disgruntled freelancer
In just a few days, I’ve gone through a roller coaster of emotions, mostly related to my job(s). The talented group of Hello Metro writers were let go, and oddly enough, I didn’t even receive the email stating that oh-so-sad fact. BURN! My friend and former HM Cleveland writer informed me of our day-bumming news.
I write my editor an email, confirming the news and wondering why I wasn’t included in the first place. Maybe all the writers were let go except me! No, that was not the case. So getting fired is bad enough news for one day, but having to email your editor to ask if you’re fired, worse. Humiliating.
So this past week I’ve been wallowing, sulking, (drinking), rebounding, trying to pump myself up for better opportunities. I’ve also been finishing up my final articles for Hello Miami.
Including Pasha’s Healthy Mediterranean Cuisine, a restaurant I’ve eaten at several times and really like a lot. Clearly I wanted to do what I could to promote their business, even if it’s the last one I’ll get to promote for that particular publication.
As I’m walking up the steps to Pasha’s, I have my camera out and I’m snapping a few pictures. I have a sinking feeling in the tummy, one that says This won’t be the glorious finish you were hoping for.
When I enter the restaurant, it’s lunchtime, and I snap a picture of the inside. I was planning on ordering my favorite dish, too, even though I wasn’t that hungry. But uh-oh. The guy behind the counter in his white hat and white shirt looks unhappy. He’s staring at my camera like it’s a bomb.
I step up the counter and sit my camera down. He’s still afraid of it. “Miss, you cannot take photography in here, it is highly illegal.” (Obviously then I want to tell him he means “photographs” and not “photography”, but I refrain.)
“Sir, I’m doing a restaurant review. I’m taking photos to accompany my article, which is already written and very positive, I might add.” I try to smile when I say this, but it was probably closer to an animal baring its teeth.
“I cannot allow photography. For trade secrets. This is private property.” I’ve heard this before. I even worked at the Gap for a long while, where corporate did not condone photography in our stores. I understand, even though I’m furious. I mean DAMN, it’s my last article! I was fired! Cut me some slack, dude! But I cannot break down in front of this man, will not break down in front of twenty business people eating kebabs and wearing heels and pencil skirts.
“I understand. I will just put in my article that I was not allowed to take pictures.” Lie. I won’t even have the balls to do that. “I’m going to take photos of the outdoor area.”
“No no no. That is private property, too. If you’d like, you can go across the street and take pictures there.”
Play detective? No thank you. I’ll just use the photos I already have. Arrest me? Fine, at least I’ll get fed in prison. I hear they have good food.
dumb-ass english major 