The masks have finally arrived. Photo shoot is scheduled for the weekend of March 22nd. Because I’m pretty fucking stupid, I posted to Craigslist about it too, because I thought it would extra fun to corral a bunch of strangers and do some crazy portraits. So far, no one has responded, probably because in this case I’m the one who comes out looking like the crazy ass. But I’m offering refreshments (OK, Faygo)! I also made sure that they know they won’t be getting paid and that vintage clothing is a plus.
I decided to ask one of the people I work with, Lindsay, to be in it. She’s young and has the retro style I’m looking for. Instead of putting on my Functioning Human Pants and asking her like a normal adult, I shuffled over to her desk and said, "Lindsay!" then immediately started giggling. I had to squat to keep from peeing.
She looked caught somewhere between horror and amusement and waited patiently (and with a nervous smile) for me to compose myself.
Being infamous for the "That Came Out All Wrong" elocution, I blurted out, "Do you have any friends?" She kind of awkwardly said, "Um, yeah" and probably followed it with a "….dumb bitch" in her head.
"I mean, do you have any friends that want to be in my photo shoot?" I think she thought I was joking for a second until she remembered who she was talking to. In my signature giddy quick-speak, I filled her in on the details. She said she would ask (that was TWO DAYS ago and she hasn’t given me an answer yet, now that I’m thinking about it) and then when I told her about Craigslist, she laughed and said, "Uh, you’re going to get some fucking weirdos, you know that right?"
I hurriedly explained that that’s what I want, and then immediately felt like an asshole since I had just asked her and her friends to be in it, like they fit the criteria for "fucking weirdos."
Bob, hearing the entire exchange, was laughing when I came back to my seat. He told me that he would feel really weird if he was involved.
"Weird like you’re being violated?" I asked him to clarify.
"No. No! Not like I’m being violated! Weird as in uncomfortable."
Adding to the growing list of ridiculous criteria, I decided I wanted to find a junk yard for one of the locations, but Henry knows everything about things like this and told me that I was going to run into problems with that since junk yards are privately owned. I never knew that. I thought they were literally yards filled with junk, abandoned there to rust and decay and sink into the earth and provide the backdrop for horrific murders.
Not to discredit Henry (though I do live for discrediting him), but I usually feel better about his answers once I double check the facts with someone else. So I asked Bob the other night at work. He confirmed that junk yards are, in fact, there for people to buy stuff.
We sat in silence for awhile, but eventually I pressed the issue again.
"But like, if it’s essentially a store, couldn’t I still go there with some people? Who’s to say we’re not there to shop for stuff?" Like weapons and rusted receptacles to use as urban flower pots.
Bob shrugged. "Well, I think the animal masks and camera will probably clue the owner in that something weird is going on there." We laughed and he then he asked, "Are you going to be in any of the pictures?"
I faked a haughty sigh and said, "I don’t mix business with pleasure." It was at that moment that I realized one of the security guards had been standing there the entire time, with some greasy-haired wanderer who had broken down and needed jumper cables. He was wearing a suspicious backpack that made me nervous.
They were looking at me with wide eyes, so I can only imagine what they derived from that conversation, since the beginning of it had started much earlier in the night. Maybe they think I’m shooting some kind of simulated bestiality-meets-Crash* porn. And that’s alright by me.
I’m pretty certain this is going to end in disaster.
*Cronenberg, not Haggis.