“DON’T TAKE PICTURES OF ME!”

I’m not taking pictures of you.

(I was trying to frame a shot, and then she came at me, shouting, from what for lack of a better term I shall call left field, although it was from the right.)

“I said don’t take pictures of me!”

I’m not. I wasn’t aiming at you at all. And anyway I haven’t even taken a picture yet!

“I don’t believe you! Show me that picture!”

I haven’t taken a picture. And I couldn’t have showed you even if I had, because this is a film camera. There’s no screen. Look! No screen!

(I show her the back of my Minolta from 1978, as un-digital as they come.)

“I don’t care! Just show me the damn picture!”

(She tries to grab the camera, but I hold it away from her. I’m way taller, which helps.)

I haven’t taken a picture yet! Look, it’s the last frame on this roll, I’m trying to find something worthwhile to spend it on, and I certainly am not going to waste it on you!

“You can’t just go around taking pictures of people like that without permission!”

Listen, lady, I wasn’t even aiming the camera at you! You were over there! I was pointing it there!

“You should at least have asked first! You do not have my permission to take pictures of me!”

Fine! I won’t take pictures of you! I wasn’t taking pictures of you! I wasn’t going to take pictures of you! There’s nothing about you that I would want to take pictures of! I still haven’t taken a picture at all, and you’re not helping! Get out of my way and stop following me around. If you don’t want your picture taken, don’t come standing in front of the camera.

“Just show me the damn picture you took of me!”

At last her friend comes over, who happens to know a thing or two about cameras (and how they don’t take pictures of you when they’re not aimed at you), he compliments me on a good looking old Minolta, says he used to have one just like mine years ago, and now she’s having a go at him, calling us both assholes but at least she’s out of my face. I give him my card, which has links to my Instagram and such, he and I shake hands, I wish him a nice evening, and while I quietly leave the combat zone he’s stuck with a Karen (or Susan, if your name is Karen) who is going to be pissed at him for a week.

I feel sorry for the guy. I hope he survives.

“I can’t lie to you about your chances, but… you have my sympathies.”
— Ash, Alien