Wednesday, December 3, 2008
I do a perfectly adequate job of making myself look stupid. Both in my daily life and in the newspaper. So it baffles me when people think they need to help me out in that department.
Last week I was given the delicious assignment of playing paparazzi at a local church during their turkey dinner. The thing about an assignment like that is that, first of all, no one likes to be photographed while eating, second (of all?) these church goers are a fairly tight knit group and tend to stare (not always in a friendly manner) when I walk in.
So there I was, trying to be unobtrusive and smiling sweetly at anyone who turned their frown my way. Meanwhile I can hear this woman behind me complaining, without a trace of humour, about how someone from the paper once printed an unflattering photo of her with her grandchild in the paper. "Oh, my hair was everywhere, it was just terrible!" she griped.
Finally, someone took pity on me and suggested that maybe I should take some photos of the kitchen volunteers. At least they wouldn't have their mouths full. However, this did not mean they would be more cooperative. When I tried to ask him his name, the only extrovert in the entire place instead demanded that I put out my hand.
He was holding a tong-full of turkey, and since I'm a vegetarian, I was inclined to say no. However, I have this thing about actually telling people around here that I'm a vegetarian. Partly because I'm pretty sure I'm already looked on as a complete alien based on my clothes and sense of humour, but also because half the people here who are offering me meat have probably raised and slaughtered it themselves. It seems insulting.
Also, I have this disdain for picky eaters. I can still hear my mom saying "This is not a buffet!" if my brother or I requested something else after she'd already provided us with something nutritious and delicious.
So, I said. "Oh! ha ha, no thanks, ha, I wouldn't want to get any turkey on the camera!"
"Put the camera down for a minute. We'll get you a napkin to wipe your hands"
Foiled by his logic, all I could do was put out my hand and say, "Oh, erm, right, haha, I guess I could do that."
After they all watched me force down the giant piece of bird, which I was actually concerned might be my death by choking, I asked for the turkeymonger's name again.
"Yeah, somehow I don't think that's it."
Finally he gave me a more reasonable sounding name and I was out of there.
It wasn't until after the paper had gone to print that I ran into one of the women who had been in the kitchen at the time. Apparently after I left he had laughed his fool head off because he gave me the name of some other guy who lives in town. In a small town, you make your own entertainment.
Next time, I'm accidently dropping the turkey on the floor.
Posted by Sarah at 10:52 AM