll all be okay. I'm sure the world's not going to explode if you're a few minutes late for your signing."
"Do you always have to look on the bright side?" the woman replied, but her voice was oddly transformed, as it hinted at some level of tenderness.
Goodman sighed determinedly, and walked briskly towards the front desk. A young, frustrated-looking blonde woman in a deep pink business suit was tapping her high-heeled foot impatiently in front of the desk, like SHE was the one who had been unjustly wronged by showing up late for THEIR appointment, WHICH, Goodman scowled, had been scheduled MONTHS ago. Composing himself, Goodman extended his hand to the husband, whose blonde hair stuck out in big tufts all over his oddly shaped head, and began, "Ah, you must be--"
"Yeah, yeah, let's skip the small talk and get this over with, pal. I got places to go, people to see," the woman waved her arms in the air, "BOOKS to sign!" She glared in the direction of her husband. He had just bent down to lift their child from the stroller they brought in with them. He sheepishly smiled and nervously bounced the baby up and down in his arms, making her giggle delightfully.
Goodman was done trying to be friendly. "Right, MA'AM," he said with a little less gusto. "Bring the kid on back, PLEASE," he grunted as he gestured to the ecstatic, chubby, slobbery, blonde pig-tailed child.
"Her name's STELLA, Tea-Bag. And if I were you, I'd treat your customers with more respect!"
Goodman tried his best not to retort. Gritting his teeth, he mumbled something inaudible, and led the way to his section of the studio.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, after being asked a thousand times if he was "sure you're doing this right," told a million times that "I'm not getting any younger here," and threatened a zillion times that "if you don't hurry it up I'm gonna file a lawsuit against your sorry--whoa, get a hold of yourself Old Girl, he's an old man, obviously not in the best state of mental health--" Goodman was displaying the photos to the parents, sitting around the computer.
"Oh, I like that one, and that one," the husband was saying, comforting his harassed-looking daughter in his arms. Apparently, the Raggedy-Anne doll's flaming red hair didn't appeal to her liking, and she had burst into tears at the sight of it (DNA, it's a weird thing ;) ). The safety of her Daddy's warm, gentle embrace quickly soothed her after the fright, and she busied herself by blowing some rather loud raspberries, giggling at the funny sound. "And that one too. Honey, which one of those is cuter?"
"Gee," the angry woman answered sarcastically as she glanced at her wristwatch, seemingly for the hundredth time, "I'm about to walk out of here and take the car with me. You know what? We can afford it--let's just buy the biggest order they've got and LEAVE!"
Music to his ears, Goodman showed them the selection, which contained every size, tone, cropping, and frame imaginable, with duplicates abundant enough to supply a small town. The blonde woman glanced at the price once, opened her pocketbook and slammed down the cash right then and there on the desk in one fluid motion. The husband opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and stood up to leave, his daughter stealthily reaching up to grab a tempting lock of his hair.
Extending his free hand to return the postponed offer of a handshake, the blonde man shook Goodman's hand, thanking him for all he had done. His wife had long before gotten up to leave and was already standing impatiently at the front of the studio, out of earshot.
"Don't mind her, she gets a tad cranky when we're late for anything. Thanks for putting up with it." He smiled, eyes half-lidded, looking towards the front of the studio. Goodman perceived what looked like a disturbingly dreamy expression on the man's young face.
"Don't mention it, sir." Goodman smiled strenuously. "You can expect your order to be delivered in a couple of weeks." When the family had finally exited the building, speeding off in the woman's pink sport's car, Goodman gave a giant whoop of relief before locking up.
Reflecting about his day on the way home, Goodman wondered aloud to himself, "Wouldn't wanna know how THOSE two paired up. That poor man. Eh, I guess opposites really do attract."