Last month, we were required to get our professional pictures taken for work. The organization I work for thought it was essential for the management team to have their mug shots on our website and for each of us to have our shot to use for press releases and such. I had a hard time paying attention to the rest of the message, I sort of blacked out after “pictures taken.”
There is nothing less compatible with me than getting my picture taken professionally. In almost every studio shot I’ve ever been unfortunate enough to see of myself, I look about as relaxed and comfortable as someone with a stick lodged firmly between their cheeks. For good measure, I swear I develop some sort of exaggerated tourette’s syndrome and my facial features start jockeying for most distorted. My lip curls, my eye squints, my nose starts running away from my face, or some freaky combination of the above occur. A photograph not even a mother could love.
When we showed up at the studio on the day of the pictures, I looked the photographer square in the face and said, “You have no idea what you are up against here, but you better do I good job.” I didn’t know he took me seriously until I realized that he took about 25 shots of me and about 10 of each of the others in the group. Yes, it took TWENTY-FIVE shots to make me look decent. No, I don’t mean 25 of those kind of shots, although that would certainly help.
Earlier this week our proofs arrived at the office. I hoped they might spontaneously combust before my eyes were subjected to such torture, but they didn’t. And believe me, there was torture, about 24 images of pure torture. However, one came through to save the day and the life of the photographer at the studio. Not perfect, but considering what he had to work with, at least acceptable. I can live with it and can now begin to repair the damage done to my heart by this entire fiasco. Do they offer workers compensation for such ordeals?
As my colleagues looked at my picture, they unanimously agreed that, “It’s a nice picture, but it just doesn’t have enough attitude.”
No shit, I said, “I look so sweet, innocent, and friendly, I didn’t even recognize myself.”
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